For Two Sisters, a “Biological Age Test” Measured More Than Their DNA
New York Times · LC · trust 27/100
Credit... Vivian Dehning; photographs by Annie Flanagan for The New York Times Skip to content Skip to site index
They thought it might explain why their health had diverged. Instead, it stirred up feelings that weren’t so easily quantified.
Credit... Vivian Dehning; photographs by Annie Flanagan for The New York Times
The notification lit up Michelle’s phone at 5:25 a.m. on the West Coast: a text from her older sister, Deb, who had an idea.
Deb had heard on a longevity podcast about a new technology that claimed to measure how quickly a person was aging. For $399, each sister could submit a blood sample and learn how her habits and experiences had affected the ways her genes behaved. The test, called TruAge, could supposedly tell them the functional ages of their brains, hearts, lungs and bodies overall.
“I think it would be super interesting to look at test results between siblings,” Deb, 56, had written. “You interested?”
“Yes, I would love to,” Michelle, 54, replied. “I fear the results, though.”
When it came to their genetics, the sisters seemed remarkably alike. (They asked to be identified using only their first names to discuss sensitive medical information.) They had the same deep-set, ice-blue eyes, the same prominent cheekbones, the same blond hair that swirled from a cowlick on the back-right corner of their heads. They both had astigmatism and night blindness; neither could roll her tongue or sing on pitch. And they had the same unusual variant of a gene called ABCC11, which meant their armpit sweat never had any odor.
Deb and Michelle, raised together in Detroit, knew they shared roughly half their DNA, but sometimes they had a hard time believing it. Deb, who now lived in Virginia, had always been hyper-disciplined, pragmatic and outgoing. A former Air Force nurse, she had traveled the world and raised three children, and seemed to exercise nonstop. Michelle was sensitive and bookish — so introverted that she didn’t even own a calendar. She had settled into the central valley of California after high school and never married. She lived a quiet, contented life with one companion: her Herder-Pit mix, Merlin.
We are having trouble retrieving the article content.
Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.
Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.
Thank you for your patience while we verify access.
Read the original at New York Times →
Open in TruthVane →