by Tanya Anne Crosby | Feb 28, 2017 | General
In light of the new ruling from W.H.O., it was time for me to revise this article a bit—mostly because the files I once kept to back up the data in this article are no longer available online (from me; but they are still searchable and a matter of public record).
Until about 10 years ago, and since my father’s death (2003), I managed his anti-aspartame website, DORway, and through that experience, learned more than I ever wanted to know about aspartame. Despite that my father was a fierce advocate for this cause, I remained, if not skeptical, certainly arrogant in my belief that my dad was overreacting. He was not. During my tenure as webmaster of DORway, I learned much to the contrary. And through that experience, I corresponded with so many wonderful people whose lives were changed by the information DORway provided. At one time, DORway was a standalone site, warning people about the dangers of aspartame. In fact, it was the biggest library of anti-aspartame articles available on the Web, and, over the years, DORway has been referenced in anti-aspartame movies, documentaries, and numerous articles. Unfortunately, due to hackers, much of DORWay is lost now, but not everything is gone. All files that remained on DORway were archived and remain in my keeping and someday, I may find the bandwidth to restore the site. In the meantime, there is still a place you can go to commune with other concerned consumers and these will remain open.
Many thanks to those who followed dorway.com. The following article is one that received much attention on DORway and now, it will live here. Apologies in advance for the supporting links, some of which no longer exist and some that are not updated. For many reasons, this is no longer my priority.
Moderated Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/48681018383/
Public Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/dorwaytodiscovery/
The Sum of it All: Straight Talk About Aspartame
Is aspartame poisoning an urban myth? Some doctors say so, the FDA says so, and Snopes says so. Why would they say it was safe if it wasn’t true?
“Above all else, do no harm.” Ever hear that phrase? It’s from the Hippocratic Oath. Too bad not all doctors swear by it anymore, and many don’t abide by it. But where medicine is concerned, shouldn’t it be about erring on the safe side and guiding people toward decisions that will better their health rather than harm it? I’m appalled, not just by our legal and health systems, but by the people who follow popular sound bytes without bothering to check the facts. Consider this: If soy, a product with healthful qualities, can be damaging to your health in larger quantities, how can anyone not question possible harmful effects from a man-made synthetic sweetener that’s now prevalent in more than 10,000 products and drugs? I just don’t get it.
The FDA says it’s not going to hurt me. Shouldn’t I trust them?
In 1980, the FDA Public Board Of Inquiry voted unanimously to reject the use of aspartame. The short version as to why? (In their words, not mine.)
- • Flawed data
- • Brain tumor findings in animal studies
- • Lack of studies on humans to determine long-term effects
Want more? Do a Google search about the shady way it was approved, including being ramrodded through the approval process by Donald Rumsfeld, who later went to work for the PR firm representing Searle (the company that first marketed the chemical). And if that weren’t enough, the Bressler Report, written by Jerome Bressler (who worked for the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) in 1977), describes numerous instances where Searle was less than forthcoming about reporting negative results. So the FDA allowed Searle to conduct and present their own tests and then to submit the findings of their choice. This, my friends, is a matter of public record. Incidentally, there have still been no studies done on humans to determine long-term effects, but the FDA seems to have conveniently ignored that part of their initial rationale. So my question is… why should you trust the FDA? Scratching head…
As long as I just stick to the FDA’s acceptable daily intake, I’m cool. I’m not worried.
Really? Do you know what the Acceptable Daily Intake (ADI) of aspartame is? When it was first approved, it was 20 mg/kg body weight. Then, once it was approved for use in Coke products, for some reason, the FDA decided it was OK (without additional studies – we’ll call their rationale “The Science of Politics”) to raise the limit to 50 mg per kg body weight. Consider this: At 20 mg per kg body weight, a 50 lb child can reach his ADI with 2 ½ cokes. You do the math. Add to that the simple fact that no one is actually required to tell you how much aspartame is in the products you’re consuming – just that it’s there. And then take into account the thousands of products it’s now used in—from chewing gum to yogurt to children’s vitamins—and what makes you think you’re not in danger of reaching your conveniently readjusted ADI?
The FDA claims they are “regulating” the public intake of aspartame.
Really? When was the last time you were surveyed by a government agency about your grocery shopping habits? About which drugs you’re taking? Which children’s vitamins you’re giving your kids? Do you have someone at hand to research the quantities of aspartame in each and every product you use and then kindly add it all up to give you an update? When was the last time you saw a regulatory body standing guard over the Pepsi machine to enforce a 2,4,6 coke limit per day? Nobody is regulating anything. If you ask me, for a little green pocket lining, the people who are supposed to be protecting us are conveniently looking the other way. In fact, speaking of looking the other way, legally, any Citizens Petition for a Ban submitted to the FDA is required by law to be answered within 180 days. Upon receiving the petition, the FDA must: i) Approve the petition (ii) Deny the petition; or (iii) Provide a tentative response, indicating why the agency has been unable to reach a decision on the petition, e.g., because of the existence of other agency priorities, or a need for additional information. The tentative response may also indicate the likely ultimate agency response and may specify when a final response may be furnished. The Citizen’s Petition for a Ban on Aspartame was sent via certified mail on June 17, 2002 – 7 years ago. In May of 2003, the FDA sent a “tentative response,” siting “competing priorities.” To date, this petition has not been revisited and remains lost in the bureaucratic Twilight Zone, unanswered. Want to know more about aspartame and ADI? Check out this article on DORway, or check out the study itself.
So what does aspartame do to you, exactly?
For starters, the FDA compiled a list of 92 symptoms based on over 10,000 complaints from, guess who… you, the consumer. They used to mail this list out freely, but now you can’t get it without a congressman or Freedom of Information Act request. Because aspartame is a neurotoxin, some doctors suggest aspartame may also be a factor in ADD, hyperactivity, mental retardation, and various other neurological problems in children. Check out this book by Dr. Russell Blaylock. Or check out this video and hear his own words. Along with the above and the increased possibility of cancer, aspartame also contains phenylalanine. The law requires a PKU warning for people who cannot metabolize the phenylalanine, because phenylalanine floods the brain, lowering the seizure threshold and depleting serotonin. So next time you pick up a pack of gum and check the ingredients, if it has phenylalanine—yep, that’s aspartame.
What do you have to gain from aspartame?
Not weight loss. Think again. In fact, what you might find yourself gaining… is weight. All the numerous other potential health risks aside, a new Duke University study published in The Journal of Toxicology and Environmental Health found that artificial sweeteners like aspartame and Splenda actually contribute to obesity. They also destroy beneficial intestinal bacteria and may interfere with the absorption of prescription drugs. This is an older well-written article by a nutritionist that I found interesting. For anyone who is health-conscious or wants to lose weight, it spells it all out very clearly.
OK, but if it’s so bad for you, why hasn’t it been banned? Ever hear this other phrase: “Money talks”?
So what does DORway have to gain from sharing this info? For 10 years before his death, my father spent thousands of hours compiling research. He then spent many thousands more transcribing the documents to DORway. He then paid for DORway’s bills out of his own pocket. Upon his death, I took over the upkeep for DORway – everything from paying the bills to updating the Web site to answering letters. No one paid him. No one pays me. I do it because, like my father, I just want to provide you, the public, with information. It’s that simple. You make up your own minds. On the other hand, what did Donald Rumsfeld have to gain for ramrodding aspartame through the FDA approval process? A job with the PR firm representing Searle – along with millions of dollars in compensation for his political influence. What do the lobbyists who help keep it legal have to gain? Lots of money. What does the FDA have to gain? Guess. What do the pro-aspartame Web sites have to gain? Take another educated guess. To give you just an idea how much money is at stake, Merisant Worldwide, Inc., just one of the many companies now dealing in aspartame, allegedly controls about 1/5th of the worldwide aspartame market. Their sales in 2007, according to their stock profile, were an estimated $290 million. One-fifth of the market at $290 million… DORway actually gets hate mail for simply posting information – something the U.S. Constitution grants us the right to do. We aren’t coming into your homes and seizing your diet cokes. We’re just giving you a little food for thought. So why should that make anyone angry? Hmmmm…
“Above all else, do no harm.” There’s that phrase again. DORway can rest assured that we are doing no harm by providing the free-thinking public with information. But we can point to many who can’t make the same claim, including Snopes, who irresponsibly plants a “False” status to the statement, “The artificial sweetener aspartame has been proved responsible for an epidemic of cancer, brain tumors, and multiple sclerosis.” Guess what, Snopes? Just maybe there would be a shred of truth in that statement if you had just added two words at the end of that sentence: “in people.” Aspartame HAS been proven to cause cancer in laboratory rats and mice – beyond a shadow of a doubt. No one is arguing that point – not the FDA, not the National Cancer Institute, not even the makers of aspartame! On August 1, l985 the FDA’s own toxicologist, Dr. Adrian Gross, told Congress one of Searle’s studies “established beyond any reasonable doubt that aspartame is capable of inducing brain tumors in experimental animals and that this predisposition of it is of extremely high significance.” So they’re only mice? How do you think they gauge the safety of every drug or food product introduced into the open market? When was the last time you heard of scientists using live human beings for lab testing – killing them in the testing process, then dissecting their remains to assess the damage? In fact, the safety of all products is often extrapolated from results compiled by thorough testing on other organic beings – mice, rats, monkeys, etc. It’s called science. So shame on you, Snopes. You’ve been given a rare opportunity to make a difference, and what do you do with it? Certainly not encourage people to do the research for themselves. No, you waste it. You essentially enter the folks who make the mistake of trusting you in a game of Russian roulette. Way to play the game.
Come on FDA, don’t you think it’s time to reevaluate whether aspartame still poses a “reasonable certainty of no harm”? Many respected doctors and researchers think so. To sum it all up, I’ll cede to William Campbell Douglass II, M.D., who said it better than I can and with far more impressive credentials: “No matter how you look at it, aspartame is bad news in my book. The massive introduction of this neurotoxin into the food supply is nothing less than biological warfare against every single one of us, and the only acceptable solution is to ban it from the food chain.”
by Tanya Anne Crosby | Feb 28, 2016 | General
First Posted By Tanya Anne Crosby on May 25, 2015 in Blog | 10 comments .title_area It’s become somewhat of a tradition for me to repost this every year. My father passed away in November of 2003, but Memorial Day was his favorite holiday. In a sense, this isn’t just my way of honoring him, but all the brave men who have served and died for our country through the years. At our house Memorial Day was the one time of the year you could count on lighting the grill, rain or shine. I know Dad never considered it “his” holiday, despite the fact that he’d served in Vietnam. In fact, I don’t know what my dad felt about his time in Vietnam. He never spoke of it, and I suspect like so many soldiers who came home, he was torn. What he was never silent about was his admiration for the men and women who serve our country on a daily basis and Dad spent this day honoring each and every one of them. Dad has been gone now for 12 years. I wrote this for him after his death and in his memory, I’m sharing it with you: In Loving Tribute to My Father (David Oliver Rietz) Through modern technology, the time of death can be pinpointed to the precise instant. But you don’t need wires and monitors to tell you when someone you love takes a final breath; there is no more accurate monitor than the heart. I arrived for the long wait just in time. My father was drifting into blackness — welcoming it, even — after a brave, painful struggle with cancer. He could still hear me, I know, though barely. Pain and drugs now fogged his brain, which had been so keen and lucid only hours before. His eyes, too, were hazing, and I could hear the seconds ticking away like an iron clock in my head. Time, as daddy had lamented to me only three weeks before, was running as thin as the paper skin covering his illness-ravaged hand. That hand … my toddler hand had sought it … squirmed out of its steely grip as a 5-year-old … dared not touch it as a too-modest teen. And now … at 41, I was again that 5-year-old standing before my daddy — but instead of squirming free, I was afraid to let go, lest I never have the opportunity to hold that hand again. He was my daddy and I was his princess … and I had come to say goodbye … alongside my brothers, my sister and my mother. We shared a communion in that twilight-shaded room where silence was king and tears quivered down cheeks as quietly and timidly as fearful subjects before the tyrant Death’s booming voice. But my father had not raised a coward; as afraid as I was to breach the silence I knew this would be my last chance to speak what my heart was shouting. “I love you, daddy,” I said with a quiver in my voice. But I suspected he knew it. He blinked. “I’m proud of you, daddy,” I continued. It was what I would have wanted to hear, and, after all, everyone said I was just like him. We had a connection, daddy and me — a connection that I hadn’t always relished. Like an obsessed sculptor with his subject clay, he’d attempted to mold me in his image while the pieces stubbornly fell away. At first, he’d persisted in tacking back an arm here, a leg there, but the constant rebellion wearied him and he finally threw up his hands, all the while shaking his head over his perfect vision gone awry. So I worked and reworked the rebel clay, sometimes ecstatic with the results, sometimes horrified, until I settled on a fitting image — one that seemed entirely my own. But as time eroded my handiwork, melding my vision with that of the sculptor’s, I discovered that while the masterpiece bore its own unique features, the image hadn’t metamorphosed into something so very different from its beginnings. Three weeks before, with tears in his eyes, a gaunt-faced withered man, my father had apologized for being so tough on me. I shushed him. I was what I was because of him — good and bad. I told him so. And I was damned proud. More than anything, I was proud of the white-haired soldier lqying now so still before me, whose hair grew in silky defiance to the chemo — thick and beautiful. He was brave, my daddy, and honorable and proud. He fought with true grit, never raising that white flag. He fought until the smoke cleared and the multitude of enemy cells at long last held him at rifle-point, bayonets aimed at his head … and lungs … and kidneys and liver. It’s clear to me now that my father heard his own “Taps” playing long before the rest of us were ready to accept his fate — our fate. And still, as the merciless cancer attacked like 10,000 bloodthirsty bayonets, he raised his head against the onslaught … until my mother was strong enough – and brave enough – to give the final nod. Even in utter defeat he was proud. He didn’t spit in the face of the enemy — death — but stood, bloodied and battered, gave his name, rank and serial number, and with incredible dignity, extended his hand into a farewell salute that moistened every pair of eyes. He apologized to his doctor for not making it out alive. So I stayed by my father’s side as his mind faded to black and his body gave up his ghost. My heart wrenched as the monitors heralded his final moments with shrieks that frenzied my soul. And the turmoil of his final breaths left me utterly confused … selfless and selfish at once … wanting him to go, wanting him to stay … begging him to die, willing him to live. In the end, I had no say at all. I knew the instant he let go of my hand to reach for the hand of God and I gave him my blessing by whispering his favorite verse, The 23rd Psalm. It had been his mother’s favorite; now it was mine. I’ve come to realize that mourning is never easy and never done. Every day I miss my father more. Last night I fell asleep with a pang in my heart and fat tears in my eyes. I dreamt. The first dream was both wonderful and terrible at once: For an immeasurable, beautiful time — it could have been a fraction of a second or an eternity — but for the span of a single dream I was with my dad again and I was joyful in his presence. Although he was suffering still, he was with us. He hadn’t made that dreadful decision to refuse treatment for dignity’s sake. He was safe at home. We didn’t complain as we cared for him and daddy didn’t complain that we had to. We were even grateful for the opportunity to help him use the toilet, because we thrived in those instants when his smile and good humor were like the sun to our withering hopes. And then he fell — in my dream — in the bathroom — and cracked his head. Like the young man who had once so long ago skated a champion performance only to fall, pick himself up, brush himself off and skate into the spotlight without a single complaint for the swollen ankle or scrape on his knee, he allowed us to lift up his desecrated body and even offered a lighthearted quip for our troubles. At least he was still with us, I said in a silent prayer of gratitude. And we walked him, step by painful step, to his bed only to watch him stumble and fall headfirst against the dresser, smashing the mirror with his face. I watched in horror as the blood seeped into the cracked glass like a scarlet web. He didn’t stir and the only reflection peering back at me in the crumpled mirror was my own … accusing. I was suddenly no longer so joyful, because my father was in pain and I fully realized the selfishness in my desire to keep him. Shaken by the vision, my eyes flew open. The pain I’d fallen asleep with only hours before was amplified as I closed my eyes again … still to dream. This time I envisioned another place with faces I didn’t recognize. My father appeared before me amidst strangers and stood smiling, wearing his favorite gray and blue plaid flannel shirt. And he said the most inane thing — something I was hardly in danger of forgetting. He said with a mischievous grin, “Hey Tanya … I’m pissing.” I blinked and thought … God, I must be dreaming. Only in a dream would my father say something so bizarre. And it wasn’t as though he was actually doing it; he merely stood there grinning. I shook it off as unintelligible dream fodder and dreamt again and still again and again … of places where my father would never be … and each time, he appeared in his blue and gray flannel shirt and said, “Hey Tanya … I’m pissing.” Christ only knew what that was supposed to mean, because I certainly didn’t. My father had been a sailor, but his salty tongue had always been reserved for “the boys.” Then I dreamt of him one last time: I held the keys to some strange car in my hands — a black sports car of indistinct design. And just as I was about to unlock the door, my father called to me. He was standing at my back in the middle of a verdant lawn. The sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the silver in his hair. And he said, again, to my continued bewilderment, “Hey Tanya … I’m pissing.” I just stared at him, embarrassed by his vulgarity despite my suspicion that it was merely a dream. He asked, beaming still, “Do you know why?” I shook my head. He said, “Because I can.” The dream was just about done, I realized, but I needed a hug from my daddy. Without a word, he put out his arms to welcome me into his embrace and I hurried into them, savoring the warmth and safety he radiated, dreading the instant I would awake. The moment came and I opened my eyes. I turned off the alarm and got into the shower, shaking my head over the nonsensical dreams. But as the water rained down upon me, I realized suddenly what my daddy had been trying to say … In his final days — months actually — he had been urinating blood. In fact, his urine hadn’t been clear for over a year before his death. It was his only real complaint, though he had so much to complain about. And in my moment of epiphany, as the shower washed away my tears, I flashed on the bright red blood in his hospital bathroom, where my mother had emptied his tubes. I flashed on the last days of his life when the nurse had checked his catheter for a sign that his kidneys had begun to work … and I continued to check the catheters in vain when the nurse, resigned, no longer bothered. In the end, not one drop left the prison of his body. “Because I can,” he’d said to me. In my heart, I believe it was my father’s way of telling me he was whole again, that he was well. Where he lives there is no more suffering, no more pain. Somewhere, he’s standing in his beloved back yard … alongside the puppies we buried as a family … with the water trickling down from the fountain into the pond he built with his hands. And he’s wearing his favorite flannel shirt … and smiling at me. Share this: ¥ Facebook ¥ Twitter ¥ Email ¥ Print ¥ Google ¥ Like this: Like Loading… Related end .post-content end .post You can start editing here. 10 Comments 1 end .avatar-box George McFetridge July 14, 2013 .comment-meta An eloquent and beautifully written tribute. I’m sure your father would be very proud of his little girl. end comment-content Reply end comment-body ◦ end .avatar-box Tanya Anne Crosby July 14, 2013 .comment-meta Thank you, George! end comment-content Reply end comment-body 2 #comment-## 3 .children 4 #comment-## 5 end .avatar-box carolyn baker August 19, 2013 .comment-meta Your tribute, by far, is the most beautiful one I have ever read. Your father certainly must have been one of the best fathers and husbands ever to have helped guide you in your thoughts and eloquent words about him. It is wonderful through dreams (crazy as they may be) that those who leave us can still communicate! My husband had a wonderful dream such as yours with our daughter shortly after she died. What a wonderful shower that must have been when your father’s message finally made sense to you and like his life, he persevered with the same message. Thank you for your Memorial Day wishes for everyone you mention and for sharing your family and parents who have encouraged those thoughts. Sincerely, carolyn end comment-content Reply end comment-body 6 #comment-## 7 end .avatar-box vic lux August 25, 2013 .comment-meta Tanya first of all ilove your books. I am having a somewhat rough time with my own daughter, so this memorial day letter to your dad hit home. I think your father wanted a beautiful, intelligent and strongdaughter which is what you have grown into. I have had my shareof loved ones pass. I don’t agree with people whosay it gets easier with time. I think if we remember the fun and special times makes it better. Anyway keep writing and dreaming. Thank you for being you. end comment-content Reply end comment-body 8 #comment-## 9 end .avatar-box glynniscampbell May 26, 2014 .comment-meta Most authors would “pretty up” a story like this. I think it shows true courage and heart that you’ve been honest with your words. Your memories make me wish I’d known the man who lent his toughness, bravery, and loyalty to his brilliant daughter. end comment-content Reply end comment-body ◦ end .avatar-box Tanya Anne Crosby May 26, 2014 .comment-meta Thank you, Glynnis. Your note brought tears to my eyes. Love you much. end comment-content Reply end comment-body 10 #comment-## 11 .children 12 #comment-## 13 end .avatar-box leahluvsmedieval May 26, 2014 .comment-meta Tanya, I’ve read this when you posted before and each time I read it again, it moves my soul and brings tears to my eyes. ((((HUGS))) end comment-content Reply end comment-body 14 #comment-## 15 end .avatar-box Gladys Paradowski July 12, 2014 .comment-meta I, too, had a wonderful father, so thanks for sharing this. end comment-content Reply end comment-body 16 #comment-## 17 end .avatar-box Pat Freely May 25, 2015 .comment-meta Beautiful. end comment-content Reply end comment-body 18 #comment-## 19 end .avatar-box Jo Ann Jackson May 25, 2015 .comment-meta We all miss our fathers when they leave us. Thanks for sharing such a moving story. end comment-content Reply end comment-body 20 #comment-## Leave a Reply end #content end #main_content ¥ Wordbooker code revision : 2.2.2 – Chemedzevana %d bloggers like this:
