When Geraldine Dawson stepped into a waiting area in her laboratory to greet Joseph Zdrilich and Claire Lim, researcher and parents did not know one another. But already they were allies in a quest at Duke to discover new autism treatments. Andy, the couples energetic five-year-old, was diagnosed with autism the year before. Sometimes he tuned into toys more than people. Not all his words were intelligible. Children who met Andy on the playground did not always stick around to play. Its heartbreaking to watch, says Zdrilich.
So the parents volunteered their son for an experimental study exploring whether umbilical-cord blood can help heal the brains of people with autism. The study is one of several linked to Dukes new Center for Autism and Brain Development, which Dawson directs. No one knows if the unique mix of cells in cord blood can treat autism. But Lim and Zdrilich were intrigued by preliminary research at Duke, a worldwide innovator in cord-blood medical therapies, suggesting that the cells might help. For them, a long-shot inquiry with a potentially huge payoff was worth the time and effort. We want to do everything we can to help him, Andys father says.
That same logic appeals to Dawson, who is participating in and championing a wide range of autism research at Duke, including projects with uncertain outcomes. There is a point where you feel its worth taking risks. If you are too safe in what you study, the chances of really having a breakthrough fall, Dawson says.
If anyone understands what it takes to land a breakthrough in the field of autism, Geri Dawson does. Over more than thirty years, she has made several high-profile discoveries, many of them at the University of Washington. As the science officer of the national autism-advocacy group Autism Speaks, she helped funnel tens of millions of dollars to research projects intended to accelerate the translation of scientific insights about autism into treatment useful to people living with the disorder.
Geris impact has been both deep and wide, says Thomas Insel, the director of the National Institute of Mental Health, who sits with Dawson on a committee that advises the federal government on where to invest autism research dollars. Deep in the sense that she has done so much to focus the research community on what is most important to families. And wide in the sense that she has brought researchers and clinicians together.
At Duke, where Dawson arrived in 2013, the new center is a response to a public-health enigma. Autism rates in the U.S. have rocketed in recent years. One in sixty-eight children are diagnosed with the lifelong disorder, a 125 percent increase since 2002, a federal survey estimates. Improved diagnosis explains a share of the increase, but not all. At the same time, scientists at Duke and elsewhere understand the biological basis of autism better than ever, progress that could point the way to new treatments.
In five years or less, well be one of the top autism centers, under Geris leadership, predicts Helen Egger, a child psychiatrist who leads Dukes division of child and adolescent psychiatry and who helped establish the autism center. She has a very clear vision and is extremely effective in making things happen.
If you ever want to immerse yourself in a highly challenging arena, consider autism research. To start with, autism is not one thing. Its a range of disorders (with multiple causes) that are aptly described as a spectrum. Children and adults with the diagnosis can look vastly different from one another. Nearly half have average or higher intelligence. Some are brilliant, with prodigious memories and rare talents. Others are cognitively impaired, some seriously. But appearances can deceive in placing a person on the spectrum. Computer-generated voices allow some nonverbal people with autism to type and then share highly articulate thoughts, increasingly in college classrooms.
Despite that diversity, people on the autism spectrum share three traits. They have trouble communicating, which can include speaking or understanding language. They struggle with reading and responding to social cueseven other peoples facial expressions, which most people translate with lightning speed. And they tend to engage in repetitive behaviors, such as talking incessantly about a narrow interest or repeating gestures that to many may appear odd.
Dawson first encountered autism while growing up in southeastern Washington, the bright daughter of a nurse mother and scientist father who researched nonmilitary energy uses for plutonium at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, a one-time Manhattan Project facility. While in junior high school in the 1960s, Dawson babysat her neighbors six-year-old twins, boys who could only point and make other simple gestures to express themselves. Objects, including billiard balls, engaged them more than people. Disruptions of daily routines, including the precise spots where their cutlery should be placed on the lunch table, prompted meltdowns. There was no evidence either would ever be able to look after himself.
Read more:
Chasing the Next Autism Breakthrough