Rachel Horton

We discuss a case where clinical genomic investigation of muscle weakness unexpectedly found a genetic variant that might (or might not) predispose to kidney cancer. We argue that despite its off-target and uncertain nature, this variant should be discussed with the man who had the test, not because it is medical information, but because this discussion would allow the further clinical evaluation that might lead it to becoming so. We argue that while prominent ethical debates around genomics often take ‘results’ as a starting point and ask questions as to whether to look for and how to react to them, the construction of genomic results is fraught with ethical complexity, although often couched as a primarily technical problem. We highlight the need for greater focus on, and appreciation of, the ethical work undertaken daily by scientists and clinicians working in genomic medicine and discuss how public conversations around genomics need to adapt to prepare future patients for potentially uncertain and unexpected outcomes from clinical genomic tests.

Our ability to generate genomic data is currently well ahead of our ability to understand what they mean, raising challenges about how best to engage with them. This article considers ethical aspects of work with such data, focussing on research contexts that are intertwined with clinical care. We discuss the identifying nature of genomic data, the medical information intrinsic within them, and their linking of people within a biological family. We go on to consider what this means for consent, the importance of thoughtful sharing of genomic data, the challenge of constructing meaningful findings, and the legacy of unequal representation in genomic datasets. We argue that the ongoing success of genomic data research relies on public trust in the enterprise: to justify this trust, we need to ensure robust stewarding, and wide engagement about the ethical issues inherent in such practices.

We thank Lucy Frith for her thought-provoking response1 to our paper, where we argued that it would be ethically acceptable to contact an anonymous egg donor to help facilitate diagnostic genetic testing for a donor-conceived child.2 While we read Frith’s commentary with interest, we still think that the egg donor should be contacted in the case that we describe. Frith raises concerns as to whether contact would constitute ‘ overriding consent ’, thus ’ potentially set a dangerous precedent ’ for existing gamete donors and donor-conceived children. In contrast, we consider that contacting the egg donor would not override her consent, as her views on contact in the instance that has now arisen were never sought. Our view is that given we do not currently know what she might want, contacting her is a more legitimate way of respecting her autonomy than trying to anticipate her likely answer. We strongly agree with Frith’s suggestion that future consent discussions around gamete donation should make explicit ‘ the possibility of being contacted in the future if there is a relevant reason for doing so ’. Frith expresses a concern that contact would constitute ‘ overriding [the egg donor’s] consent ’, meaning that we have to ‘ justify contacting the egg donor against her previously stated wishes not to be contacted ’. However, our argument is that the egg donor was never asked whether or not she was happy to be contacted in the circumstances that have now arisen. Thus, there is no consent to be overridden, given that she never gave or withheld it in the first place. Frith rightly acknowledges that her arguments therefore ‘ [do] not fully address [our] main worry that the donor’s wishes are essentially unknown, as she was not asked about this specific situation and …

We discuss a case where medically optimal investigations of health problems in a donor-conceived child would require their egg donor to participate in genetic testing. We argue that it would be justified to contact the egg donor to ask whether she would consider this, despite her indicating on a historical consent form that she did not wish to take part in future research and that she did not wish to be informed if she was found to be a carrier of a ‘harmful inherited condition’. We suggest that we cannot conjecture what her current answer might be if, by participating in clinical genetic testing, she might help reach a diagnosis for the donor-conceived child. At the point that she made choices regarding future contact, it was not yet evident that the interests of the donor-conceived child might be compromised by her answers, as it was not foreseen that the egg donor’s genome might one day have the potential to enable diagnosis for this child. Fertility consent forms tend to be conceptualised as representing incontrovertible historical boundaries, but we argue that rapid evolution in genomic practice means that consent in such cases is better seen as an ongoing and dynamic process. It cannot be possible to compel the donor to aid in the diagnosis of the donor-conceived child, but she should be given the opportunity to do so.

Gyngell and colleagues consider that the recent Nuffield Council report does not go far enough: heritable genome editing is not just justifiable in a few rare cases; instead, there is a moral imperative to undertake it. We agree that there is a moral argument for this, but in the real world it is mitigated by the fact that it is not usually possible to ensure a better life. We suggest that a moral imperative for HGE can currently only be concluded if one first buys into an overly deterministic view of a genome sequence, and the role of variation within in it, in the aetiology of the disease: most diseases cannot simply be attributed to specific genetic variants that we could edit away. Multiple, poorly understood genetic and environmental factors interact to influence the expression of diseases with a genetic component, even well understood ‘monogenic’ disorders. Population-level genome analyses are now demonstrating that many genetic ’mutations' are much less predictive than previously thought 1. Furthermore, HGE might introduce new risks just as it reduces old ones; or remove protections not yet clearly delineated.