Tag Archives: skeptic

Weekend sendoff: But phytoplankton are awesome!

Yesterday, while I was in the middle of calling various doctors and juggling appointments around, I got cold-called by a medical scam telemarketer. The timing was pretty great, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to take as much advantage of the opportunity as I wanted.

The caller was advocating marine phytoplankton as, first and foremost, a cure for cancer, followed by a list including, and I quote, “high cholesterol, blood pressure problems, thyroid problems, arthritis, migraines, allergies…the list goes on and on.”

Yes, I’m sure it does. I would love to have had a nice conversation with the lady on the phone, but she clearly had zero idea what she was talking about. She kept to a script, and when I asked questions to clarify — even “what did you just say?” — she appeared incapable of deviating even to repeat herself. The spiel included an offer for a free sample, which I was very tempted to accept, but there was no way I was giving those people my address. So, on the off-chance the calls are monitored in some way, I just calmly explained that the product she was selling is a scam, that there is no such panacea, please remove me from your call list, and so forth. I’m sure it didn’t slow her or any of the other telemarketers down for a moment.

Then I Googled “marine phytoplankton” and wow, what a depressing result. Phytoplankton are actually quite neato and important little plants, which are at the bottom of the marine food chain, but you wouldn’t know it from my search, which as you can see is a cavalcade of quackery. (If you remove the word “marine,” you get a slightly better list; apparently the snake oil is best identified by that modifier but it still turns up on the front page.) I had no idea.

Look! Diatoms!

I don’t really have a point to all this, other than in addition to being skeezed out as usual by snake-oil salespeople, it makes me sad to see something of such genuine scientific coolness co-opted into just another quack remedy.

TAM was so incredible that the skeptic part of my brain overloaded and burnt out. Until it’s recovered I’ll be posting thoughts on the other areas of the blog, like videogames. (I warned you!) I send you off with a little lecture about phytoplankton.

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The problem with causation

Chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) patients are making a name for themselves these days, and not in a good way. The current brouhaha over new studies that have been submitted, then held, then whatever else is going on is bringing out the worst in the XMRV cheerleaders. I recently wrote about compassion for patients who are not in a good place to think critically, but even my own compassion is stretched to the limit, and frequently breaks, when it comes to the screaming impatience and conspiracy theorizing that can be seen on sites like Phoenix Rising.

Some CFS patients, let’s say the extremists, expect XMRV to be a combined Messiah/Holy Grail/panacea for all their ills. As I’ve mentioned before, some are even taking antiretroviral medication already, something that is highly dangerous and is not currently recommended by any reputable physician. The problem stems from an overall difficulty I see in chronic illness communities: the correlation fallacy. Which is to say, “correlation does not imply causation.” This simply means that just because two things appear to be connected does not necessarily mean that they are.

CFS, like many chronic illnesses, is a concatenation of unpredictable symptoms. While it’s common for exertion to push patients into a crash, we might also stay in bed all day, and the next day be crashed for no apparent reason. (In this context I use “crash” like many patients, to mean an especially disabling flare-up of symptoms.) This is one of the most annoying aspects of the illness. Quite a while ago I described exactly that situation to my doctor, and asked why it happened, and his answer was this: “You have CFS.” Right. That’s the way it goes.

In addition, like myself, many people with CFS have other conditions that either exacerbate our symptoms or result in fun new ones. So, although I must reiterate that there are specific criteria (well, half a dozen sets of criteria, but that’s another story) for diagnosing CFS from symptoms, most if not all of us experience symptom weirdness and ups and downs without rhyme or reason.

And yet, patients happily share stories of great success with dubious or even flat-out quack treatments. “I started using this herb, and the next day I started feeling better!” someone will chirp. Despite the fact that the selfsame person may recently have been bemoaning the capricious nature of our illness and how it’s so hard to make plans when you never know how you’re going to feel (true), now it’s become perfectly clear that taking this herb caused an upswing.

“Correlation does not imply causation” is one of the clarion calls of the critical thinker and the evidence-based physician. And yet these false correlations happen all the time. As you know, I try to come from a place of understanding, but the cognitive dissonance displayed in the above example really blows right past me. Whether it’s low-dose naltrexone (LDN), CoQ10, or even conventional pharmaceuticals, it’s usually pretty difficult to determine (and especially not in the space of a couple of days) whether any one treatment caused a major improvement. And that’s not even taking into account the placebo effect.

I don’t begrudge people feeling better. Nor do I discount the placebo effect for people who cannot get relief any other way. But what sometimes happens next is that other people who have had similar experiences will post about it as well. And then the other major fallacy found in chronic illness communities arises, where patient anecdotes are mistaken for hard data. Mostly, this isn’t too big of a deal. After all, science has so far failed us, so we do turn to others to find out what has helped them, and possibly try it ourselves. As I’ve said many times, I’m not entirely against this. The problem happens when people come to consider this information to be as valid as evidence-based medicine. Communities are wonderful for commiserating and sharing stories, but relying on these stories as a source of scientific data is dangerous.

Especially when it comes to XMRV. I’ve seen people deciding that everyone on a FB page or a forum should get tested for XMRV “and then we’ll have more results.” No. Those are still anecdotes, and given that the evidence-based studies can barely get it together on how to select a patient cohort and all the other complicated issues with testing CFS patients (such as severity of disease, which isn’t always taken into account), it’s ridiculous to imagine that half a dozen tests on people from all over the country or the world will contribute to a scientific body of evidence.

Finally, something I see missing from an enormous amount of XMRV discussion is the fact that even if it is shown to have a strong correlation with CFS, that does not imply causation. There isn’t even solid evidence of a correlation yet and people are jumping all over causation, with the antiretrovirals, rushing out to get expensive and useless tests, worrying themselves to death over whether they’ve spread the illness to others, and so forth. It’s perfectly likely that even if a correlation is found, the retrovirus may simply be a dormant infection to which people with CFS are especially susceptible. Or any number of other possibilities besides XMRV being a causative agent. I wish I were seeing less anxiety and more patience.

I get that some of the hoopla doesn’t even really have to do with medicine. It has to do with perception. The notion that a virus causes CFS is enormously attractive to patients who have been dismissed, invalidated, and marginalized for years. Proof of a somatic cause would mean even more than a cure — it would mean no more people trying to, say, cure CFS with neurolinguistic programming (NLP), as a fellow patient related to me the other day. The hope for that may be even stronger than the hope for a cure.

But again, hope, belief, fear…these do not aid in the calm assessment of the scientific process or of the data it (eventually) provides. Patients are falling back on emotion when they should be hanging on to rationality. No, it’s not fun. It’s easier and more comfortable to get together with other patients and howl instead of making the effort to think things through with a clear head. But that effort is absolutely crucial, especially considering the very negative views on our community that are starting to develop due to a visible and vocal segment of it. We’ve spent all this time trying to get attention, and now that we have it, we’re being seen by outsiders as a bunch of hysterical loonies. This is why I continue to plead for rationality and critical thinking in the CFS community.

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Oy vey, this is a long post

Becoming disabled by chronic illness turned me into an atheist.

Maybe not in the way you might expect. There was no epiphany of God having forsaken me, as I was never close enough with a formal version of God to feel forsaken by him. And I haven’t even read anything by Dawkins yet. I was raised by two Brooklynites whose Judaism was found in their heritage, not in their religious practice, and only my mother was active in my religious education, because her father wanted it. This consisted of Sunday school where I learned a smattering of Hebrew and a lot about the many—many—Jewish holidays, and the observation of a few of those holidays at home. The focus was either on food, presents, or loved ones who had died, not Yahweh. I worshiped at my grandmother’s table groaning with blintzes and matzoh ball soup, not at shul.

In college I spent more time with Grandma, listening more closely to her oft-repeated stories of our family. I also developed a broader historical and literary interest in Judaism after taking a course in Holocaust literature from writer and survivor Aharon Appelfeld. Nothing I learned, however, brought me closer to God or clarified my personal belief system.

The architect of Congregation Beth Shalom replaced traditional Magen David images with a big bowl of chicken soup.

Congregation Beth Shalom replaces traditional Star of David imagery with a nice bowl of Jewish penicillin.

When I lived in San Francisco, a dozen years ago, I made a weak stab at trying to find a synagogue to attend. It had to do with loneliness more than anything else, feeling isolated from my East Coast family and seeking a connection with other Jews. When I moved to Los Angeles, I found an unconventionally interesting temple, and began telling myself that I should chat with the (female) rabbi concerning how to become a member of a Jewish congregation, or even just check out services some Friday. The place was even within walking distance, which for an East Coast girl in L.A. should have been the shofar call that drew me to temple. And yet I never went.

A few years later, around the same time I was reading a lot of books by Stephen Jay Gould and other science writing, I read Why People Believe Weird Things by Michael Shermer and there I found my epiphany: when it came to belief systems, “skeptic” fit me just as well as “Jewish.” I joined the Skeptic Society and began reading and learning more about the subject. What finally tipped the scales for me was the increasing severity of my CFS and the likelihood that I would have to stop working. While struggling with secondary depression and casting about for something to hang onto as pieces of my life were slowly chipping away, I started thinking again about going to talk to the rabbi of that temple. And, again, I never did. But this time, I began considering why I believed I was interested in doing this, but never took action. When I decided I wanted to talk to a disability therapist, a few months later I was in therapy. Why hadn’t I gotten around to this yet?

That’s how I finally understood one day that I had been atheist for longer than I even remember. I didn’t choose atheism nor did anyone persuade me into it; I just realized that I did not believe in God. And then I found I was no longer struggling to reconcile my beliefs, my vague spirituality with my firm views on skepticism and science. Many people who “find God” say that when it happened, the world suddenly made sense to them. I had the same experience when I finally let go of my last vestiges of faith.

Atheist but still a Jew. Feel free to pray for me. (Part 2)

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