Materni21, Harmony, Verifi, and Panorama: Myths and Realities

Some relatively new tests promise to find Down syndrome and other chromosomal conditions very early in pregnancy.  They are called Noninvasive Prenatal Screens (NIPS), and have been hailed as the “holy grail” of prenatal tests. Just weeks after a fetus’s heartbeat is audible by doppler, the mother can have her blood drawn to look at something called cell-free fetal DNA. In a now-billion dollar industry, Sequenom (Materni21), Ariosa (Harmony), Natera (Panorama) and Verifi all offer NIPS, promising unprecedented accuracy, better information, and general reassurance. The website for the Materni21 test boasts that the product offers “No confusion. Just simple, clear results.”

A 2012 article in the Atlantic began with this explanation:

“Prenatal diagnosis — the ability to diagnose abnormalities before a baby is born — is undergoing a revolution due to the recent arrival of tests that can accurately detect fetal genetic abnormalities, including Down syndrome, by testing the mother’s blood.”

When I became pregnant again–already having a child with Trisomy 21–I seriously considered this new technology, wondering what it would mean for me to have another baby with a genetic difference.  It could mean quite a bit or very little, but at a minimum, getting a definitive diagnosis might change my prenatal care decisions.

When I researched these tests, however, I was shocked at what I found.  The idea that NIPS are an amazingly accurate diagnostic tool is simply not true.  The reality, I found, is a very troubling mix of public and medical misunderstanding, which may well be rooted, at bottom, in pharmaceutical companies looking to maximize profit by mainstreaming their products.

Myth #1: NIPS is great because it is noninvasive way to get a diagnosis.

Reality: NIPS is called NIPS because it is just that: a screen.  (Read the ACMG guidelines here.)  The number of false positives and negatives does not make it a reliable diagnostic tool.  The current ACOG guidelines recommend that NIPS be followed up with a diagnostic test, either chorionic villus sampling (CVS), or amniocentesis. Both of those tests are invasive and carry a risk of miscarriage. In reality, there is no foolproof way to know whether your baby has a trisomy. Amniocentesis and CVS are very, very reliable. Still, mistakes happen.  Bottom line: NIPS can only give you a statistical likelihood that your unborn child carries a limited list of genetic conditions.

Myth #2: NIPS is amazingly accurate.

Reality: NIPS seem to be good at ruling out the existence of a genetic condition, but “positive” tests are more complicated.  NIPS accuracy rates really refer to the tests’ statistical sensitivity, which is not what most of us think of when hearing the word “accuracy”. An individual’s chance of truly having a condition after a “positive” result (also called the Positive Predictive Value, or PPV) depends on the incidence in the population at large.

Here is an imaginary example.  If a test is 95% accurate at predicting redheads prenatally, how does one know the actual chance of being a readhead after testing positive?  Not 95%.  One has to know how many redheads there are in general.  Say 10% of population of country X has red hair, and we test 200 mothers there.  Then we know that 20 fetuses truly have red hair.  A 95% accurate test will find 19 of those redheaded babies, and miss one.  It will also incorrectly identify 5% of the remaining 180 as having red hair when they actually do not—9 babies.  The positive test result group is then made out of 19 truly redheaded babies and 9 not redheaded babies.  Any individual baby’s real chance after a positive result (or PPV) of having red hair is really 19/28, or 67%.

Do this again with brunette babies in the same country, with an incidence rate of 40%—80 babies with brunette hair.  76 will test positive, 4 missed.  Of the remaining 120 babies, 6 will be incorrectly identified.  The chance of a baby who tested positive as a brunette is then 76/82, or 92%.  When the incidence rate in the general population goes up, the PPV goes up.

Now, say that one in 1,500 babies in country X have purple hair.  Do the math for a 95% accurate test, and you get a PPV of something like 1.25%.  That means a mother who tests “positive” for her baby to have purple hair, in this scenario, actually only has a 1.25% chance of delivering a baby with purple hair.  When the incidence rate is already low, the PPV is lower.

Same test accuracy rate in each scenario, but very different PPV, because the reality of a “positive” test result depends on how often a condition actually occurs in a given population.  (I know, I’m sorry your head hurts, mine did too.)

What does this mean?  Unless a mother is already at high likelihood, looking for conditions like aneuploidy (like Down syndrome) or Turner’s syndrome is a lot like trying to find babies with purple hair.  NIPS tells us what we already know: Most women are not carrying a baby affected by these genetic conditions.  When you’re looking at a condition that only 1 in thousands have, the PPV of NIPS is quite a bit less impressive than the test companies would have us believe.  Depending on a woman’s age, a “positive” NIPS result could mean the chances of actually having a baby with Down syndrome could be 50% less. Mark Leach at his blog Down Syndrome Prenatal Testing offers a very good explanation of the statistics in this post.  Here is another more general article aimed at explaining the confusing statistics behind medical tests and screens.

Myth #3: My doctor recommends it and understands NIPS better than I do.

Reality: It turns out that doctors, just like the rest of us, are actually not very good at understanding the nuances of statistics.  In one study, just 14 out of 61 doctors, hospital staff and medical students could correctly answer a hypothetical statistics question.  Certainly, it doesn’t appear that the companies offering NIPS tests are running out to disabuse confused medical professionals of the idea that their tests are not as “accurate” as they seem.  Do your own research.

Myth #4: NIPS will analyze the baby’s DNA.

Reality: Actually, the test runs on small fragments of placental DNA in the mother’s bloodstream. In most situations, the fetus and placenta share identical DNA. However rare, placental mosaicism does occur. In that case, a woman could get an incorrect NIPS result. Her placenta may carry a trisomy while the actual baby does not, or vice versa.

Myth #5: NIPS can tell you if you are going to have a healthy baby.

Reality: NIPS can tell you absolutely nothing about the health of your baby. Trisomy 21, for example, results in medical issues for some, and absolutely none for others. In addition, NIPS tells us nothing about the myriad other conditions that a fetus can carry but remain undetected until birth or after.

Myth #6: My test result came back “positive” so it must be correct.

Reality: Materni21 terms its results “positive”, “negative”, or “additional” findings, but in reality, these words appear to be more than a branding tool than medical terminology, akin to how Starbucks calls its smallest drink a “tall” to give the impression of value. Because there is no such thing as a “positive” NIPS result, the use of the word “positive” is actually fairly misleading. See Myth #2.

Fundamentally, I do think that these tests stir up some very serious ethical issues about disability, as well as how our society views pregnancy and birth. Plainly, this technology begs the question: Who gets welcomed into our society, and who must undergo “screening” before even drawing a single breath?  Yet, this is the reality of all prenatal testing.

My concern is the power of perception to recreate reality.  If these companies are allowed to perpetuate these myths with impunity, then I fear they will become the foundation for actual practice.  Perhaps my fear is already reality.  How many women have chosen abortion after a NIPS result, who would not have if they had truly understood the statistics?  How many women misunderstood these statistics and go through needless anxiety and worry because they’ve had to prepare for a reality that never came to pass?  NIPS is very good at “reassuring” mothers that their babies are genetically typical, but does that come at a cost?  With every “negative” test, how much stigma compounds against those who actually live with those genetic differences?

Even within the disability community, we seem to have bought the pharmaceutical companies’ advertising ploys, hook, line and sinker. I worry that by perpetuating the companies’ marketing ploys, we are inadvertently creating more room for ethical lapse.  The tests are here for good—there is no closing that box, and I see no point in arguing that.  We might as well help families get accurate information and strive to point out the inherent anti-disability bias so prevalent in today’s prenatal care practices.

Is NIPS an advancement?  For a woman who wants to test for those specific conditions, I do think that NIPS has value over traditional screenings.  Is NIPS revolutionary?  Only if we pretend it is.

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ETA 9/22/2015:

This is my most popular blog post, by far. I want to ask that everyone to have the most sensitivity and grace as possible when commenting. It is often difficult for those who have had true positives to hear the sense of rejoicing that comes with false positive results. Praying for health or a false negative, while completely understandable, does not make the correlate true: having a baby with health concerns or a positive diagnosis does NOT mean that your prayers have gone unanswered. I want the comment section here to be a safe place and to assure families getting diagnosis that life will still be beautiful and worthwhile and that support is out there. Concepts such as “health” and “perfection” are socially influenced and variable; there is no one right way to come into this world. xo

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If you have had a negative NIPS experience, or feel that NIPS was incorrectly or misleadingly explained by the company’s marketing material, you can report it here.  Prenatal tests fall under the “medical device” category.

Here is a very clear article from Katie Stoll, genetic counselor, explaining the specific statistical issues behind NIPS.

Lettercase offers up-to-date information and materials on prenatal screening and testing for families and medical providers.

Mark Leach is a bioethicist who writes frequently about NIPS on his blog.

If you have found this post after getting a “positive” result for Down syndrome in particular, you can go to the Down Syndrome Diagnosis Network (DSDN) for accurate information and support.

If you have found this post after a Harmony, Verifi, or Materni21 test and are confused, feel free to comment or email.  I will try to send you to the appropriate resources.


Down Syndrome and Parenting: The Cold Current of Doubt

LP did his first sign many, many months ago.  “More.”   Sometime soon after that, he started using a fork independently.  The kid loves eating, so no surprise there.  Life was much, much easier being able to sit LP down with a plate of cut up food and a fork.  Very civilized, right?  He was starting to use a spoon as well.  Good.

Then it stopped.  Forks got hurled across the room.  No signing.  Just smeared food and yelling.  A lot of yelling.  For weeks.  And weeks.  I can’t lie—it sucked.  We’d sign and sometimes it seemed like he understood, and sometimes he just looked at us like we were aliens.  Mealtimes became a nightmare of throwing, cajoling and yelling.  I’d wonder, was I babying him?  Was I insisting on too much?  The way he’d moan and whine, it really seemed like he was suddenly incapable of communicating or self-feeding.

Around this time, he really started getting confident with his standing. He was cruising around furniture with a lot of ease and standing on his own for many seconds at a time.  One day, Mouse taught him to use a little tricycle as a walker.  Great!  So I figured, he’s working on the walking, just be patient.

I was patient, or so I thought.  But the days turned into weeks, and I started to wonder.  Is something wrong?  How could a skill have just disappeared like that?  Was it his thyroid (we have been trying to adjust his dosage and that is a whole ‘nother post)?  Maybe this was a sign of something else, for a skill to have just vanished?  Was there another diagnosis in his future?  Why wouldn’t he just go back to doing it???  I admit during these moments, I’d try to size LP up among his peers with T21.  Each time I was a kid who was around his age doing something that he didn’t do, I’d feel a pang of anxiety.  Was he ok?

It is hard sometimes when it feels like the world is telling you that your kid is more wrong than right, not to let some of it seep in.  In the media, most of what I see are awful stereotypes and misinformation, or hideous debates about prenatal testing and abortion.  The positive is largely sickly sweet stuff that leaves me feeling more sad than anything else.

As much as our friends and family have been supportive, it isn’t a walk in the park there, either.  I can’t shake that raw feeling when it seems like the only questions I get asked about LP are about his development.  Does he walk, talk, do this, do that?  I feel a real twinge of pain when someone goes out of their way to praise the girls only, because the next thought I have is, What about LP? 

I don’t know how fair it is for me to feel this way.  There’s nothing wrong with the girls being talented in some way that their brother isn’t.   By and large, when people discuss babies, it is about development, Down syndrome or not.  For the most part, people truly care about LP, and I imagine it is easy to get caught up in trying to figure out what the “right” or “wrong” thing to say is.

Yet, I can’t help but notice that the tenor surrounding LP is different.  There’s so little faith in him.

It isn’t about an inevitable when for him, it is a big if.  I’m guilty of it too—without constant change to reassure me, it is all too easy to let myself slip into a strange place in my mind in which he might never hold a fork again until he is five years old.  Despite that I know this thinking makes no sense, I have to fight it back; that cold doubt still tries to seep through.  People are shocked to see that he is a social, developing kid, delays and all.  I’ve had people be very honest with me about this disconnect between what they expect and what really is.  When they see him begging for grapes or giggling with his sisters, it strikes people that he is so very “normal” after all, i.e. not the vague blob of sadness that they’d imagined.  I have to admit then, that I imagined the same vague blob when we first realized LP had T21.  How wrong I was.

This week, LP started signing again.  In fact, he is now sometimes stringing two signs together.  He’s imitating words.  He even used a fork twice yesterday during lunch.  (We will therefore forgive him for throwing said fork after the second usage.)  I’m the first to admit that I heaved a sigh of relief.  And then some guilt for having doubted him at all.

What is the effect of having a world around you, even your own parent, that doubts your future on such a fundamental level?

I am reminded nearly every day that Down syndrome is supposedly a very bad thing.  No one has used the word “retard” around me in quite some time, but I’m still witness to the same jokes, simply with the word omitted, in which lack of intelligence or ability becomes the pinnacle of hilarity.  I still hear comments at the park about the dangers of having babies too late, with “old eggs”, knowing that the one very feared outcome is a child like my son.  I am still squeezed under the constant pressure to raise my kids to be achieve, be smart, above all else, it seems.  Because, unless LP grows up to be independent and have a job, he will be nothing but a drain on the rest of us, apparently (yes, sarcasm there).

All of that seeps into my unconsciousness, whether I like it or not, it seems.  It is a crappy place to be, needing to be your child’s soft place to land, yet finding yourself dragged under by a black current of doubt.  It feels like I’m constantly swimming against the tide, saying, He’s enough just as he is, I want him just as he is, over and over again, in different ways, yet feeling like my words get washed away in that cold, ableist current.  It isn’t hard to let my mind wander, lose my compass and doubt more than I believe.

One of the worst things about being marginalized in any way is that eventually, some of it starts to blend into our identities.  I don’t want that.  I don’t want LP to be mostly about what isn’t, what can’t be, what might not.

Right now, he’s doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing, and I’m trying hard not to forget that fact.


You’re Just Going Along, and then… Woah.

Friends.  I have some news. Read the rest of this entry »


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