My grandmother was a health nut before there was such a thing. She made delicious low-fat meals before people went low-fat, she whipped up gluten-free pancakes and muffins before gluten-free products were easily accessible.
About five years ago I stayed with my grandparents for a week. I had left my first college, and taken with me a solid fifteen-pound weight gain, as well as a severe case of the blues. But after just seven days of following my grandmother’s day-to-day diet basics, I shed a sizable chunk of that weight, and started crawling out from under my wet wool blanket of depression. Low carbs, fresh fruits, loads of veggies, small meals, and an afternoon snack of almonds and dark chocolate: At eighty, my grandmother still had more diet savvy then even my most diet-literate friends.
Which is why, a few years ago, I was surprised to find out that my grandmother had become obsessed with tips from a drugstore magazine. And while some of them were wise, there was a concern that a lot of those tips could be ineffective or even dangerous since they weren’t tailored to her personal health needs. Prevention magazine is great, and in a world of limitless health advice, pretty steadfast, and down to earth. But it shouldn’t be your end-all, be-all clearinghouse for health information. That should be a medical professional.
Or should it?
I’m a young woman with a family history of breast cancer. You would be amazed at how frequently I’m asked about breast cancer in my family from primary care doctors. Amazed, mostly, because it’s almost never. When I ask for information about what preventative lifestyle changes I could make, I usually get a pat answer about taking a multivitamin and eating less sugar. Both pieces of good advice, sure, but with the endless deluge of information coming out about chemicals in our food, laptops, soaps, and more, shouldn’t there be more advice than a couple of off-the-cuff health basics?
I am also an environmental health activist. Because I write about environmental health issues frequently, I know a lot about what chemicals and products are linked to an increased cancer risk. But what about other young women? Are their doctors asking them if they microwave plastic? Is anyone saying, “Hey, multiple women in your family have had breast cancer, so pay attention to chemicals in your cosmetics and flatware”?
There needs to be a change in the way we talk about toxic chemicals in this country. There’s something wrong with the fact that I can read about non-toxic cosmetics in Glamour, but the people who are supposed to be the trusted authorities when it comes to my health seem to have no interest in checking in about what chemicals I’m exposing myself to on a daily basis. I don’t think the answer is religiously following tips from Prevention magazine, or any magazine for that matter. I think the answer is creating a constructive dialogue about prevention with health care professionals (and passing legislation that would make prevention easier for all of us).
I understand how my grandmother might have felt sifting through her health magazines. Trying to achieve optimal health is a frustrating, overwhelming process, often rife with contradictions, battling “experts,” and confusion about who and what to trust. We need trustworthy information from appropriately credentialed sources who recognize the necessity of prevention and acknowledge us as whole people, who do more than sneeze and fuss, who also put on leaded lipstick or microwave tupperwares or cook a healthy breakfast every morning in a nonstick pan. We need more than Prevention magazine. We need prevention, period.
