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BY KATHERINE LAGOMARSINO | MAY 18, 2012
I cover CURE's childhood cancer beat. It's a topic I've been interested in since volunteering in the local children's hospital playrooms, some of which are located in the cancer wing . I also happen to know and adore numerous children who are a result of fertility treatments. So when news items began popping up recently stating that children born as a result of fertility drugs were twice as likely to develop acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL), the most common form of childhood cancer, I tuned in for reasons both personal and professional.
After initially reading various news organizations' interpretations of that study, and not the actual study itself, it was impossible to determine how serious a threat these fertility drugs really were, which fertility drugs were potentially problematic or if any were even harmful at all. Some media outlets went for the attention-grabbing headlines: "Fertility Drugs More than Double Childhood Cancer Risk, Scientists Say"; "Common IVF Fertility Drugs 'Increase Childhood Leukemia Risk'"; "IVF drugs linked to childhood cancer." It makes you wonder how many parents of children conceived with the help of fertility drugs panicked when they saw those headlines.
The actual study, however, is far less conclusive than those headlines suggest. True, French researchers found an association between ovulation-stimulating drugs and childhood cancer, but there was also an association between childhood cancer and couples who took longer than a year to conceive naturally. And, to be clear, association is not synonymous with causation. And the term link cannot be interchanged with cause. The lead researcher admitted further study was needed.
In other words, fertility drugs may or may not increase the risk of childhood cancer. This is not as bold of a statement, but certainly a more accurate one.
Studies that are not quite ready for prime-time come out every day, and sometimes the media picks up them. Indeed, some studies are more interesting than others, and what a thrill as a journalist to report on brand new findings. But if those findings aren't given proper context, the potential for causing unnecessary stress and worry among an audience that probably already has its fair share of both is high. Perhaps we as journalists need to be more generous with our use of the word "may" in our headlines.
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BY KATHERINE LAGOMARSINO | MARCH 29, 2012
Following an intense Facebook campaign encouraging Mattel to produce a Barbie specifically for young female patients suffering from hair loss, the toy company plans to unveil a bald Barbie, complete with scarves, wigs, hats and other accessories. The group of women behind the campaign, which now has more than 150,000 "likes," either had children suffering, or were themselves experiencing, baldness because of cancer treatments or other illnesses. The Barbie is designed to help young girls cope with the side effects of chemotherapy or alopecia areata, an autoimmune disease, both of which can cause hair to fall out. But don't expect to see these bold, bald beauties on store shelves. Mattel, working through the Children's Hospital Association, the Children's Cancer Foundation and the National Alopecia Areata Foundation, will be giving them directly to young patients suffering from hair loss. Kudos to the ladies behind the bald Barbie movement and to Mattel for responding to the needs of young cancer patients.
If you could suggest any doll or toy (iconic or otherwise) to be treated in a similar manner, what would it be?
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BY KATHERINE LAGOMARSINO | FEBRUARY 22, 2012
Some 31,000 units of preservative-free methotrexate, equivalent to a month's supply of the drug for the entire nation, are currently on their way to hospitals around the country, said Michael Ball, CEO of the drug manufacturer Hospira, in a Food and Drug Administration (FDA) press conference on Tuesday.
"Next week," said Ball, "we'll release 34,000 vials, another month's worth. By mid-March, we'll release another 55,000 vials."
Hospira is one among a handful of drug manufacturers picking up the slack for the nation-wide shortage of this life-preserving drug used for the treatment of acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL), the most common type of childhood cancer that is 90 percent curable with regular injections of methotrexate.
Last Friday, APP, another drug manufacturer, received FDA approval to produce preservative-free methotrexate and will begin supplying clinicians in the next four to six weeks. Two other manufacturers, Mylan Pharmaceuticals and Sandoz, have also agreed to ramp up production.
The FDA also announced in yesterday's briefing that they have found a substitute for Doxil (doxorubicin) a drug used to treat various forms of ovarian and lung cancers. Lipodux, produced by manufacturer Sun Pharma Global FZE, will temporarily replace Doxil, which has been in short supply since July.
While this news certainly comes as a relief to parents, healthcare providers, and of course, the patients whose very survival depends on methotrexate or Doxil, many say this situation is sure to happen again. "The system is fragile," said Peter C. Adamson, MD, the current chair of the Children's Oncology Group, who sat on the panel at yesterday's briefing. "For many of these drugs, there may be a sole provider. There are potential future crises that are waiting to happen."
In October, President Obama issued an executive order instructing drug manufacturers to report potential shortages to the FDA in a timely fashion so the agency has time to find other drug alternatives. In addition, the FDA said it was working on developing even tougher legislation that would create permanent solutions for these recurring drug shortages, although the agency admits these shortages stem from complex issues that include the problem of demand outpacing supply, particularly when it comes to generic drugs that have lower profit margins than brand name drugs, as well as other economic and legal issues.
Adamson concluded the nearly hour-long briefing with a comment that perhaps resonates most with the general public. "I understand that passing legislation is a complex and difficult process, but no more difficult than curing a child with cancer."
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BY KATHERINE LAGOMARSINO | FEBRUARY 14, 2012
I recently joined CURE as managing editor of books and special projects. While I have been in journalism for many years now, this is my first foray, as an editor, into the complex world of cancer. But as a daughter--well, that's a different story.
During one of my first staff meetings here, someone brought up the often-used analogies to describe the cancer experience: a battle, a journey, a roller coaster. But when I think of cancer, I always envision it as a marathon, admittedly, another well-worn metaphor. Perhaps that's because my father was an avid runner. He finished seven marathons in his lifetime, counted Chariots of Fire as one of his favorite movies (the theme song was one of his favorite songs), and he even founded a nine-mile running race in our hometown.
But in April 2000, my father's real marathon began when he was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. The doctors figured it was from a large malignant mole he had removed from his leg 15 years prior, but that was only a guess. Melanoma can lie dormant for years before it resurfaces in places like lymph nodes, which is where my father's recurred. A small, seemingly innocuous lump on his groin.
My father was a doctor himself--an ophthalmologist--so he knew that his prognosis would not be good. And it wasn't; it was of the "get-your-affairs-in-order" variety. But, being a stubborn man, a first-generation Italian from Newark and the son of a steeplejack, Dr. Bill, as his patients called him, was just warming up. He had only begun preparing for what was going to be a grueling six-year run filled with fatigue, dehydration, pain and emotional exhaustion.
There were runner's highs, like when a limb perfusion appeared to work, followed by extreme lows, when the brain mets appeared. And then there were the second, third and fourth winds when promising new studies came out. On he went, plodding from surgery to chemo to radiation. From clinical trial to clinical trial. Along the course, family and friend had lined up to cheer him on, give him water and food or tend to his injuries. In June 2006, my father hit the wall. His melanoma could no longer be controlled. He was spent, and he wanted to enjoy the final leg of the race at a slow amble, absorbing the sights and sounds of the course and the gathering crowd. On November 11, 2006, he crossed the finish line at peace--surrounded by his biggest fans.
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