Book Review: All in Her Head: The Truth and Lies Early Medicine Taught Us by Dr. Comen
When I first stumbled upon All in Her Head, I felt a rush of excitement. Dr. Comen’s exploration promises to dive into an often overlooked facet of history: women’s medical issues—a realm all too frequently relegated to the shadows. As a book blogger who revels in shedding light on these important conversations, my hopes were sky-high. However, as I dove deeper into the pages, I found myself grappling with my expectations and ultimately reaching a rather disappointing conclusion.
From the outset, Dr. Comen’s writing style is infused with a sharp, sarcastic edge, painting a vivid picture of the anger lingering in the annals of medical history. I appreciated her point that sexism has significantly hindered medical progress, especially regarding women’s health matters, a fact underscored by her illuminating discussions, such as the long-term health risks—like heart disease—that women continue to face. Yet, despite these moments of clarity, it began to feel that her arguments were bogged down by a repetitive emphasis on "obviously" and "clearly." If something is truly that apparent, does it demand multiple paragraphs?
The core narrative that’s woven throughout the book discusses how historical medical biases have misrepresented women’s health, often veering between painting the medical community as willfully oppressive to acknowledging that some early warnings—like those concerning cycling—might’ve been rooted in genuine (if misguided) concerns. One particularly irksome example was the so-called "bicycle face" condition, where doctors warned women against cycling, painting it as an activity fraught with danger. Yes, it’s ridiculous and laughable from today’s vantage point, but was it purely a conspiratorial plot to keep women down, or merely a reflection of a time lacking research and understanding?
As I mulled over this throughout the chapters, I couldn’t help but feel worn out. For every empowering narrative about women’s rights and medical liberation, there seemed to combat it with a retroactive apologetic tone towards the male-dominated medical community. This constant yo-yoing in perspectives left me longing for a more coherent thread—was cycling a dangerous pursuit, a liberated choice, or merely risky yet acceptable?
What finally pushed me to a breaking point was the author’s usage of outdated terminology surrounding postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS), dismissively referred to as “Grinch Syndrome.” This flabbergasting misstep—publishing such a term just months after its debunking amid increased awareness of POTS due to long Covid—deeply undermines the credibility of her arguments. For a work basing itself on extensive citations, this glaring oversight felt not just cringeworthy but troubling.
While All in Her Head undoubtedly raises essential questions regarding the history of women’s health in medicine, it falters by not contributing as effectively to that dialogue as I had hoped. Dr. Comen lifts the veil on some pressing issues but, unfortunately, lets herself be pulled down by stylistic choices and inconsistent narratives.
I believe this book might resonate with those interested in feminist medical studies or anyone eager to confront the historical missteps in women’s health. However, for readers seeking a clear, well-argued conversation on these momentous issues, this text may leave them wanting more. Personally, I walked away feeling a sense of loss—not just for the conversation that needed to happen, but for the missed opportunity to shine more light on this vital subject.
In the end, while I appreciated the attempt to tackle this significant theme, my experience has led me to realize that a well-intentioned exposé isn’t always enough when clarity and consistent messaging feel sacrificed.
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