The following poem is from a collection of 41 written by me to try describing Huntington’s Disease (HD).
In October 2000 Britain became the first country to approve the commercial use of gene technology to allow insurers to refuse cover or to push up premiums for those born with genes that could lead to fatal conditions. HD was singled out as the only case allowed immediate discrimination because of the reliability of the test. This meant for a person having tested “positive” insurers gained the right to refuse to insure or legally load the premium to extortionate levels (300% has been cited).
If, for example, a person took the test at 18 yet did not go on to develop the symptoms until 60 (late onset), they would face 42 years of unnecessary discrimination. There seems to have been no acceptance of the fact until symptoms start showing… the person with the gene does not have HD!
The Insurance Salesman
He’s looking at the paperwork,
He’s thinking of commission.
He’ll reach his bonus target soon,
Just one more sale he’s missing.
And this signed piece of paper,
Will take him to his score;
Be home in time for dinner,
So glad he chose this door.
But hold on, wait a minute,
What’s she put on that bit?
‘Genetic testing… Huntington’s’,
He nearly has a fit.
He grabs the piece of paper;
Ignores her look so sad.
She thinks that we’ll insure her life?
The woman must be mad!
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