Posts by jacquelinechartier

I have 20 years of experience as a freelance writer and journalist. Although I was originally trained as a general assignment news reporter, I've developed a specialization in profiles and feature length articles. I write on a variety of topics including history and heritage, arts and culture, museums, the Canadian military and the hospitality industry. In November 2011, I was diagnosed with cancer. My blog The Teal Diaries explores what it’s like to be diagnosed with ovarian cancer and to courageously battle this life-threatening disease one day at a time. It offers readers an upfront and personal account of one woman’s ongoing nightmare and celebrates her survivorship. More importantly, my mandate is to foster support for the 17,000 Canadian women who are currently living with ovarian cancer. My goal is to raise public awareness of this devastating disease and to promote early detection.

What Cancer Patients Can Teach Medical Students

When I began my cancer treatment almost eight years ago, I didn’t fully understand the crucial role that patients have in the education and training of medical professionals. I was new to the realm of cancer patients, so at my initial consultation with my oncologist I didn’t anticipate that I would be taken to a conference room. I certainly didn’t expect that our first meeting would include several residents and doctors-in-training.

Later, when I had the opportunity to read the orientation booklet that I was given, the formal relationship between gynecologic cancer patients and student doctors at my hospital started to become clearer to me. Stated unambiguously was the following information:

The Tom Baker Cancer Centre and Foothills Hospital form part of the University of Calgary teaching facilities and you can, therefore, expect to have doctors-in-training involved in your care. They work to assist your specialist, who supervises all their activities according to their level of competence. They may also participate in routine check-ups and will report to the specialist on your behalf.

Throughout the course of my cancer journey I’ve discovered how much we, as patients, help facilitate the transformation of young medical students into proficient and empathetic health care experts. Here are some of the most important lessons that I feel we teach physicians in training.

People with cancer are brave and have a remarkable capacity for resilience. Women with ovarian cancer courageously put up with a terrible illness and refuse to give up in the face of adversity. Whether we are talking about cancer, disabling cardiovascular disease or other chronic illnesses — patients often inspire young doctors with their bravery and determination. For example, I could tell that the women on my cancer unit were having an impact on the residents when they made rounds each day. Sometimes they would witness women surrounded by their visiting loved ones, still managing to laugh, smile and remain optimistic, despite the horrendous circumstances.

Life can change in an instant. A chronic or serious illness such as cancer often strikes out of the blue. One minute everything is okay and you seem not to have a care in the world and then everything is turned upside down by a shock diagnosis. Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had no true sense of how precarious our existence is or of how uncertain my future had probably always been. Then, on November 3, 2011, I learned that the direction of my entire life could change in just a single day. We help young residents to remember that becoming a patient with a life-threatening illness can happen to anyone in an instant, even them.

As a doctor you should know how to communicate effectively with your patients. Illness can suffocate even the bravest of souls. Diagnosis and procedures can be complicated, and a patient often feels vulnerable and confused when they are at their oncologist’s office or visiting the cancer centre. Personally, I found this to be true regardless of my reason for being there, it didn’t matter if it was for chemotherapy, an exam or a follow-up. From the perspective of an anxious cancer patient, the absolute worst thing that could happen would be for me to walk out of an appointment without understanding a word my doctor said. It’s a doctor’s responsibility to explain everything in a way their patient can understand. As a physician, you shouldn’t get upset or become annoyed if you are asked to repeat details of the patient’s treatment plan or to clarify instructions.

As a doctor you should be able to empathize with your patients. To me the best doctors take time to connect with their patients, and they truly care what we are thinking and feeling. If your patient is feeling cold, arrange for a blanket. If they’re thirsty, get some water. Without addressing these underlying human needs, impressive hospital designs and state-of-the-art equipment are useless. For most patients the fancy ceiling and lighting are insignificant compared with medical staff who will treat them with compassion and dignity. I have one particular memory from during my rigorous cancer treatment.

It was in the middle of the night and I had already spent several grueling hours in the emergency room when I was finally sent for a CT scan. The doctor performing the scan was very empathetic toward me. He immediately noticed that I appeared cold and nauseous, so he offered me a blanket as well as a small basin just in case I was sick. Next, he saw that my IV had been put in poorly by someone in the ER and that it required redoing. However, instead of changing my IV before the scan, he explained that he didn’t want to put me through the unpleasant procedure right away. We ultimately used the imperfect IV line to administer the contrast solution for the scan and it held out until we were finished.

If These Walls Could Talk

Women in southern Alberta who are diagnosed with gynecologic cancer become patients at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre and are treated by the gynecologic oncologists there. However, when surgery is required we become patients on Unit 42 B, located in the adjacent Foothills Hospital building. I first entered the unit like almost all of us do, I was wheeled in on a gurney following major abdominal surgery that had been performed by one of western Canada’s top pelvic cancer surgeons. It was the evening of December 13, 2011, and I can vaguely remember being transferred to a bed in a darkened room, beside me was one other patient. Outside the sun had already disappeared, and as I drifted in and out of consciousness I visualized the rush hour traffic—thousands of cars racing home for dinner, perhaps some rushing to the nearest mall for yet another round of Christmas shopping.

The first night I struggled with some post-operative vertigo and I could hardly focus each time I opened my eyes. The room gradually stopped spinning as the dawn approached, meanwhile morphine dulled my pain and I reached down once or twice to feel a large compression bandage covering my abdomen. At first, I mistook the female resident who came to examine me on rounds that morning for one of the nurses. I didn’t yet realize that residents do most of the rounds on the Foothills cancer wards and report back to the oncologists and surgeons. The other morning routine that soon became engrained in me was having my blood drawn, the hospital lab technicians would regularly make their rounds of the unit at five or six in the morning. 

So, what is the worst thing about being on Unit 42 –aside from being sick or having cancer of course? A number of things: the helplessness; the feeling of anonymity; the rote and the repetition; being talked about and talked to, rather than talked with; the waiting; and the loneliness. I watched as the occasional short-term stay patient was relegated to the hallway due to the unavailability of rooms. It was a reminder to me of how drastically the situation for patients and their families has changed in recent years. Once hospitals were where you stayed when you were too sick to return home; now you go home anyway, cobbling together your own nursing services from friends, relatives and drop-in professionals. I admire the nurses who work on Unit 42— I remain grateful for the ones who went out of their way to make me more comfortable or those who took a couple of extra minutes to offer me some needed words of encouragement. In general, the staff does their best to provide first-rate care, even on an overcrowded unit in what is unmistakably a vintage 1960s building.

My experience that December was likely influenced by the fact that it was only the second time in my life that I’d been hospitalized, and the previous time it had not been on the oncology unit. To me my situation seemed more unbearable, I felt somehow traumatized. Being on a cancer unit shakes your illusions of immortality. It robs you of the sense of invincibility and innocence that once protected you. I’d never directly experienced an atmosphere filled with such hope, fear, anguish or despair, I could almost see it oozing out of the drab, greyish walls that surrounded me.

LIke many of the other patients my surgery had been fairly extensive, it had ultimately involved a small bowel resection as well as the removal of my appendix and omentum. Time crept slowly as my condition gradually improved. Due to some minor complications, it took until December 24 for the oncologists to finally agree that I was well enough to be discharged. In the course of my stay I had endured blood transfusions, numerous tests and scans and too many IV medications to keep track of. I was so incredibly anxious to go home that I was already changing into my clothes when my mom and brother appeared in the door of my room to pick me up. As I left the building through the hospital lobby that Christmas Eve I realized that a part of me would never be able to forget the experience of being a patient on Unit 42. I knew it would haunt me for the remainder of my life.

Celebrating the Ovarian Cancer Community

In the past few years I’ve noticed a growing amount of energy and a stronger sense of purpose within the Canadian ovarian cancer community. Not that we haven’t always been a small but passionate group, committed to fighting this disease and the devastation that it inflicts on women and their families. However, I’ve noticed a gradual shift from when I was first treated six or seven years ago. When I was initially diagnosed with ovarian cancer in November 2011, I can remember that Ovarian Cancer Canada’s primary focus seemed to be on awareness and prevention as well as on support and better resources for women already fighting the disease. But now they have adjusted their mandate to involve more advocacy at the level of the federal government. Pushing for additional research and better treatment options for women with ovarian cancer has become their most important objective.

An estimated 2,800 Canadian women are diagnosed with ovarian cancer each year, an estimated 1,800 die from the disease. There is no question that ovarian cancer research is significantly underfunded and that more has to be done to develop better treatments. Scientific progress in the field has been agonizingly slow, more than half of women who are diagnosed with ovarian cancer still die within five years. Like many who have battled the disease, I dream that perhaps one day soon there will be a test that can detect ovarian cancer in its early stages. The majority of women are currently diagnosed after the cancer has spread beyond their reproductive system. Meanwhile, additional research in the area of immunotherapy might give renewed hope to many of us living with ovarian cancer or facing a recurrence.

 

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It was a major triumph for the Canadian ovarian cancer community when the latest federal budget allocated 10 million dollars to ovarian cancer research. Over the past four years I’ve cheered on the efforts of Ovarian Cancer Canada as they relentlessly lobbied the federal government to invest the much needed 10 million. Numerous meetings with survivors on Parliament Hill helped persuade key politicians that better funding is needed to save thousands of lives. “Today, the Government of Canada has taken steps to invest in needed research which will translate into scientific progress against this disease. This announcement makes an important commitment to women’s health and equity in health care – and it is a milestone made possible because of you,” wrote Ovarian Cancer Canada CEO, Elisabeth Baugh.

While it’s true that ovarian cancer is most often diagnosed in women in their fifties or sixties, it’s a myth to believe that it is only an “old woman’s” disease. I was 46 years old when I found out that I had ovarian cancer. I’m always shocked when I learn about women much younger than I was receiving a similar diagnosis, my heart aches as I witness a life-threatening disease try to shatter their hopes and dreams. It hurts me to see the impact that ovarian cancer can have on their relationships, careers and future ability to have children. I have deep admiration for younger ovarian cancer patients, they often possess a wisdom and maturity that seems beyond their tender years.

 

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Ashley Shandrel Luther  (Elly Mayday)
April 15, 1988 — March 1, 2019

I recently mourned when the community lost a powerful advocate and inspirational leader. The internationally renowned model Elly Mayday passed away in March. Elly Mayday’s given name was Ashley Shandrel Luther. She was born on April 15, 1988 and grew up in Aylesbury, Saskatchewan. The body positive model and activist was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer when she was just 25. Elly was diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer around the same time that she had two modelling contracts offered to her. But instead of stepping out of the light, she welcomed it. “I figured that maybe I could help someone going through something similar, while continuing on with my own dreams. I mean, I was going through it either way, why not make it as positive as possible?” she once said. Elly vigorously pursued modeling while bravely sharing intimate details about her cancer treatments with her huge number of fans and social media followers. Her legacy will continue to be an inspiration to many.

Cancer and This Uncertain Life

“In a way though, the certainty of death was easier than this uncertain life. The path forward would seem obvious if only I knew how many months or years I had left. Tell me three months, I’d spend time with family. Tell me one year, I’d have a plan (write the book). Give me 10 years, I’d get back to treating diseases. The pedestrian truth that you live one day at a time didn’t help. What was I supposed to do with that day?”

— Dr. Paul Kalanithi on living with stage IV lung cancer


Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had no true sense of how precarious our existence is or of how uncertain my future had probably always been. Then, on November 3, 2011, I learned that the course of my entire life could change in just a single day. I was at home recovering from hysterectomy surgery and awaiting the final results of my pathology report. At about 10:15 or 10:30 that morning the telephone rang and a quick glance at the call display confirmed that it was my gynecologist’s office. I was still in my pajamas and resting in my favorite livingroom chair. What happened next is something that I will always associate with how completely fragile life is.

At first as I held the receiver to my ear I tried to remain composed, but in just a few seconds my heart was racing and I could hardly breathe. I was consumed by a sense of dread so powerful that suddenly I was watching myself in slow motion. I listened as in a calm voice a nurse informed me that my gynecologist would like to see me immediately, if possible he wanted me to come to his office at 5 p.m. that evening. Prohibited from divulging any confidential information from my report, she ended our discussion by requesting that I bring a friend or family member with me. In just a matter of minutes my life had been thrown into turmoil and my cancer journey had begun.

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My first time inside Calgary’s Tom Baker Cancer Centre was on a cold, dark November morning. Since it was my initial assessment, the team of oncologists had obviously chosen to schedule me early, before anyone else. I still remember how terrified I was, and yet how unexpectedly quiet and peaceful everywhere in the building seemed to me at that hour. For what felt like a long time, my mother and I were essentially the only ones sitting in the waiting room of the centre’s outpatient clinic. First, I was required to have a detailed consultation. I spoke with a nurse about my medical history, naturally there was an emphasis on any family history of cancer. We confirmed that there is some history of postmenopausal breast cancer on my mom’s side, but no actual cases of uterine or ovarian cancer.

Next, I was examined by one of the Baker Centre’s top pelvic cancer surgeons, Dr. Prafull Ghatage. Following my examination, we were assembled in one of the conference rooms with Dr. Ghatage and a team of other physicians. The seriousness of my situation began to register as I looked across the table at four of five white-coated medical professionals. Dr. Ghatage explained that he wanted to perform surgery as soon as possible. This news was suddenly too overwhelming, especially considering the fact that just weeks earlier I had undergone a total abdominal hysterectomy. “I just had a hysterectomy and now I’m dying of cancer,” I tearfully blurted out.  “You’re not dying, I’ll inform you if you are dying,” a firm voice immediately responded. These rational words jolted me back to reality, and before I left I signed a consent form for a laparotomy—a highly specialized oncology procedure in which abdominal organs are removed, biopsied or repaired and a definitive diagnosis can be made.

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The relentless waves of panic and the constant upheaval that I felt during that first harrowing  month have gradually receded, at least enough to make my existence bearable. But even now, after years in remission, the sometimes terrifying uncertainty of my everyday life has remained. Some people are able to cope with the fear and uncertainty in this world by embracing one particular religious faith, however I’ve discovered that I am not one of them. At first, I thought that religious people would have a particular psychological advantage in dealing with cancer, but I’ve learned that this notion isn’t always true. Personally, I was raised in the Catholic faith but as an adult I have chosen not to attend church or practice the religion. Even without the many imposed traditions or the inherent sense of belonging, I have still been able to draw on spirituality to help me endure the life-shattering ordeal that I’ve been through. If you aren’t religious, it doesn’t mean that your cancer journey must be completely devoid of faith. I’ve nonetheless chosen to build a life on faith—faith in the power of good, faith in science, faith in healing, and faith in the possibility of miracles.

After a Cancer Diagnosis: Five Things You Need to Know

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Allow yourself time to grieve.

Allow yourself to cry, to feel numb, to be angry, or to feel however you’re feeling. These emotions hurt, but they are natural and normal. Grief is a person’s normal, healthy response to a loss. Understandably, I grieved after my father died, however I was surprised to find myself experiencing similar feelings when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I discovered firsthand that the loss that triggers grief isn’t always physical. You can experience grief if you or a loved one are diagnosed with a major disease or face a serious illness. It’s common to grieve the future plans you had made, or the ways life will change. Remember there is no “right” way to grieve, everyone is different. Give yourself time to experience your loss in your own way. Also understand that during life’s most difficult times it’s important to make a commitment to take care of yourself emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Don’t let fear consume you.

Fear is one of my constant companions on this cancer journey, for over seven years now it has attempted to overcome me and prevent me from living the life that I want. Naturally, when I was first diagnosed with cancer and was undergoing months of treatment some extremely unsettling questions raced through my mind. Will the recommended treatment be successful or will I die? Will undergoing another major surgery followed by chemotherapy be too agonizing and unbearable? Now that my oncologist has informed me that I’m in remission, it’s the fear of my cancer recurring that I have to cope with on a daily basis. Practicing mindfulness helps me stay in the present moment and to accept that I can’t control certain outcomes. I’ve ultimately learned that faith can be an important factor in dealing with fear. I’m not religious, but like many I’ve chosen to build a life on faith—especially faith in the power of good to triumph over evil in this world.

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It’s ultimately your cancer journey.

One thing that’s become evident to me as a cancer survivor is that we all respond to cancer differently. Our response depends primarily on our own personality and past life experiences. How we deal with a life-threatening illness will differ according to our personal values and may also be connected to how we have responded to crises in the past. It must be acknowledged that cancer is extremely personal, so our response tends to be personal as well. With these facts in mind, I argue that no one has the right to tell me how to react emotionally to my cancer or to lecture me about how I should live my life after a diagnosis. For example, early in my cancer journey I was confronted by a couple of individuals who insinuated that I should not allow my illness to change my life. How could I have not changed? I’m not going back to the way I was before I had cancer. I see that as a terrible waste of all that I have been through.

You never know how strong you are.

When you are diagnosed with cancer you will have moments when you sense that your world is spinning violently out of control. The fundamental paradox for me is that I’m often in situations where I feel a sense of power, combined with courage and self-assurance. It’s as if I’m standing in life’s Category 5 hurricane and remaining resolute, steadfast and unbroken. I certainly don’t aspire to become a legend like Terry Fox or to be anything resembling a saint or a cancer hero. But still, I’ve discovered inner qualities and personal strengths I never appreciated or properly acknowledged in myself. Subjected to the ultimate test, I’ve sometimes shocked myself with my capacity to overcome adversity and to confront physical pain and suffering.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

There’s a familiar proverb that states that it takes a village to raise a child. I think that this can be modified to assert that it takes a village to properly support a cancer patient. When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer seven years ago, I was suddenly faced with a whole new array of complex needs. It was sometimes necessary, or in my best interest, to accept the assistance of my inner circle of friends and family members. For example, my mom was my primary caregiver following each of my three major surgeries. She would also accompany me to and from my appointments at the Tom Baker Centre and remain with me when they administered chemotherapy. Today most cancer patients, including myself, have access to social workers, psychologists, dieticians and other skilled professionals. Treating the whole person and recognizing that each patient has unique issues and needs have become firmly entrenched and are part of the philosophy of cancer care.

The Road Ahead

As 2018 was drawing to a close, I was forced to confront an unexpected bump on the never-ending road that is my cancer journey. In October I went to my family physician with some symptoms that I feared might indicate a recurrence of my ovarian cancer. While she was reasonably certain that my cancer had not returned, she wanted to be safe and made some arrangements for me to see my principal oncologist. It had been nearly a year since my last appointment and I’d almost forgotten the prevailing stress and uncertainty associated with visits to the Tom Baker Centre. When I arrived my eyes scanned the building’s vintage 1980s interior, finally resting on the rows of chairs occupied by anxious patients.

Ultimately the resident who examined me was reassuring, she quickly explained that the medical team would like to order a CT scan as a precaution to rule out the possibility that my malignancy had returned. On a Thursday afternoon, just a few weeks before Christmas, my oncologist’s office phoned to inform me that my procedure had been scheduled. Three days later I was at the hospital checking into diagnostic imaging, it was as if I was walking back into a nightmare that I thought was over. As I positioned myself in the scanner, I prayed that I would soon be facing the culmination of The Great Recurrence Scare of 2018 and not confirmation that cancer had invaded my body for the second time. Rarely have I been so painfully uncertain about what a new year would bring me.

 

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To cut to the chase, my test revealed no evidence for tumor recurrence or metastatic disease in my abdomen or pelvis. I’m still cancer free after six years! I’m filled with gratitude when I think of the women who aren’t as fortunate as I am, there are too many of my teal sisters who never achieve a complete remission from their ovarian cancer. Obviously, as I think ahead to how I want to spend 2019 I’m more determined than ever to make the most of each day and not squander the precious moments of life that have been granted to me.

One of my goals for 2019 is to live in the present and not spend an excessive amount of my time regretting the past or worrying about what will happen to me in the future. About six years ago, soon after I was diagnosed with cancer, I discovered a technique called mindfulness. Jon Kabat-Zinn pioneered using this method with cancer patients and other groups battling chronic pain or illness at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. Kabat-Zinn describes mindfulness as follows:

“Mindfulness means paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally. This kind of attention nurtures greater awareness, clarity, and acceptance of the present-moment reality. It wakes us up to the fact that our lives unfold only in moments If we are not fully present for many of those moments, we may not only miss what is most valuable in our lives but also fail to realize the richness and the depth of our possibilities for growth and transformation.”

 

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Whatever transpires this year, I promise to treat myself with kindness and compassion. I pledge to be less critical of myself and to focus more on why I am a special and worthwhile human being. I’ll attempt to concentrate on my positive qualities and the valuable contributions that I am able to make while I’m in this world. Kabat-Zinn stresses that we should nurture our sense of self-esteem and self-worth. At the same time, he acknowledges that many people need help or reminders that they are worthy and deserve to be loved.

“Perhaps we just need little reminders from time to time that we are already dignified, deserving, worthy. Sometimes we don’t feel that way because of the wounds and the scars we carry from the past or because of the uncertainty of the future. It is doubtful that we came to feel undeserving on our own. We were helped to feel unworthy. We were taught it in a thousand ways when we were little, and we learned our lessons.”

The Five W’s of Cancer

The moment I was diagnosed with cancer I entered a psychological realm where wanting to know everything about my disease alternated with fear and aversion. Once the initial shock wore off I realized that I would need accurate information in order to navigate my horrific, and sometimes terrifying, journey through ovarian cancer. Never in my life have I felt so simultaneously overwhelmed by an abundance of medial information and frustrated by a lack of it. This ambiguity of emotions is understandable in cancer patients, as they undergo treatment for some of the most complex and difficult to understand diseases within the field of medical science.

Simply explained, every cell in the body has a tightly regulated system that dictates when it needs to grow, mature and eventually die off. Cancer occurs when cells lose this control and divide and proliferate indiscriminately. Theories, treatments and possible explanations for cancer are abundant. They range from the factual or medically proven to the bizarre, absurd and downright dangerous. Regrettably there are a few contemptible individuals who knowingly try to profit from cancer patients or exploit our unique physical, emotional and psychological needs. I’m a journalism school graduate and I believe this has given me a better perspective than some patients when I’m confronted with information through online or traditional media.

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Whenever I read something pertaining to cancer I always keep in mind the Five W’s that I was taught when I was studying journalism.

Who?

Who carried out the research, and who funded them? If the Academy of American Poets or the League of Canadian Poets is telling you about a new study they funded showing that reading poetry is good for your health, it doesn’t mean that they’re wrong, but they have a vested interest. Knowing who is quoted in a story or who is commenting is also important. Stories often include comments from experts who weren’t involved in the study – these opinions have the power to help clarify how the results fit into the wider context, and whether they’re worth paying attention to. But still be aware of who’s commenting on the study.

What?

What did the researchers actually do? Was the study looking at cells in a dish, mice or patients? These are all crucial stages of testing a new cancer drug. New drugs can’t be tested in patients immediately – cell and animal studies are needed first to check if experimental treatments are safe, effective and worth further investigation. Keep in mind that in an ideal experiment only one thing will be changed at a time, so that you know any differences are because of that one change. In many cases it’s tricky, but not impossible, to try to pin down how much different variables affect cancer risk. Scientists can try to account for the things that cloud the picture, but there will always be gaps. And that’s why cancer research takes a long time, and needs to involve a lot of people.

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Where?

Oncologists and cancer experts aim to publish their results in journals, where their findings are scrutinized by others in their field – a kind of quality assurance called peer review. But oncologists share their work in other ways, particularly at conferences. Often these results are preliminary or don’t have as much information as would be in a published paper. In addition, much of the data is not yet peer reviewed. Unfortunately, these findings are often reported in the news with the same prominence, even though the results might be a long way from the finished article that is beng worked on.

When?

When was the study carried out, and how long did it run for? A week? A month? A year? The longer the better – long-term effects might be missed if you only look at a short timeframe. And if the study looks at people, are the data from the last few years, or from decades ago? An older study might have had more time to look at long-term consequences, but a more recent study could mean that the findings are more relevant to current lifestyle habits.

How Many?

How many subjects took part in the research? And who or what were those participants. Was it 10 mice? 100 patients? 1000? Generally, the more used, the more reliable the results are.

How much?

A recent headline, People who eat organic food are 25 per cent less likely to get cancer, sounds as though you had better eat organic if you want to significantly reduce your cancer risk. However, the headline uses what’s called a relative risk. The study of almost 70.000 volunteers found only a tiny 0.6% reduction in terms of absolute risk. It might also be important to keep in mind that people who buy organic tend to be richer, eat more fruit and vegetables, consume less meat and drink less alcohol.

 

In conclusion, I would like to emphasize that I don’t mean to condemn cancer research or the media where many crucial findings are reported. Most reporting will be accurate and responsible, and even when it isn’t it doesn’t mean that there’s malice behind any mistakes. Communicating science is extremely complicated, and it’s impossible for science journalists to be flawless all the time.