Our final blogger for Autism Week certainly needs no introduction — the indomitable Shaunta of Live Once, Juicy.

When I was 22 years old, I went into the hospital one December day and was sent home the next with a gorgeous bundle of never-quiet, never-sleeping baby boy I called Nicholas. Now, I’m 40 and that boy is 18. Still Nicholas. Still never quiet. Still rarely sleeps. Still gorgeous.

It took a lot of years to figure out the never-quiet, never-sleeping part. Also, the won’t-let-me-put-him-down-but-freaks-out-if-anyone-touches-him-uninvited part. And the socially awkward part. And the random, but frequent, five-alarm, code-red meltdown part.

The process of getting to an autism diagnosis involved two misdiagnoses, each of which came with bucket-loads of unnecessary psychotropic medications. There was also the school counselor who told me my six-year-old probably wouldn’t graduate from high school; the strangers who insisted that all he really needed was a good beating; the marathon individualized education program (IEP) meetings.

Now Nicholas is 18. He’s a senior in high school, but because he generally lasts half a year in regular school before we home school for a while, he still needs some credits. He’s fully integrated, although it’s a giant struggle (mostly because no one has figured out yet how to integrate autistic kids). He’s a bright kid with the highest self-esteem I’ve ever seen, who takes everyone at face value, and who has a personal code of conduct that is amusingly chivalric.

But guess what? Just like EVERY OTHER KID, mine has grown up. And just like every other 18-year-old, he’s not done yet. He doesn’t melt down in the way he did when he was nine. Or ten. Or thirteen. Or even sixteen. He’s been able to go to school for this whole school year. That has happened since fourth grade. Maturity happens between nine and eighteen, for autistic kids, too.

Nick’s big sister heard someone speaking a few weeks ago about Job Corps. Run by the Department of Labor, Job Corps offers vocational training to people ages 16 to 24. Although there’s training in many areas, what caught Nick’s attention was the culinary program. Nick loves to cook, so he called. He set up an orientation date for himself, and me. Then he set up a tour. Then an interview. He organized a time to get a state ID card, a copy of his social security card, ordered his high school transcripts, and filled out his application. He went to the interview alone. Finally, he was accepted into the program.

Maybe that doesn’t seem like such a big deal. But to a mom who, since she was 22, has never been entirely sure her son would be able to have any real independence, his initiative was almost heart-breaking in its beauty.

I have no idea if he’ll be successful. I also had no idea that his neruo-typical sister would spend half of a day at her dream college, realize she hated it, and then jump through insane hoops to get accepted into the state university. At least three of my daughter’s friends went home after failing their first semester at that university and losing their financial aide.

Here’s what I have to keep reminding myself, which is exactly what I have always had to keep reminding myself, since the day I realized that my child would probably never need half as much sleep as I do (three-year-old who sleeps three hours a night, anyone? Anyone? No?): Nicholas is more similar to other kids than he is different. It’s so easy to impose not only normal kid expectations on him — but to compare him to the most perfect possible child of his age. I’ve worked in high schools and I know that if Nick didn’t take the initiative to get himself enrolled in Job Corps, he wouldn’t be very different from at least half of the kids his age who I know. And I know that if Job Corps isn’t a great fit for him, it doesn’t mean that he’ll never be successful at anything. Or that he’s any different from lots of other kids his age, including those who don’t have autism.

This is getting long, so I’ll just end with a little advice for anyone else out there with a kid who has autism, or really just about any difference:

Your kid is different, but not alien. Even the most different of different kids out there has more similarities than differences with his or her peers. Think about a green and red apple. You can easily tell them apart, but in reality, they’re both round, crunchy, sweet-tart fruits with seeds inside that grow into beautiful, big trees in places with cold winters.

Read a book by Temple Grandin. All of them, if you can. See her speak if she comes anywhere near you.* You can thank me later.

Even when it feels like you would sell your soul if it meant your child could just blend — just a little bit — find a way to celebrate the difference. I tell Nick, and myself, as often as necessary that different is world-changing. Every kid deserves to shine. Mine (and maybe yours) shines in flashing neon, whether I like it or not. Life is so much easier and more enjoyable when I embrace the difference.

Be flexible. Be patient. You might be the only person in your kid’s day who is, unconditionally, these things.

*Template Grandin gave an amazing TED talk you can see here.

Today’s post is from regular reader and commenter Karen, whose comments on the media’s coverage of the obesity/autism research inspired this week.

I am known by many labels: daughter, sister (both biological and adopted), wife, mother, lover, friend, blog wife, singer, musician, geek, and, yes, FAT.  I may hold some labels closer to my heart than others, but they are all me.  The most important ones for this exercise are mother and fat.

Perhaps a bit of explanation is needed.  My beautiful, funny, looks-exactly-like-his-father-so-I-question-if-I-even-donated-any-DNA, incredibly sweet, amazingly smart, and (for the sake of this post) autistic son was diagnosed as such when he was 4 years old.

That was 5 years ago.

Unlike many parents, upon hearing this diagnosis, I didn’t burst into tears.

I didn’t shake.

I didn’t panic.

I didn’t even scream to the heavens, “WHY US?!?”

I quietly nodded and started working on the next step: getting him the best education we could afford, given our incredibly limited resources.

I was damned lucky. At the time, my mother was a special needs elementary school teacher and my mother-in-law taught regular elementary education. So I had some pretty freaking awesome backup for this new journey. My unexpected trip to Holland wasn’t going to turn me into a contestant on my own personal episode of Fear Factor because I had (and have) awesomeness on my side. Sure, there were questions of what the hell we do from our position, but that’s what research is for.  That’s what experts are for.  I was on a roll!

Ok, so I don’t always roll with the punches as well as I think I should.  As I posted on Facebook recently, “Most days, autism and I walk hand in hand with an understanding that while things are difficult, they could be far worse.  However, today autism decided to hit me over the head with a 2×4 repeatedly.”

Yeah, there are days when I bemoan the life my little family knows. Sure, I’ve wished my awesome little gibbon was neuro-typical, but then I’ve stopped myself and realized that if he was neuro-typical, then he wouldn’t be MY little gibbon any more.  And, boy howdy, do I L-O-V-E LOVE that child.  He is by far the absolute BEST thing I have ever done with my life.

But this post isn’t really about him.

This is about me.

Because Monday, April 9th, 2012 brought news that made me sob.

What the hell happened on that day, you ask? Simple. As I sat in my recliner, listening to my son repeat the same phrase for what felt like the 100th time in 10 minutes, a story came on the Today show. They had linked the prevalence of autism to obesity in mothers.

The first time I heard the story, I set down my cross-stitch and just stared at the TV in befuddlement. Wait… I was “obese” when I was pregnant. Sure, I had a crap-ton of other medical issues unrelated to obesity going on at the same time, which caused a great deal of complications, but I WAS OBESE AND PREGNANT!

After the story passed, I looked over at that precious child, smiled that “if I hear the same thing again I’m going to want to scream, but I won’t” smile, and tried to put it out of my mind. I mean, I’m a pretty smart woman and I know that correlation NEVER equals causation. I also know that science has yet to find a way to permanently lower a person’s BMI into a “healthy” range.  I also know that BMI is a total crock of… well, you know.

The second time I heard the same report, I think I made sure that my son wasn’t looking in my direction, and then did my “bird dance.”  This dance is easy to do and dancers of all skill levels can master it.  You stick both of your middle fingers up in the air and you wiggle your butt back and forth, alternating which hand you’re thrusting toward the offending news report.

Personally, I’ve found that I almost exclusively reserve my bird dance for offending news reports.  I suppose it could be used in other circumstances, but if you do so, please do not blame me for the consequences. 

By the third time I heard the report, I couldn’t take it anymore (I guess the third time really was the charm for me).  That’s when the “blame game” played out in my head.

Now I need you to realize that I do not think that autism is the end of the world. My son is AWESOME and he finds new and creative ways to crack me up, leaving me in tears laughing. He can also be one of the sweetest little boys I know (although I don’t know if it’s the autistic child, or the 9-year-old boy, who no longer wants me to kiss him on top of his head when I walk by).

I do, however, realize that he has a difficult road ahead of him to navigate and that I am trying my best to help give him the skills to navigate that road without hitting too many potholes along the way.  Life isn’t easy for him, and I really wish it were easier, but hell, I wish life were easier for me!

As a parent of an autism spectrum disorder (ASD) person, there are times when I play the “blame game” and become a willing participant because I want to know what caused this difference and find better ways to help my child navigate this world that so often seems hellbent on throwing up as many roadblocks for him as possible. It’s not about a “cure” or a “fix” for my husband and I, it’s about helping our son have the best life he can possibly have.

I admit that I was thoughtless because I made the choice to play the blame game and begged to be tagged “it.”  I let these reports point a finger at me and scream, “You screwed up as a parent!  You are such a horrible person!  How dare you get pregnant while you were fat?!” I bought into the stupidity of the media and didn’t do my research.

And the saddest thing is that nobody ever wins the blame game. Everyone is a loser as soon as they start playing: those who place blame are losers because it’s easier to blame someone else than to try and figure out the actual reasons for why things happen, and those of us who accept blame are losers because we should know better. And for those who don’t know any better right now, the responsibility lies with those of us who do know better to lovingly guide them back into the land of understanding and support.

Media reports on research, such the one I watched on April 9th, are dangerous for many reasons. Not only do these reports trick us into playing the blame game, but the language is so muddled that it can confuse even the most critical of thinkers. Unless you can separate yourself and your emotions from the data set before you, then you run the risk of driving yourself insane. I wasn’t able to do that at first, and I am sure that others experienced the same problem.

If any group understands the dangers of media reports on research, it’s Fat Acceptance.  We get dumped on and blamed for so many (if not all) of the world’s problems.  The fact that obesity hitched a ride onto this study, bringing it to national prominence, is a prime example of how the media and society tries to blame the obese for every little thing they view as wrong with the world.

The study sucked, and the media’s muddled description of that study, which caused too much confusion and anger, sucked even more. Basically it all reeks of a game that I, and I hope you all, don’t want any part of.

We never lose if we never deign to play.

The following post is by CC, a regular reader and commenter who also has Asperger’s syndrome.

Imagine, if you will, that there’s a group called, say, Fatties Speak. On the surface, they seem to support Health at Every Size (HAES), and the idea that fat people aren’t freaks of nature, but rather people born into a different phenotype. Imagine, though, that its actual aim was not to reach out to fat people, but to their family members, to say that they understood their “grief” and that they knew what was best for these poor, sad fat people. Imagine that members of this group’s leadership gave TV and radio interviews, produced web videos, and, as a result, raised millions of dollars (in corporate sponsorships alone, including $12 million in donations through Toys R Us) to speak out against the epidemic of fatness and how it needs to be completely eradicated (not really a huge stretch).

That is exactly what Autism Speaks does to us. And by us, I mean the living, breathing human beings who happen to have some variety of autism spectrum disorder (ASD).

If you visit Autism Speaks’ website (autismspeaks dot org — I’m not giving them free trackbacks), you see some fairly innocuous stuff at the top, such as links or pictures of recent events. But in the sidebar you’ll see the following:

Um, okay.

According to the most recent figures available, the 1 in 88 number is true. In fact, diagnosis rates have jumped 23% in two years. But, as the NPR health blog rightly states, much of the increase is due to the fact that people are getting better at diagnosing ASDs. The diagnosis may be new, but behaviors are the same as always.

Thanks to the significant increase in diagnoses for autism and disorders under that umbrella (i.e., Asperger’s syndrome (AS), pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (PDDNOS)), Autism Speaks has triggered a lucrative panic:

The rapid rise prompted calls to declare the developmental disorder an epidemic. “This is a national emergency in need of a national plan,” Mark Roithmayr, president of the advocacy group Autism Speaks, said at a CDC media briefing Thursday.

Epidemic.

Sound familiar?

It’s become a buzzword designed specifically to sow fear.

But at the same press conference, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention explained the increase as a result of “better recognition of the disorder by parents, doctors and teachers.”

For better or worse, ASDs are now in the public eye more than ever, and it’s helping laymen learn to see the signs. But, of course, the more people know, the less they need professionals, in theory, which doesn’t sit very well with organizations like Autism Speaks, which depend on donations for most of their budget.

I was diagnosed with AS comparatively late in life (not until I was about 27, when most ASDs are diagnosed during childhood). AS didn’t appear in the DSM-IV as a separate diagnosis until 1994, when I was 12, so nobody thought I might have AS until I met very good and smart psychiatrist a few years ago. I was verbal and had no language delays, so I couldn’t possibly have “classic” autism — the nonverbal, locked-in-one’s-own-world kind — and since AS wasn’t around when I saw my first shrink, I was diagnosed depressive instead.

AS was a phantom, a sort of bizarre anomaly found rarely in nature, a diagnosis of something just for weird kids. I could speak and sort of manage to do normal things, so I couldn’t be autistic, and for a long time that was that. Even now, doctors and family members tend to doubt me because there are a lot of things I can do.

It certainly won’t help matters, either, that the American Psychiatric Association, which publishes the DSM, has proposed folding AS back into “autism” and eliminating the AS diagnosis altogether. In other words, the DSM-V (the next installment of the reference book used by most psychiatrists and psychologists in this country) would not have a separate entry for AS. People being evaluated would either be “autistic” and therefore eligible for special services and assistance, or they would be “normal” and get nothing. I look and act normal enough where you would think that wouldn’t be a big deal for me, but it’s a very big deal. I can hold a job, I can hold a conversation and I can live on my own, so for many people, I’m “normal.”

I assure you, I am not.

And the reason I bring this up is because organizations like Autism Speaks are molding the narrative of what autism is. It’s like Jenny Craig telling us what a healthy weight is. Think about it: when most of you hear “autism,” you don’t think of people like me, do you? People who can hold a coherent conversation and a job; who are very bright if socially awkward?

No, most people imagine children, or at the very least damaged adults, locked in their own world, rocking back and forth, flapping their hands, maybe throwing poop around or banging their heads on something. You, or someone you know, probably hold a finite view of autistic people.

Some of you have met an Aspie or otherwise autistic person; some of you are Aspies or otherwise autistic; and some of you are Aspies or autistic, but don’t know it yet. And yet, I’d be willing to bet that most people, if they know anything about autism, know that it affects children. Autistic children become autistic adults, and that inconvenient fact isn’t mentioned very often. I know that in trying to find a psychiatrist who specializes in adult autism, I’ve come across a grand total of three in the Houston area. I see one of them on a regular basis, and the other two weren’t accepting new patients. I’ve been lucky.

Go back to the Autism Speaks website, if you would. Do you notice anything? Or, rather, the lack of something?

I do.

I notice two things. Firstly, a much larger proportion of the site’s photos are of families and autistic children. Seriously, comb the site. There are some photographs of adults by themselves, but compare that number to the number of pictures of winsome, tragic-looking children. It’s about three to one.

Secondly, there is absolutely nothing which details any kind of help for autistic adults or even very much discussion of autistic adults. It’s all about children and parents. There is a section on self-advocacy under the What is Autism page, but it is 1. short and 2. demeaning. John Elder Robison, the single autistic member of Autism Speaks’ board of directors, is labelled as a “self-described Aspergian.” Aspergian is another label, similar to Aspie, that is preferred by some people in the autistic community. If any of you can come up with a more dismissive way to describe a prolific author and intelligent scholar, let me know, ‘cause I can’t think of one. This wording sure seems to say that “oh, he describes himself this way, but we don’t! Isn’t it cute and quaint?”

It also describes the autistic community as fragmented and disjointed. Let me ask you this: if you’re fat, deathfatz, in-betweenie, or any other label we throw around, would you want a skinny person to tell you how to conduct yourself, or would you prefer to determine your own path, with your own voice?

This holds true for most adults, but not necessarily for kids. Children aren’t usually old enough or interested enough to read about their diagnosis and, as such, it’s left to the parent to read up and make decisions for their child.

And, oh, what decisions they’re faced with.

I’ll link to their site just once, for the sake of convenience. Right off, there’s a section called “Autism and Your Family.” Okay. Might be helpful; it’s obviously going to be a bit more difficult to deal with an autistic child. When you click on it, a big, ugly word is right there, front and center: grieving. When there’s a section called “Stages Associated With Grieving,” you have a pretty good idea what tack the page is going to take (Hint: An amazingly offensive one.)

“How will I deal with this diagnosis?” it asks, following by the stages of grieving. It talks about the diagnosis as a “shock.” It speaks directly to parents, who are surprised and scared about the future. Right away, Autism Speaks hits parents where it hurts — right in the victim mentality. It becomes about them. It becomes about their struggle. It becomes about their patience and saintliness, about their magnificently sacrificial nature, to devote their life to caring for such a difficult being.

As someone with Asperger’s, I can’t articulate just how offensive this is. Having an autistic child is not easy, and I won’t pretend it is, but for every set of good, kind, patient parents who see their child as a blessing regardless of their neurology, you get the parents who spend a lifetime mourning the Normal Child they never had.

Trust me: we feel it.

I didn’t want to mangle Shakespeare, but I will: if you prick us, we bleed. If you poison us, we die.

But yes, right. Parental sacrifice. The good ones make the sacrifice and have good and bad days. The bad ones dwell indefinitely on how they’ve sacrificed so much to take care of us.

Apparently, parental sacrifice is so central to having an autistic child that it’s okay to talk about driving your autistic daughter off a bridge because you can’t handle the strain.

Apparently it’s okay for Autism Speaks to present autistic people as kidnap victims and suggest they are the cause of everything bad in their parents’ lives.

Not every autistic person is able to speak in recognizable language, but they can still communicate. None of us needs Autism Speaks to tell the world what we are or how they should treat us. None of us needs Autism Speaks to treat us like we are burdens, freaks, or causes for momentous grief.

Autism Network International puts out a newsletter which has some of the most insightful writing I’ve ever seen on this issue. Jim Sinclair wrote a piece I always loved, called “Don’t Mourn For Us,” and I’ll let him have the penultimate word:

This is what I think autism societies should be about: not mourning for what never was, but exploration of what is. We need you. We need your help and your understanding. Your world is not very open to us, and we won’t make it without your strong support. Yes, there is tragedy that comes with autism: not because of what we are, but because of the things that happen to us. Be sad about that, if you want to be sad about something. Better than being sad about it, though, get mad about it — and then do something about it. The tragedy is not that we’re here, but that your world has no place for us to be. How can it be otherwise, as long as our own parents are still grieving over having brought us into the world?

But don’t mourn for us. We are alive. We are real. And we’re here waiting for you.

Today’s Autism Week post comes from Kala, a friend and regular reader and commenter on Fierce Fatties, who’s grasp on statistical analysis I frequently rely on to ensure that I’m accurately describing the research I’ve analyzed. I’ve asked Kala to read this study and comment on it because this issue is too important for amateurs to handle. 

Disclosure: It is not my purpose today to debunk this study, or to nitpick the methods used, because I personally believe it to be a good study, written by responsible scientists. I feel that the bulk of the problem surrounding the title issue is the attention it caught from the media, and the misinterpretations that reverberated through many circles because of that attention.

What I hope to accomplish with this article is to inform readers on the study that was released in early April in the journal of Pediatrics, which examined maternal obesity, among other variables, during pregnancy as a risk factor for autism and developmental delays. This paper spurred a sudden outbreak of media attention on the connection between obesity and autism. You may remember such pithy headlines as:

• “Mom’s obesity tied to child’s autism, development: study” (Reuters)
• “Autism may be linked to obesity during pregnancy” (USA Today)
• “Study finds link between autism and obesity during pregnancy” (Los Angeles Times)

Such headlines might seem at first glance to indicate that maternal obesity and autism are inextricably linked, but further reading of the actual articles showed a more nuanced, if not complete, understanding. (Warning: The vast bulk of the comments on any of these articles were unenlightened, and I don’t recommend reading them for those who are triggered by insulting language and general negativity).

The big question that motivated this study is whether the inflammatory response in a mother’s body, spurred by metabolic disorders, can affect the neurological development of children in utero. The question that follows is whether the increasing incidence of metabolic disorders in Americans is partly responsible for the rising rates of diagnoses for autism spectrum disorders (ASDs) and developmental delays (DDs). It’s common knowledge that the health of a mother at the time of pregnancy is a factor regarding the health and subsequent development of her child, but we are far from understanding everything is on this topic.

This particular study was a statistical analysis on the correlation between ASDs and DDs and three metabolic disorders: type 2 and gestational diabetes, hypertension, and obesity (defined as a BMI over 30 prior to the pregnancy). The study looked at the prevalence of these developmental disorders (the focus of my article) and also specific scores for development within groups of children with and without these disorders (not our focus today).

It’s worth noting the debate as to whether or not obesity can be considered a metabolic disorder or whether the BMI category of obesity itself is significant, but that debate is not the topic of my article. However, it does lead us toward two major points which indicate that this article is a very preliminary study only. The most important point, and one that isn’t clear until the end of the paper, is that obesity was chosen because of its high correlation with insulin resistance. Thus, obesity is used as a stand-in for insulin resistance. Of course, we already know that there’s currently a chicken and egg argument surrounding the relationship between insulin resistance and obesity, making this proxy association a bit misleading to those who aren’t well-versed in this area.

However, the reason proxies were chosen was because the biological measurements that would indicate insulin resistance were not available for the mothers who participated in this study. The lack of biological measurements leads us to the second important point: there are no distinctions made between mothers with well-managed diabetes or insulin-resistance, and those whose metabolic disorders were poorly managed. Along with these two major limitations, there are a few other author-acknowledged weaknesses to the study, but the two I’ve outlined above are the most important points that weaken much of the media hype.

Setting aside the major weaknesses, what were the actual conclusions from the study? The association between diabetes and ASDs did not reach statistical significance, which means that this study did not find a correlation between the two. Statistical significance is a metric that indicates whether a given result occurred from random chance. For DDs, those with diabetes were 2.3 times more likely to have children with developmental disorders. With respect to hypertension, no significant correlation was seen between either ASDs or DDs. Finally, a correlation was found between obesity and both ASDs and DDs. Obese mothers were 1.67 times more likely to have children with ASDs and 2.08 times more likely to have children with DDs. All of these measurements were made relative to the rate of incidence seen in the control (typical development) group.

These relative risks have to be taken into perspective. If something is twice as likely to happen to a group of interest in comparison to a control, then the risk is multiplied by the actual prevalence in the control group. That prevalence might be 1 in 1,000,000, or 1 in 1,000, or 1 in 100. I have seen several values pointed out for the prevalence of autism in the general population, but all numbers were on the low end of the order of magnitude of 100 (meaning somewhere in the low single digits or 1-2%).

Based on this one particular study, there is absolutely no reason to believe that obesity is in any way causative to autism. There’s no reason to believe that well-managed diabetes or insulin resistance is causative to autism. This research merely sought to examine whether there was a significant correlation between metabolic issues in mothers and developmental disorders in their children. It’s nothing more than a starting point for further research.

No realistic conclusions made because of it.

No public health campaigns launched because of it.

No criticism of your body or your lifestyle justified because of it

And if anyone says differently, they’re talking out of their ass.

If you’ve spent any time observing the media, you already know that obesity will destroy the world.

In fact, based on a highly-technical series of studies, scientists have estimated that our collective obesity will cause a rotational imbalance in the Earth’s orbit on December 21, 2012, as predicted by the Mayans.

So, before the coming obesity-induced tailspin into the sun, it’s vital that we create an accurate tally of all the other medical and social ills that we, the culpable fatties, have caused. I’m leaving out the obvious relationships, such as type 2 diabetes and cardiovascular disease, because we all know there’s no arguing the fact that obesity causes these issues. Instead, let’s focus on the relationships you may not have considered, but which popular news organizations have been reporting on how obesity causes some of the greatest social ills we are facing today:

• Brain Damage
• Global Warming
• Birth defects
• Cancer
• Unplanned pregnancies and STDs
• Prescription drug abuse
• Sky-rocketing healthcare costs
• Childhood mental health problems and suicide
• Lower child test scores
• Anxiety Disorders
• Asthma
• Alzheimers and dementia
• Childhood asthma
• Bankruptcy
• Seizures and epilepsy
• Masturbation
• Excessive oil consumption
• National security issues

Way to go, Fatties.  If it weren’t for your rampant fatness, we’d have solved the problems of sustainable energy, terrorism, and global warming by now. But nooooooooooooo… you had to go fat it up and ruin this world for everyone.

Pardon my sarcasm, but I’m so sick of these ridiculous games that the media plays with obesity research. All it takes is a single study showing a modest correlation for ABC News to scream, “THE FATTIES ARE FALLING! THE FATTIES ARE FALLING!”

And it’s not just the liberal “lame-stream” media pushing the “obesity causes X” hysteria. Conservative encyclopedia, Conservapedia, attempts to link obesity with another favorite scapegoat of the right: atheism.

Most of these correlations are tenuous at best, and those studies that do show a potential relationship between obesity and the social ills in question are typically data dredges. A data dredge is an attempt to show statistical significance, even if that significance is limited or poorly controlled or incomplete.

Not all correlation studies use data dredging to come up with the results, but almost all correlation studies are reporting on just that: correlations.

Now, say it with me: correlations don’t equal causation.

For instance, I have long since assumed that the relationship between poor dental hygiene and cardiovascular health was well established. In fact, it’s so well-established that it shows up in random heart health tips by Yahoo!

People with periodontal (gum) disease are nearly twice as likely to have heart disease as those with healthy gums. While the reasons for the link aren’t yet clear, one theory is that the same bacteria that trigger gum disease may also spark inflammation inside the body, damaging arteries.

So, what comes first is the study pointing to a relationship, followed by theories on the reason this relationship exists. In the case of gum disease and heart disease, some very intelligent people proposed the inflammation theory. If the theory is plausible enough, news organizations, and even doctors, will begin promoting the theory as if it’s already been proven.

But what’s missed between the correlation and the theory are the myriad possibilities that could confound this relationship. In the case of gum disease, perhaps poverty plays a role? After all, poverty and gum disease are all related, according to a 2006 article in the British Dental Journal:

The study, based on a sample of people aged 45 to 64, found that low income was associated with the prevalence of severe periodontitis among whites, and both low education and income levels were associated with severe periodontitis among African-Americans.

And we know the correlation between obesity and poverty are strong. But this kind of interwoven influence does not make it into the fast and furious world of medical reporting, where headlines are generated more to draw readers in than to educate them.

As a result, you get “common sense” manufactured by incomplete or preliminary research. Once that “common sense” takes root in popular culture, it’s nearly impossible to rip it out of the national conscience.

Because although Yahoo! shared its advice on May 4th about  improving your heart health through flossing, on April 19, NPR shared the story of how medical professionals are trying to shatter the belief that this relationship has been proven:

An expert panel of dentists and cardiologists, writing in the American Heart Association journal Circulation, says there is no evidence that treating or preventing gum disease has any direct effect on heart health.

Despite their attempts, the belief that flossing prevents heart disease will carry on unaffected by the expert panel. Once the relationship is reported, it’s nearly impossible to take it back.

So, when we hear about how obesity causes global warming, it doesn’t matter if researchers suggest that global warming could may cause obesity because the relationship has already been established. Or when we hear that obesity increases the risk of suicide, we ignore the fact that studies show suicidal ideations are correlated with the self-perception of weight, rather than the weight itself. And no amount of debunking will convince society that obesity isn’t causing the rise in healthcare costs, despite abundant evidence to the contrary.

Once again, when the media implies that obesity causes X, it becomes just another in a long list of problems that obesity, and obese people, are responsible for.

And, to be quite honest, in my more conspiratorial moments I can’t help but believe that this is the intention of many of the correlational studies that are released and never elaborated on.

This is most recently exemplified by the media reports that obesity increases the risk of autism. As this made the rounds, less sophisticated blogs, such as Pregnancy.org, which posted (then deleted) an article titled “Obesity in Pregnancy Causing Rise in Autism Cases.”

Retractions aside, the damage is done.

Once the suggestion has been made, once the coverage begins suggesting that fat mothers are producing autistic children, the recrimination sets in. The anti-obesity zealots tally another shame-point for the fatties, while the mothers of autistic children are left to deal with the guilt and self-blame that they may have affected their child’s neurological development.

I spoke with a few mothers of autistic children, including one of our regular readers, Karen, who saw the coverage and expressed these feelings of doubt and shame and self-loathing. “How could I do this to my child?” they have asked themselves over and over. At the same time, how many fat women who want to have a child have been given pause because they fear the damage they may do to their potential child?

This sick and sadistic parlor game the media plays with research and statistics infuriates me more than anything else. I do not fault the researchers outright because they are doing their job of trying to understand what causes autism. But our society is not research-literate and no matter how nuanced the study, the public representation will always exceed the actual findings.

In essence, they’re playing Telephone with science. Researchers release a study with minor implications and the media, always on the hunt for a sensational story, take those implications and make them bigger and stronger than they really are. Viewers take a headline like “Obesity increases risk for autism” and turns it into “Obesity causes autism” and they spread this ridiculously flawed conclusion through their social circles until it’s just accepted that autism is all the fault of the fatties.

I’ve grown accustomed to the tail-end of the telephone, when some monosyllabic trolls rattles of the list of destruction caused by obesity without much knowledge of the source. But when I spoke with Karen about her response to the news reports of obesity and autism, I felt that we had to do something more.

So, this week we are hosting another theme week: Autism Week.

We’ve got some great guest posts lined up for you from various perspectives, including an in-depth analysis of the original autism study, a critique of Autism Speaks, Karen’s account of learning the news, and, finally, the story of a mother who is watching her autistic son take flight into self-sufficiency.

I realize these topics aren’t all pertinent to obesity and health, but I want this week to be a resource for those mothers of autistic children who also happen to be obese, so that they do not feel responsible for their child’s development in any way, shape or form. But also so that the parents of autistic children do not see their child’s particular neurological vantage point as something to worth feeling bad about in the first place.

Autism is a complicated condition and we have barely scratched the surface of understanding it. So, I’m proud to offer Fierce, Freethinking Fatties as a forum this week to perhaps broaden our understanding just a bit more.

Trigger warning: Brief discussion of eating disorder symptoms.

I have a friend, Tona, whose favorite piece of advice is don’t worry, there’s always cupcakes. In honor of that idea, I decided to make my 27th birthday party cupcake themed.

I’m going to share some of the photos with you, but first I want to talk about how difficult it is to have a party centered around cupcakes when you’re only a year out of the deep, dark trenches of an eating disorder.  It’s called EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified), and for me it involved a lot of starvation and a definite avoidance of eating in public.

So it felt a little weird to be inviting people over with a table absolutely covered in cupcakes. Before intuitive eating, a birthday would include eating the whole cake within 24 hours. After intuitive eating, it took me almost a week to eat a dozen cupcakes — much different than a day. Even for someone like me, who’s deeply entrenched in Health at Every Size^® and Fat Acceptance, hosting events that center around food is awkward, embarrassing , anxiety-inducing and, of course, triggering.

I got through it, and even enjoyed myself, without a second thought about guilt because of all of you — my support system. This is No Diet Week and to me, dieting is disordered eating, plain and simple.

It’s something that I not only identify with, but my heart goes out to every single person who’s ever struggled with an eating disorder, chronic dieting, a single diet, or even diet thinking.

Take a break from all that self hatred and take a little bit of time to love your body and enjoy a cupcake. And for now, enjoy some photos of cupcakes!

Don’t Diet.
Eat Cupcakes.

Trigger warning: Discussion of the two types of diets.

Fat people are conditioned for deprivation. If we eat, we’re lazy and stupid and don’t care about ourselves or the fact that we’re taking up ALL the healthcare. If we stop for a taco or a hamburger when we’re weak with hunger and too busy to cook, we deserve whatever ridicule this act garners, even if that ridicule comes from within.

In fact, that inner ridicule is one of our only saving graces. We’re expected to try to lose weight, even if it never happens. Try telling someone that you’re giving up dieting — forever. It’s like telling someone you’re giving up sex forever. The level of disbelief is mind-blowing.

A few months ago, I went to a nutritionist. The consultation came as a perk with my gym membership. I was a little nervous because I am hardwired to believe that any medical professional is going to try to put me on an impossible diet. But I had just been diagnosed with hypoglycemia and I wanted to talk to someone about it.

It took about 30 seconds for the nutritionist to tell me that my blood sugar is out of whack and that the only way to fix it is to eat more.

Eat. More.

And more balanced. I am hypoglycemic. If I eat too many carbs without enough protein, I don’t feel well. I get shaky and disorientated, then everything hurts, and then I need a nap. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, I need a nap. I’ve had to pull over on the side of the road; I’ve fallen asleep in college classes and been woken up by irate professors; I’ve fallen asleep when I should be doing something for or with my kids.

I realized a long time ago that diets don’t work. Despite being on all the diets, I’ve never lost an appreciable amount of weight. For my particular body, just about any change in my routine (eating differently or adding more exercise) causes a small weight loss, usually less than ten pounds, and then my weight buoys right back to where it was. As long as I don’t overcompensate with binging, my weight stays very stable. Learning to appreciate that stability has taken a lot of time and effort.

But now this nutritionist tells me that I need to be on a diet. My body needs a certain number of calories to function — a significant number of calories. It needs protein every time I eat something carbohydrate-rich. I can’t just eat what I want, when I want, without causing very uncomfortable things to happen.

At first I panicked. I’ve worked so hard on giving up dieting, on teaching myself that it’s okay to eat when I’m hungry and to eat what I want. Now I have to start counting carbs? And calories? And protein grams? Seriously?

And then I realized something that made it all okay. Sure, the verb diet means restricting food intake, either by reducing calories or cutting out types of food. For the vast majority of people, the verb diet leads to deprivation and failure and self-hatred.

But the noun diet is different. As a noun, diet is what and how you feed yourself. It’s self-nurturing. Diet feels good because it feeds your brain and increases your energy and is one of the purest forms of pleasure.

In many ways, the verb diet is the lack of the noun diet. All deprivation, no pleasure. All self-hatred, no self-nurturing.  Starving yourself doesn’t work. Diet, the verb, is a big fat fail.

But the noun diet? Feeding yourself food that makes you feel good, inside and out, works every time. It supports your health, physically and mentally; it stimulates your senses; and it keeps the things that need balance in your body balanced.

So, in honor of International No Diet Day, I’d like to propose something pretty radical for the Body Acceptance world. I say, take back the diet. Figure out what your body needs to feel good right now. Not 20 or 50 or 100 or 300 pounds from now.

Today.

Maybe that’s the last piece of birthday cake. But, maybe it’s also a handful of nuts to balance out the sugar in that cake. Eat enough calories today to function fully and happily. Eat to satisfy your senses. You eat with all of them, don’t you? Build your diet around what tastes good and smells good, around what gives you a satisfying feeling in your mouth and in your belly. How about adding some foods that sound satisfying when you chew them or feel good between your fingers when you bring them to your mouth?

Be radical.

Own your diet.

Trigger warning: This post includes a story of a doctor being a diet-promoting jackass.

The universe has a funny way of dealing with me. I’ve been so aware of International No Diet Day lately, and so happy to participate during our week of awesome posts, that I think the universe has decided to test me.

My brother went to see the doctor recently. He hasn’t seen a doctor in years and asked me to come with him because he was nervous. I asked if it was okay if I asked the doctor some questions about weight and John said it was fine.

We went into the waiting room and there were no seats for larger people and all the chairs had arms, so when we checked in, I suggested they get seating for bigger people. The nurse was very understanding and said that she agreed and that she had talked to her boss about it and would do so again.

While we waited, my brother asked me if he had to get weighed. I said that it was his choice and that he didn’t have to, but because this was a new doctor and because he hadn’t been to the doctor or been weighed in a while that it might be better if he did. He thought about it and decided he would get weighed — 418 pounds.

It was about what we both expected. He’s 6 foot 4 and broad-shouldered so it wasn’t a shock and the nurse was very professional. Then she took his blood pressure. My blood pressure is a bit high, so I was worried that Johnny would have elevated blood pressure too. I was ecstatic to find out it was normal.

Finally the doctor came in. The first thing he said was that Johnny should try to lose weight — not a surprising response to someone Johnny’s size.

“You could try cutting all of your portions in half,” the doctor said.

“Wouldn’t that cut his calories in half?” I asked.

“Yes, of course.” replied the doctor while checking my brother’s throat, ears, and abdomen. “He could also try Overeaters Anonymous. It’s the same kind of thing they use for alcoholics.”

I was absolutely flabbergasted. My brother had never been to this doctor before and the doctor had known Johnny for probably 10 minutes, 15 tops, when he suggested my brother stop eating half of what he does. He doesn’t know what my brother eats. He didn’t suggest keeping a food diary and bringing it in, he just assumed that my brother eats enough to cut it in half with no problem or health risks. I started to get angry.

“Not all fat people are fat because they eat too much,” I said, calmly.

The doctor sat down and looked at me. “I’ve tested hundreds of thyroids because everyone thinks that’s why they’re fat. I’ve only ever found two patients who actually had hypothyroidism. Most people who suffer from hypothyroidism are skinny because they don’t have the energy to eat,” he said. “He needs to go on a diet.”

“What about studies that say that 95% of diets fail within five years?” I asked.

“People cheat,” he responded curtly.

I shut up at that point. I’d already taken over the visit. But I was livid. My brother’s tests were all normal and the doctor knew my brother’s history only by what he read on charts, and he had the nerve to tell Johnny to lose weight and suggested how to lose weight without so much as a food diary.

Hearing the news that my brother was healthy, my mom quickly decided we all needed to lose weight. While watching TV last night, my mom asked if I would join Jenny Craig with her and Johnny. I said that I would fully support them if that’s what they chose, but that I couldn’t join it for the sake of my mental and emotional health. I told her that it took too long to repair the hate that I felt toward my body and to risk all the work I’d done was not an option.

“You won’t even do it for Johnny?” she asked. “For his health?”

I almost agreed at this point. I love my brother more than anyone in my family and I want him to be healthy. Then I remembered…

“He is healthy,” I said. “All of his tests were normal. Will I cook dinner more and work out with you guys? Yeah. Every day. I love doing that. But I’m not going to join some program so someone can congratulate or wag their finger at me over my body.”

And that’s what I’m writing for No Diet Day. I hate that my mom has such a long history (a lifelong history) with diets, diet pills, and illegal drugs, all of the sake of this false self that she can only break free from it for so long. The moment the idea is planted in her head that she’s too fat or I’m too fat or her son’s too fat, she falls right back into believing that something has to work so that we can be what? Normal? Happier? Healthier? Prettier? Better?

I hate that the second a doctor sees a number on the scale he knows that the “eat half of your current intake” diet will work. He knows diets don’t work just because fatties cheat. He knows Johnny wants to lose weight because look at him.

Well, yeah. Look at him. He’s beautiful. He’s kind. He’s funny. He believes people are good. He’s smart and sensitive and strong and protective and perfect. And I’m not going to let diets kill all of that in him because people think he should be something he’s not.

My big little brother. We call him Yeti.

Trigger warning: Discussion of dieters and obnoxious dieter behavior.

Despite coming of age during an epidemic of obesity, and having deeply sizeist, healthist family members, I have never been on a diet.

Once in a great while, I have contemplated going on a diet while finishing the weight gain associated with puberty. I attempted a diet for a day and then dropped it. Somehow, I could never muster the motivation (that magic word) to do it. When family members tried to restrict my eating or force unwelcome physical activity on me, I found ways around it. Even now that I’m “fat,” I’m highly thin-privileged. On the surface, it seems as though I have escaped fat hatred unscathed.

You would be wrong about that.

It does not seem to matter how thin you are or how active. Any visible weight gain gives others license to lecture you about “letting yourself go.” Weight gain does not even have to be visible. All you have to do is engage in behavior that people assume will cause weight gain (e.g., eating a Big Mac at McDonald’s). Thin privilege is unique in that, while it exists and while it’s powerful in our culture, you never get to fully enjoy it. You are always this (pinches fingers together) close to losing it.

Now let us assume that you are that one perfect person who has never invited someone else’s criticism of your weight or your lifestyle. Or, alternatively, we can assume that you have been greatly blessed to have only the finest, most educated, most respectful people present in your life and, therefore, have no need to fear criticism. You still will not escape fat hatred for two reasons:

• People will assume you got to your thin, healthy, god-like state through fat-hating means and will ask for your advice.
• More commonly, people will ask you to reinforce their own fat hatred.

The second bullet is something I face every day. It does not seem to matter how many times I ask people not to discuss dieting or weight loss around me, or how many times I ask them not to lecture on the subject of health. No one seems to blink an eye when I tell them that my aunt had life-threatening anorexia and that I find diet talk triggering. They simply ignore it or they nod and say “Okay,” but then keep talking about their diet.

They ask me if they’ve lost weight. They ask me if I think their lunches are healthy or if they should skip their daily exercise. They insult themselves with fat-hating taunts, oblivious to the fact that I am several clothing sizes larger than they are. The bottom line is that my position is not respected by these people. Not at all.

As far as I’m concerned, we need to stop falling over ourselves to respect their position.

You are under no obligation to cheer someone on in their diet. You are under no obligation to respond to their fat-hating questions. In real life, staking out your boundaries is tough and you need to do it with some sensitivity, especially in the workplace. When someone asks me a question like that, I tell them I don’t pay attention to that stuff or that I’m not good at that stuff. Which is true. If someone asks me about how they look, I either tell them something positive I can find or I just say I’m neutral and remind them that I’m no fashion queen.

On the other hand, we should be able to stake out our boundaries freely online. We don’t need to reassure dieters that we don’t hate them and that we aren’t criticizing their choice. The truth is that we are doing just that. We aren’t criticizing them as people or telling them what they should do. Yet we ARE criticizing the act of dieting and a culture that so heavily promotes it. We are criticizing those who use their influence to promote it. That is, essentially, what Fat Acceptance is about, and if we cannot challenge people’s thinking on those issues,then  where do we go from here?

We don’t need to reassure people of their good intentions any more than we need to personally attack them. I’m sure most of their intentions are good because they don’t know any better. The fact remains that if these people are promoting fat hatred then we need to find some way to challenge it. I feel that focusing on people’s good intentions derails the discussion.

Finally, I don’t think we should be falling over ourselves to find common cause. Some of us may have common cause with those that disagree with us. When you get right down to it, though, these same people are acting in ways that oppress us. The incessant call to find common cause on some issue, like health, workplace discrimination, or whatever, advantages their side of the discussion. What would happen if we had nothing in common with our oppressors? What if there was nothing any of us could offer to soften the blow of our position? What if we were “forced” to offer them pure, undiluted, uncompromising, non-apologetic Fat Acceptance?

We should not have to ask nicely or bargain with our oppressors.

In the end, Fat Acceptance is a movement with values and goals. Anyone is welcome to join in the fight against fat hatred, but we need to lose our fear of being too extreme or offending people. Offending people is exactly what we should be doing.

Dieting does not need a cheering section. Those who promote fat hatred, even if it is inadvertent, should not feel safe in FA spaces. Rather, they should feel challenged. There’s always the ball game if they want a cheering section.

Trigger warning: Discussion of  diets.

Last week at work, some of my co-workers and I were at lunch. On the table was a container of chocolate chip cookies somebody brought in for a staff meeting. Cookies were offered and the lone guy in the office turned it down, joking that he had to get his body ready for bikini season.

The talk then turned, not to dieting, but to Speedos of all things. But we’re all aware that at this time of year, the diet industry tries to turn our attention to losing weight so we can be slim and sexy in our bathing suits when, and if, we decide to go to the beach or the pool.

Special K cereal is the main offender, with a commercial telling us if we do their “challenge” and follow their diet plan, we don’t have to cover ourselves up anymore.

This really smacks us fatties in the face, doesn’t it? That our bodies are so revolting that we should wear t-shirts and shorts while we’re in the pool or frolicking in the ocean so we don’t offend anyone with glimpses of our ample flesh. That is, until we diet down to an acceptable, visually-appealing size.

Well, I’m here to tell you that’s complete and utter crap.

It doesn’t matter what clothes we wear, people know we’re fat. Why should wearing a bathing suit or swim trunks change anything? Do we really need to restrict our eating so we can look “hot” for one day at the pool, or a week or two at the shore?

I say no way. I say we should sport our beachwear proudly and not care what others think.

I used to wear long t-shirts over my swimsuit for years because I felt so self-conscious about my body. I was afraid of what people might say if they saw my flabby arms. Then, one very hot summer, I had to wash the car and I decided to stop caring what people might think or say. I wore my swimsuit while washing the car and many people drove by. I heard no comments, saw no stares. Since then, I’ve never worn a t-shirt to hide my arms.

So Special K you can take your beach body diet and shove it where the sun don’t shine (despite enjoying your sour cream cracker chips).  Every body is ready for beach season, and we’re going to enjoy the summer no matter you and your fellow diet pushers think. So grab your sunglasses fat-shamers, it’s going to be a very long, hot four months!