The Omega Dilemma: a Fish Story
Imagine a group of people—diverse, a real mix of backgrounds—on a road trip through the scenic backcountry. They’re strangers, brought together by circumstance, until something strange happens. One moment, they’re following their maps, the next, they’re hopelessly lost. GPS fails, phone signals vanish, and the horizon seems to stretch on infinitely. It’s like they’ve slipped through a crack in the universe into a pocket of space-time, where the rules of reality don’t quite apply. No way out, no way back.
It’s “From” meets “Fringe,” a closed-loop, suffocating little world with its own peculiarities. But unlike the usual survival drama, there’s something uniquely odd about this place: it lacks any source of fish or omega-3 fatty acids. No lakes, no oceans, no salmon rivers. The local fauna? Completely devoid of the essential nutrients that, according to the latest studies, hold the key to neurodevelopment.
At first, no one really notices. After all, the lack of omega-3 is the least of their problems. They’re focused on basic survival—finding food, shelter, and most importantly, an escape. Weeks turn into months, and the group starts to accept their reality: they’re trapped. But here’s where things get strange. Over time, something peculiar happens. The children born in this place exhibit characteristics that some of the adults find unsettling. Their development is markedly different—more focused on specific interests, less inclined toward small talk. They communicate in scripts, learn in bursts, and avoid eye contact. The adults notice these children are… autistic.
Naturally, they look for explanations. Some blame the strange environment, the eerie atmosphere, or the lack of familiar comforts. But one person—a doctor—begins to connect the dots. “It’s the lack of omega-3,” they declare one evening by the campfire, reading aloud from their tattered scientific journals. “We’re not getting the nutrients needed to prevent autism. This place is turning our kids autistic!”
Panic ensues. They didn’t just lose their way; they’ve lost control of their future generations. The idea that autism could be prevented by a simple dietary choice begins to pervade their thinking. If only they had access to fish, they reason, their children would develop “normally.” This population, once diverse in neurotype, is now witnessing what they perceive as a gradual shift toward a homogeneously autistic future.
The State-Mandated Omega-3 Program
In this strange new world, the lack of fish soon becomes an obsession. The fear of an entirely autistic population grows into hysteria, as if neurodiversity is something to be stopped, a contagion to be curbed. The town hall—a roughshod assembly of makeshift buildings—becomes the epicenter of debate. Community leaders argue over how to “solve” this crisis. Eventually, someone proposes a solution: fish.
“But there’s no fish!” someone protests. “We don’t even know where we are. We could be light-years from the nearest lake, let alone ocean.”
“Then we find a way to get fish,” comes the retort. “Or supplements. We need omega-3, and we need it now.”
The leadership, driven by this new narrative, sets up an elaborate system to “save” future generations. They organise missions to explore the edges of their pocket world in search of fish or any source of omega-3. Of course, they find nothing. But that doesn’t stop them. The next plan? They establish a lab to synthesize omega-3 supplements using whatever they can scrounge up—plants, bugs, rocks. No resource is left untouched in the quest for the holy grail of neurodevelopment. Even the daily diets of survivors are meticulously controlled, with rationed portions of fabricated omega-3 distributed alongside increasingly scarce food supplies.
The community’s obsession deepens. Soon, everything revolves around omega-3. Regular citizens become enforcers of the new regime, ensuring that pregnant individuals take their omega-3 supplements as prescribed. The penalty for non-compliance? Social ostracism. They claim it’s for the good of the future, to prevent the “risk” of autism. Every mealtime becomes a neurotypical ritual, laden with heavy moral undertones. If you don’t take your fish oil pill, you’re gambling with the next generation’s future.
Neurodiversity as a Threat?
But not everyone buys into the hysteria. A small group—mostly parents of autistic children—begin to challenge the dominant narrative. They see the neurodivergent kids not as a problem to be fixed, but as individuals with unique strengths. The idea that autism is something to be feared or avoided feels deeply wrong to them. They don’t want to fight neurodiversity—they want to embrace it. These parents form a quiet resistance, nurturing their children’s talents in secret, away from the omega-3 regime’s watchful eye. They build underground schools, where sensory sensitivity is honored, and where special interests are cultivated rather than suppressed.
As these children grow, their differences become more apparent—but not in the negative way the majority had feared. They develop new forms of communication, new ways of thinking, and they begin to thrive in this strange pocket of the universe. While the omega-3-enforcing population grows more rigid and fearful, the neurodivergent children start building a new culture—one that doesn’t hinge on the idea of “curing” or “preventing” autism.
The Fish Airdrop
The turning point comes one day when a strange humming noise fills the air. The sky cracks open, and a massive drone descends, dropping crates of fish and omega-3 supplements. It’s a rescue effort from the outside world, sent to “save” the stranded population. But by this time, the neurodivergent community has already grown too strong, too resilient. The autistic kids—now young adults—are leaders in their own right, advocating for a society that celebrates difference rather than fears it. They don’t need fish or omega-3 to thrive.
Yet, the airdrop creates a schism. Many of the older generation, desperate for a return to “normalcy,” rush to embrace the delivery, heralding it as the answer to all their problems. They begin administering the fish and supplements, hoping it will reverse what they see as a slide into an autistic future.
But the neurodivergent community refuses. They hold firm, declaring that they don’t need fish to define who they are. In the end, it’s not the omega-3 that will save them, but their ability to build a world where all neurotypes can thrive.
A New Beginning
As the dust settles, the population splits. Some cling to the belief that fish and omega-3 are necessary to avoid the “risk” of autism. Others—those who have seen their children flourish—realize that autism was never a risk to begin with. The story concludes with the neurodivergent community moving forward, building a world that values differences and embraces neurodiversity.
The moral? You can’t reduce human neurodevelopment to something as simple as a missing nutrient. Autism isn’t a problem to be fixed, and trying to engineer your way out of it—whether through dietary supplements or any other intervention—ignores the beauty and richness that comes from neurodiversity itself.
In the end, fish may have been dropped from the sky, but it was the humans who found their way.
Epilogue
In the real world, studies like the fictional one in The Omega Dilemma often make headlines by reporting that eating fish during pregnancy reduces the “risk” of autism. But these news articles rely on people misunderstanding what “risk” truly means in a medical context. Autism is not a disease to be prevented or cured—it’s a neurodevelopmental variation, both genetic and epigenetic in origin.
What’s more, the word “risk” in studies like this is often used to describe slight changes in the odds of an outcome, not certainties. A reduction in the odds ratio from 1.0 to 0.84 is presented as significant, but it only means that, in a large population, a small percentage change is observed. It doesn’t mean eating fish will guarantee your child won’t be autistic. Correlational studies are notorious for suggesting connections that don’t necessarily imply causation. The mere fact that fish consumption and lower autism diagnoses are linked in some populations doesn’t mean one causes the other.
These studies thrive on ambiguity, often capitalising on public misunderstandings of statistics. The reality is far more complex, and attributing something as intricate as autism to a single dietary choice oversimplifies human development. The use of “risk” in this context only fuels the notion that autism is something to be avoided, a myth that further stigmatises autistic individuals rather than supporting and understanding them. It’s time to recognise these articles for what they are—sensationalized misrepresentations of science.