Oh my God, now you are telling me my hair products are carcinogenic? You can have my Rene Furturer when you pry it from cold, tumor-addled hand. ;-)
I worked at a breast cancer center, and women -- smart, well-meaning women with the zeal of missionaries -- would come in on a regular basis with research and proof that milk/chicken/beef/hair dye/deodorant/antibacterial soap/vaccines/pesticides/copier toner/Judaism/alcohol/sushi/aluminum/soy definitively caused breast cancer and urge me to quit any and all of these things because my life depended on it.
One lady told me breast cancer was God's judgment upon those of us who did have children for selfish reasons. Well, there is good research, peer-reviewed, that shows women who never have children have higher rates of ductal carcinoma in situ, and women who have children and go on to breast feed them have even lower rates. Of course, fertility drugs also effect estrogen receptors, so sometimes you can't win for losing.
Judaism also has a strong correlation with breast cancer rates, but that is because Jewish women of eastern European descent are more likely to be carriers of a BRCA gene mutation that causes breast cancer whether no matter how organic your food or frizzy and unattractive your hair.
Other than those two 'causes' there were no peer reviewed scientific studies to prove any of these things cause cancer. If I believed all the anecdotal evidence, I'd be afraid to do anything but live wild in a cave or have prophylactic mastectomies.
With that said, working in that clinic did raise my awareness of food and agribusiness. I worry about pesticides, but not nearly as much as I worry about food. The hormones that go into animal and dairy products scare me, as does genetically modified food.
Being in New Orleans this week, I have remembered how wonderful it is to have access to a farmers market. It is so nice to be able to get rgh free milk, butter, fresh and hormone free eggs, fresh organic produce, free range chickens, and local honey.
I guess we all have to choose our battles, or be driven crazy worrying about all the possible dangers.
I worked at a breast cancer center, and women -- smart, well-meaning women with the zeal of missionaries -- would come in on a regular basis with research and proof that milk/chicken/beef/hair dye/deodorant/antibacterial soap/vaccines/pesticides/copier toner/Judaism/alcohol/sushi/aluminum/soy definitively caused breast cancer and urge me to quit any and all of these things because my life depended on it.
One lady told me breast cancer was God's judgment upon those of us who did have children for selfish reasons. Well, there is good research, peer-reviewed, that shows women who never have children have higher rates of ductal carcinoma in situ, and women who have children and go on to breast feed them have even lower rates. Of course, fertility drugs also effect estrogen receptors, so sometimes you can't win for losing.
Judaism also has a strong correlation with breast cancer rates, but that is because Jewish women of eastern European descent are more likely to be carriers of a BRCA gene mutation that causes breast cancer whether no matter how organic your food or frizzy and unattractive your hair.
Other than those two 'causes' there were no peer reviewed scientific studies to prove any of these things cause cancer. If I believed all the anecdotal evidence, I'd be afraid to do anything but live wild in a cave or have prophylactic mastectomies.
With that said, working in that clinic did raise my awareness of food and agribusiness. I worry about pesticides, but not nearly as much as I worry about food. The hormones that go into animal and dairy products scare me, as does genetically modified food.
Being in New Orleans this week, I have remembered how wonderful it is to have access to a farmers market. It is so nice to be able to get rgh free milk, butter, fresh and hormone free eggs, fresh organic produce, free range chickens, and local honey.
I guess we all have to choose our battles, or be driven crazy worrying about all the possible dangers.
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