Tag Archives: skepticism

Newly Nerfed has a birthday

One year ago today, I launched this blog. I’d just been through six months of wondering “What the hell do I do now?” I was paralyzed, demoralized, and utterly frustrated by having had to give in to my disability and quit working. It didn’t help that the job I quit was the best I ever had, but it also didn’t matter. A really big, heavy door had just slammed shut on a really big part of my life, and I was forced to examine my new situation and my new identity.

While beginning to work this out, I dove headlong into the waters I’d only been treading up till then for lack of time and energy. Skeptical blogs and podcasts began to fill my day, and my Twitter stream became more and more populated by other skeptics. I revamped my Facebook page so that I could keep up with the discussions happening there. At first, my appetite was modest, but the more I consumed, the more ravenous I became. (Skepticism as subtraction soup.) I put myself through a serious skeptical bootcamp that was nothing but fascinating, educational, and exciting.

I love to learn, and although I couldn’t work, I could still do that. The skeptical community offered a place for me to do grad-school amounts of reading and synthesizing information, not to mention daily interacting with intimidatingly smart people who wanted to use critical thinking to make the world a better place. It was inspirational, revelatory, and ultimately showed me an alternative to my feelings of helplessness and, worse, uselessness.

I didn’t intend Newly Nerfed to be a skeptical blog. I thought it would focus more on the things I do still write about a lot, disability and chronic illness and nerdy stuff like games and movies. But it proved to be impossible to leave the powerful new focus in my life out of this blog. I connected so strongly to skepticism that I wanted to write about it, even as a neophyte. And the rest can be read in my posts.

When I started this blog, people were talking about TAM 7. Fascinating, I thought, but I couldn’t see myself at that kind of conference. Surely it was for the professors and physicians and scientists I’d been reading, and not for someone like me. And then a year later I was discussing the effects of James Randi’s public and vehement support of science-based medicine during his cancer treatments…with James Randi.

I can’t even begin to express how much TAM 8 meant to me. I had every kind of experience you hear about: meeting “old” friends for the first time, meeting new friends for the first time, having practical discussions, having meta discussions, learning things that are directly applicable to my interests, having my mind blown open by new ideas, meeting heroes and having actual discourse with them, and laying the groundwork for future projects. I came away from TAM wonderfully energized with plans and schemes for the coming year (and with gratitude for the luminaries who kindly allowed me to ambush them with an idea, and for their support of that idea).

A year ago I didn’t know what to do. I held on to my passion for learning, for making a difference, and for writing, none of which got hit by the nerf bat. And then I found myself in a community of people who shared those passions, and I’ve started to find my way. I am so grateful for this year and the incredible people I’ve met and worked with (and will work with in the future). I thank all of you so much, skeptics and believers, friends and strangers, for helping, teaching, and of course entertaining me so damn much this year. I especially want to thank “Surly” Amy Davis Roth and Desiree Schell for their early encouragement of an avid but nervous noob, and Daniel Loxton for being a role model of skeptical communication to which I continue to aspire.

Most importantly, I thank my husband Paul. Not a single step on this wonderful journey would have been possible without his love, care, and support. Throughout everything from health woes to skeptical successes, he has been unswervingly by my side, which I assure you is not always an easy place to be. None of what I’ve experienced, learned, or accomplished this year means anything without the joy I take in having my best friend and twu wuv to share it with. He challenges me to be better, and accepts me when I fail. And I mean, he’s a skeptical atheist gamer geek who can kick serious ass in meatspace — did I win the lottery or what?

Here’s to sticking around for year two. I appreciate it.

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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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