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Paperback
Published March 7, 2024
If you’re suffering from chronic disease, to maintain hope you must possess, among other things, a certain amount of confidence in the system charged with caring for you.The book is also a memoir, offering a candid and deeply human account of the cancer that eventually took the author’s life—a farewell marked by honesty and grace.
Fat Fiction is a nutrition horror story. It tells the tale that I had been trying to tell, and continued trying to tell. It’s the story of how, without evidence, we were sold on a diet—low-fat and high carb—that not only was unhealthy but brought untold misery and death.
Our nation’s tragic opioid crisis is in large part the direct result of patients wanting pain relief via medication, and doctors capitulating to that desire without time to consider the appropriateness or alternatives.
Patients who like their doctors are more likely to die. Let that sink in.
A wise man changes his mind, a fool never will.
I can’t tell you how many lectures, presentations, and discussions about obesity I’ve attended, where nutrition is lucky to get mentioned at all.
Practically no one gets a chance to do this, in the midst of a medical career: pause, read, and study, consider, strategize. Doctors rarely get the chance. (People rarely get the chance.) I wanted to dive into the latest research, to understand the key issues at their root. (...) That’s how I came to understand that a low-fat diet—with its high carbohydrate corollary—makes zero physiological sense for anyone with insulin resistance. (...) I quickly realized that this new low-carb regimen did not have to be a burden. Let me type those words again: this new eating regimen did not have to be a burden.
Carbohydrate restriction helped him reverse the level of insulin resistance that was behind his weight problem.
The most common response to our “You don’t need to exercise just yet” was some version of, “No, wait—are you serious?” Yes, we were. Because studies showed that exercise is not a good weight-loss strategy. (Some people will want to read that sentence again.)
Saturated fat and dietary cholesterol are most commonly found in eggs, dairy, shellfish, and meat—foods that human beings had been eating for millennia. Now, though, according to Keys, they were suspect. (...) We had nowhere near the current incidence of this disease before low-fat/high-carb diets became standard. The prevalence of diabetes in the US increased almost 700% in the past sixty years, since Keys first showed up on the cover of Time—700%! Today’s statistics on diabetes are horrifying. About half the adults in this country have diabetes or prediabetes, and that certain cancers, especially of the liver and pancreas.
(...) while exercise provides lots (and lots) of benefits, weight loss isn’t one of them.
To repeat: dietary fat isn’t nearly the problem that so many doctors, nutritionists, national health organizations, and the government told us it was.
An even more stunning finding to emerge from those original computer tapes: For the older MCS men and women, the more they lowered their cholesterol, the more likely they were to die of a heart attack.
All my reading and clinical work and my own research led me to this painful conclusion: In the world of nutrition science, evidence is often inconvenient for those dedicated to defending the status quo.
If not done promptly, they’d be at risk for hypoglycemia: dangerously low blood sugar. If a patient broke the diet even briefly, blood sugar would go up and we’d have to add back some of those meds. In many patients, their meds needed changing multiple times per week. Steve Phinney liked to describe this as “outpatient intensive care.” We were two doctors and six coaches managing almost 400 patients, seven days per week, but charting a whole new approach to type 2 diabetes. And it was worth it.
One huge relief: no one from big industry or the big health associations was paying attention to us, at least not yet. At some point they would, because what we were doing would ultimately challenge so much of what they did and said; so much of their revenue could go up in smoke if people better understood the science of food, nutrition, dieting, carbohydrates, fat, and the rest. I knew how vicious some low-carb opponents had been with me and many of my colleagues.
There was evidence going back over a century that carbohydrate restriction worked. It was originally meant to help children with epilepsy, as well as to treat diabetes before we had insulin and other medication. But it began to show real promise for helping in other ways—not just for bringing down weight or controlling diabetes but improving other key health indicators, such as lowering risk factors for cardiovascular disease and helping certain nervous system disorders.
I was invited to testify before a Congressional working group about nutrition. Then I got disinvited, for reasons I can only speculate. Then I was re-invited.
“There’s a lot of money at play here,” I wrote to her, “and when the powers that be have been giving bad advice (they absolutely have), then there will be a lot of heads to roll. I just can’t believe the lengths they will go to suppress a) help for the patients they are supposed to be advocating for and b) science.”
I couldn’t resist pushing back on flimsy, dangerous thinking. When one audience member asserted that Asians who moved to Britain started having problems with diabetes and heart disease, cancer, and kidney stones because they were eating more meat and fat than before they had emigrated, I blurted out, “Based on what data?” Fiona Godlee politely silenced me. But my point: people often jump to conclusions when they see such a change, like an increase in health problems among immigrants. There is no evidence that meat is the cause. On the other hand, there’s plenty of evidence to show that sugar and processed foods are major culprits, and perhaps the “overeating,” including greater carb consumption, that is common in Western societies.
The toll on Indigenous Americans from poor nutrition and the consequent illnesses, especially diabetes, is staggering. According to the CDC, American Indians have the highest rate of diabetes of any racial or ethnic group in the country, about twice that of the White population. Unless the trend is halted, one in two American Indian children will eventually become diabetic. Most American Indians on reservations live in food deserts, where the only grocery store or market is at best many miles away and where much of their sustenance comes from the USDA’s Food Distribution Program, which consists largely of high-carbohydrate and processed foods. Enter diabetes, an illness for which Indigenous American languages did not even have a word.
It was not only patients who had been living with diabetes for a short time who were successful. Remember, we had the tough cases. And during those three years, three of our patients who had been living with diabetes the longest—15 to 20 years, and on huge doses of insulin – came completely off their insulin. More than three years in the trial and they stuck with it! They needed proper food. We need proper food. It works. I can only imagine how much money people with diabetes and their insurance companies will save.
Once they had the result of the MRI of the brain and CT scan of the lungs, they could see that things were far worse than a stroke: a large brain tumor that caused the swelling, as well as a smaller brain tumor. Plus, a primary lung tumor and so many more as well.
With the CT scan of the chest and the MRI of the head, they could guess. Usually, you don’t get brain cancer metastasizing to the chest. And if you have metastatic lung cancer, the first place it often spreads is to the brain. Lung to brain, not brain to lung. Since my chest was full of tumors, that was the logical conclusion.
No, I never smoked.
The next thing I remember was arguing with my husband.
“They’re wrong,” I kept telling Brad. “They’re wrong!”
They had concluded that the larger of the brain tumors—posterior, left—was too big to shrink with steroids alone. They weren’t concerned at the moment about the smaller one. If we didn’t get the big one out right away, I’m told the doctor warned, “that’s it.”
That’s it.
Would I have ever used that wording with a patient or their loved ones?
Brain surgery was scheduled for the morning.
What was it like to be my husband that final day in June, the day before my brain surgery, a day that started out so perfect and turned so dreadful?
I had always vowed—granted, it was abstract then—that I would never do that to my family, or to me. It wasn’t the horrible things that were going to happen to me that I dreaded, but the horrible things my kids would have to watch.
I started considering—and in some cases pursuing—highly experimental treatments, the kind of “solution” I would normally have rejected for its lack of scientific support. Desperate times and all that.
I had to alter my usual presentation style—arms and hands animated—or blood would be flying everywhere. I felt handicapped at not being able to flap and gesture.
“Let’s do that,” I told him. “Now.” I had rejected the idea in the hospital, but every patient reserves the right to completely change her mind.
I held onto something, anything. You have to. Without hope, there’s nothing.