Finding a far-flung famous relative—and a serious family condition

I’ll be honest: When “TechKnow” producers asked if I’d like to partake of low-cost DNA testing—via take-at-home kits provided by the company 23andMe—I pretended to be enthusiastic for the sake of scientific discovery alone. But in reality, I wanted to see if I was the descendant of anyone famous.

Knowing that my mother’s family hails from what is modern day Russia, I have long entertained a fantasy that my lineage includes the last Russian Tsar. After all, for many years, Grand Duchess Anastasia and her brother Alexei were rumored to have escaped execution and fled to whereabouts unknown with family jewels sewn into their clothes. (No matter that DNA unearthed from Romanov graves debunked this myth in 2009...I was hopeful nonetheless.)

When the kit arrived in the mail, I followed the instructions—dutifully, and disgustingly filling a small vial with my saliva. It actually took quite a long time to generate a sufficient amount of spit. Ptwewing repeatedly into the little plastic container, I was twice interrupted by my kids: “Um, what are you doing, Mom?”

Away the sample went in the mail, and I awaited my results. When, in the interim, the FDA ordered 23andMe to stop offering health-related genetic information, my participation felt even more illicit and thrilling. I was one of the last people to legally obtain an over-the-counter DNA test! What an outlaw. (Maybe I’d find out I was related to Jesse James.)

When I received an email informing me that my results were in, I practically suffered heart palpitations, an impatient mix of curiosity and annoyance—that I couldn’t remember my password to get onto the damn site.

The health news was neither encouraging nor devastating—elevated risk for type 2 diabetes, coronary heart disease and lung cancer among other things. But these seemed controllable by lifestyle choices. Yes, one grandmother died relatively young of lung cancer, but she smoked several packs a day up until the time she was put on oxygen. My other grandmother, meanwhile, was strong as an ox and razor sharp until the age of 103.

And good health news came too: decreased risk for something called venous thromboembolism (no idea what that was but it didn’t sound good); gout, which I thought only afflicted ancient overweight royals like Henry VIII; and obsessive-compulsive disorder, which one look at my chaotic and disorderly house could have told you. (I once found a missing package of Jimmy Dean Link sausages in a file cabinet among the income tax returns and the kids’ birth certificates. OCD, I am not.)

Now for the moment of truth—the genealogy results! My DNA, which “reflects where your ancestors lived 500 years ago,” confirmed that I was 99.6 percent European, with the largest percentages being British and Irish. My father’s family was part of the Great Potato Famine migration—and Ashkenazi. While my dad’s family fled potato plight, my mother’s fled pogroms. So, yes, it seemed as if many of my ancestors did indeed come from outlying Russian territories, but they were more likely serfs than tsars.

One more click brought me to “famous relatives.” There was only one—Mario Batali. Who the heck was that? I Googled and discovered he’s a well-known Italian chef. “Related” is a bit of an overstatement—our respective haplogroup indicated we shared at least one common ancestor, which hardly qualified for suggesting we spend the holidays together.

A few weeks after my initial 23andMe report, some auxiliary results trickled in, at least one of which was cause for alarm. It was a closed report—meaning I had the option not to unlock it if I chose—on Alzheimer’s. My paternal grandfather had this disease, and watching “Boompah” deteriorate mentally in a the span of a few years had been wrenching. I remember a period not long into his illness when he firmly believed that my father, his only child, was an agent of evil, out to destroy him. Boompah would become hostile and combative every time he saw my dad, who was responsible for ushering his only remaining parent through this baffling and devastating disease. I remember thinking, I never want to be that way.

So discovering that I’m at nearly twice the average risk for Alzheimer’s compared to other women of my race and ethnicity was not surprising, but upsetting nonetheless. I never want to put my kids through what my father went through. I want them to remember me as mentally capable, quick-witted and above all loving—even if this disease will render me the exact opposite.

Still, I was glad to be equipped with the knowledge that I’m at a higher risk for Alzheimer’s. Advances in medical technology occur every day, and so I’m optimistic about developments in treatment for this disease. At the very least, I feel it will be easier for all of us—most of all my kids—if they know what might be happening to me, when and if it does. And having witnessed the kinds of delusions and altered reality of those afflicted with Alzheimer’s, I figure at that point I might truly achieve my birthright as a Russian Tsarina, even if only in my mind.

Watch "TechKnow," Sunday 7:30ET/4:30PT, to learn more about 23andme and other genetic testing.