6 Toilet Paper Brands That May Contain Compounds Linked to Cancer Risk
Bruce Abrahamse
Health & Wellness Journalist
AI-assistedMost people never expect a bathroom staple to raise questions about toxic chemicals, yet PFAS in toilet paper has entered that conversation for a reason. Researchers have found that some toilet paper products contain fluorinated compounds that can move into wastewater after use. That finding does not automatically turn every roll into a major personal cancer threat. It does, however, place an everyday household item inside a larger contamination problem that already worries scientists, regulators, and health experts.
Some PFAS compounds have links to cancer and other serious health concerns, while researchers still study the full risk of lower-level, repeated exposure from consumer products. Current evidence points more strongly to food and drinking water as major exposure routes, but toilet paper still matters because people use it constantly and flush it straight into wastewater systems. That combination gives this issue real weight. Consumers, therefore, need more than alarming headlines. They need a clear look at what researchers found, how much risk toilet paper may pose during use, how it may contribute to contamination after flushing, and which product types deserve extra caution.
Toilet Paper Enters the PFAS Debate
The modern debate did not start with a shopping guide or a viral warning. It started with a wastewater study. Jake Thompson, Boting Chen, John Bowden, and Timothy Townsend analyzed commercially available toilet paper from North America, South and Central America, Africa, and Western Europe. They then matched those results against sewage sludge data. Their conclusion landed with unusual force. They identified toilet paper as a potentially major source of PFAS entering wastewater systems. That finding grabbed attention because it pulled an ordinary paper product into a chemical problem more often linked to drinking water, industrial pollution, and food packaging. The researchers detected several PFAS compounds, but 6:2 diPAP clearly dominated the tissue samples. They also estimated that toilet paper accounted for about 4% of the 6:2 diPAP measured in sewage across the United States and Canada.
They estimated about 35% in Sweden and up to 89% in France. Those percentages do not mean toilet paper is the leading PFAS source everywhere. They do show that flushed tissue can make a measurable contribution, especially where other sources appear lower. That shifted the conversation in a serious way. Toilet paper stopped looking like a trivial paper good and started looking like part of a much larger chemical pathway. Researchers and outside commentators also offered a plausible explanation for how these compounds reach paper. PFAS may enter during pulp processing, through papermaking additives, or through contamination already present in recovered fiber streams. That means the issue may reflect supply-chain carryover as much as direct formulation. For consumers, that changes blame, but not consequence.
A roll does not need an intentional PFAS formula to become a PFAS source once it reaches the sewer. The study also clarified what it did not show, and that restraint matters. The authors did not publish a public list of retail brands from the global samples. Public reporting on the study noted that the brand names were not shared. The main message was narrower, yet still important. PFAS can be present in toilet paper, and when the paper is used and flushed, those compounds can move into wastewater systems. Later reporting on the same research noted that the dominant compounds were diPAPs, not the best-known legacy PFAS alone. Another useful detail emerged from follow-up coverage of the paper.
The investigators compared recycled and nonrecycled products and did not find a meaningful difference in diPAP concentration on that basis alone. They also did not assess every alternative fiber category in equal depth. Bamboo, recycled pulp, and virgin fiber, therefore, cannot be ranked from this paper alone. The strongest reading of the evidence is also the most disciplined one. Toilet paper is not the whole PFAS problem, yet it is clearly part of it. Wastewater appears to be the route that gives this finding its real weight. That remains the central lesson for shoppers and regulators alike. That is why this debate now extends beyond product safety to broader questions about source control, wastewater treatment limits, and the hidden chemistry of everyday consumer paper goods.
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I Invited My Grandma to My Prom – Everyone Laughed, So I Stopped the Party and Spoke Up
Lucas has spent his whole life keeping his head down and his heart guarded, especially when it comes to his grandmother's job at his high school. But on prom night, a single choice forces him to decide what really matters... and who truly deserves to be seen.
I moved in with Grandma Doris when I was three days old. My mother, Lina, had died just after giving birth to me ... I've never known her, but Gran told me that she'd held me once.
"She did, Lucas," Gran would say.
"Your mama held you for three minutes before her blood pressure dropped. Those three minutes will hold you for a lifetime, sweetheart."
As for my father? Well, he never showed up. Not once, not even for a single birthday.
I moved in with Grandma Doris when I was three days old.
Grandma Doris was 52 when she took me in. Since then, she worked nights as a janitor at the high school and made the fluffiest pancakes every Saturday morning. She read secondhand books in an armchair with the stuffing poking out of the seams, doing all the voices, and made the world feel big and possible.
She never once acted like I was a burden.
Not when I had nightmares and woke her up screaming.
She never once acted like I was a burden.
Not when I cut my own hair with her pair of sewing scissors, making my ears look so much bigger. And definitely not when I outgrew my shoes faster than her paycheck could keep up.
To me, she wasn't just a grandmother. She was a one-woman village.
I think that's why I never told her about the things people said at school, especially after they found out that my grandmother was the school janitor.
She was a one-woman village.
"Careful, Lucas smells like bleach," the boys would say, wrinkling their noses.
I didn't tell Gran about the way they called me "Mop Boy" when they thought I couldn't hear.
And the way I found milk or orange juice spilled at my locker with a note taped to it:
"Hope you got your bucket, Mop Boy."
If Gran knew about it, she didn't say anything to me. And I tried my hardest to keep her away from the nonsense.
"Hope you got your bucket, Mop Boy."
The thought of her feeling ashamed of her job? That was the one thing I couldn't bear.
So, I smiled. I acted like it didn't matter. I came home and did the dishes while she took off her boots, the ones with the cracked soles and my initials carved into the rubber.
"You're a good boy, Lucas," she said. "You take good care of me."
"Because you taught me that this is the only way to be, Gran," I replied.
The thought of her feeling ashamed of her job?
We ate together in our small kitchen, and I made her laugh on purpose. That was my safe place.
But I'd be lying if I said that the words didn't get to me. Or that I wasn't counting down the days until graduation so that I could have a fresh start.
The only thing that made school feel bearable was Sasha.
But I'd be lying if I said that the words didn't get to me.
She was smart and confident, and funny in this dry, sideways kind of way. People thought she was just pretty — and she was, in that way where it didn't look like she tried — but they didn't know she spent weekends helping her mom around the house and balancing tip money in a yellow notepad.
Her mother was a nurse who worked double shifts and didn't always eat. They had one unreliable car, which made them use the bus more often than not.
"She says cafeteria muffins are better than hospital vending machines," Sasha had said, laughing without quite smiling.
"Which should tell you something about the vending machines."
Her mother was a nurse who worked double shifts and didn't always eat.
I think that's why Sasha and I clicked. We knew what it felt like to live around the edges of other people's privilege.
She met Grandma Doris once, when we were waiting in line at the cafeteria.
"That's your gran?" she asked, pointing to Gran, holding a large tray of mini milk cartons, her mop resting against the wall behind her.
We knew what it felt like to live around
the edges of other people's privilege.
"Yeah, that's her," I nodded. "I'll introduce you when we get closer to her now."
"She looks like the kind of person who gives second helpings even when you're full," Sasha said, smiling.
"Oh, she's worse," I said. "She'll bake you a pie for no reason."
"I love her already," Sasha grinned.
"Yeah, that's her," I nodded.
Prom came up quicker than expected. People buzzed about limos, spray tans, and overpriced corsages. I avoided the topic whenever possible.
Sasha and I had been hanging out more by then. Everyone assumed that we were going together, and I think she did, too — until one day after class when she caught up to me outside.
"So, Luc," she said, swinging her purple backpack onto one shoulder. "Who are you bringing to prom?"
I avoided the topic whenever possible.
I hesitated, biting my lip.
"I've got someone in mind," I said simply.
"Someone I know?" she asked, her eyebrows lifted.
"Yeah, I guess so," I said carefully. "She's important to me, Sasha."
"Someone I know?" she asked, her eyebrows lifted.
I knew how... cagey I was being. I knew that in some way, I'd just hurt one of the people I'd cared about the most. But like I'd told Sasha, this was important to me.
"Right. Well... good for you," Sasha said. Her mouth pulled into something between a smile and a question.
And after that? Sasha didn't bring prom up again.
I knew how... cagey I was being.
The night of prom, Gran stood in her bathroom, holding up the floral dress she'd last worn to my cousin's wedding.
"I don't know, sweetheart," she murmured. "I'm not sure this even fits right anymore."
"You look beautiful, Gran," I said.
"I'll be standing on the side, right? I don't want to embarrass you. I can just stay home, Lucas," she said. "The school hired three cleaners for the night so that there'd be no trouble during prom. I can have my night off, right here, in front of the couch."
"I don't want to embarrass you.
I can just stay home, Lucas,"
"Gran, you're not going to embarrass me. I promise. Other than graduation, this is the last school event of my life. I want you to be there!"
Gran looked at me through the mirror. I knew she was hesitant about coming to prom. But this was... I needed her there.
I helped her with her earrings — little silver leaves she'd worn for every special occasion since I was seven — and smoothed the collar of her cardigan.
I needed her there.
She looked nervous, like a guest at a party she hadn't fully been invited to.
"Breathe, Gran," I said as she straightened my tie. "This is going to be great."
The gym was transformed. White string lights hung in loops across the ceiling. There were silly paper awards and a makeshift photo booth with props.
"This is going to be great."
Sasha won "Most Likely to Publish a Banned Book," and I got "Most Likely to Fix Your Car and Your Heart."
I rolled my eyes, but she laughed. Even at the back, I heard my grandmother's warm chuckle.
After the last award was given out, the lights dimmed, and the music picked up. Couples started forming, and the dance floor filled quickly.
"So... where's your date?" Sasha looked over at me.
"Most Likely to Fix Your Car and Your Heart."
"She's here," I said, scanning the room until I spotted Gran near the refreshment table.
"You brought your gran?" Sasha asked, her voice soft and curious — not judgmental.
"I told you, Sasha. She's important."
Then I walked away, crossed the floor, and stopped in front of Grandma Doris.
"You brought your gran?" Sasha asked.
"Would you dance with me?" I asked.
"Oh, Lucas..." she began, her hand flying to her chest.
"Just one dance, Gran."
"I don't know if I remember how, sweetheart," she said, hesitating.
"We'll figure it out," I said, doing a shuffle with my feet.
"Would you dance with me?" I asked.
We stepped out onto the floor, and for a few seconds, it felt like a perfect moment. Until the laughter started.
"No way! He brought the janitor as his date?"
"That's... gross."
"Lucas is pathetic! What the heck?!"
Someone near the snack table laughed loud enough for it to echo over the music. I could hear sneakers sliding on the gym floor as a few heads turned in our direction.
"No way!
He brought the janitor as his date?"
"Don't you have a girl your age?" another voice shouted. "This is seriously messed up."
"He's actually dancing with the janitor!"
I felt Grandma Doris tense beside me. Her hand, warm in mine just a moment ago, went still. The corners of her smile pulled downward before she could stop them. She stepped back just slightly, enough that I felt the space between us shift.
"Don't you have a girl your age?" another voice shouted.
"Sweetheart," she said quietly. "It's alright. I'll head home. You don't need all this. You need to enjoy the night."
She gave me a soft, apologetic look like she was the one who had done something wrong.
Something inside me locked into place. Not anger exactly — just a kind of clarity I didn't know I had until that moment.
"No," I said. "Please don't go."
"You don't need all this. You need to enjoy the night."
I looked around the gym. Every table, every corner, every shimmering string light seemed to close in. People had stopped dancing. Some were whispering. Sasha was standing by the wall, watching us, her face unreadable.
"You told me once that you raised me to know what matters. Well, this matters," I said, turning to Grandma again.
She blinked, her mouth parting slightly.
"I'll be right back," I said.
People had stopped dancing.
Then I crossed the floor, weaving between couples and cutting straight to the DJ booth. Mr. Freeman, our math teacher turned part-time DJ, looked surprised as I approached.
"Lucas? Is something wrong?"
"I need the mic," I said, nodding once.
I crossed the floor, weaving between couples...
He hesitated for just a second, then handed it to me. I turned off the music myself. The room fell silent, like someone had physically pulled the sound out of the air.
"Before anyone laughs or pokes fun again... let me tell you who this woman is," I said, taking a deep breath.
I looked toward Gran, who was still standing alone, arms loosely at her sides.
The room fell silent.
"This is my grandmother, Doris. She raised me when no one else would. She scrubbed your classrooms at dawn so you could sit in clean seats. She's worked extra hard cleaning out the locker rooms so that you could shower in clean cubicles. She is the strongest person I know."
There was a hush so quiet, I could hear the whirring of the ceiling fan.
I caught Anthony in the corner, face flushing red. I remembered Gran finding him drunk in the locker room two years ago — someone had smuggled a bottle of something into school. She helped him clean up, got him home safely, and never breathed a word of it.
"She raised me when no one else would. "
His dad was on the school board.
I let the silence settle.
"And if you think dancing with her makes me pathetic," I paused, "then I truly feel sorry for you."
When I turned back to my grandmother, her eyes were brimming.
I let the silence settle.
I walked over and held out my hand again.
"Gran," I said. "May I have this dance?"
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she nodded.
She placed her hand in mine.
For a moment, she didn't move.
At first, only one person clapped. Then another. And suddenly, the sound swept through the room like a wave. The laughter was gone. All that remained was applause.
Gran covered her mouth with her free hand, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.
We danced beneath the string lights, while the whole room watched — not with mockery, but with respect.
The laughter was gone.
All that remained was applause.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't invisible.
She wasn't "the cleaning lady."
She was someone honored.
Later that night, Sasha walked up to me holding two paper cups of punch. She held one out, smiling in that way she did when she was trying not to make a big deal out of something that felt big anyway.
For the first time in her life, she wasn't invisible.
"Here," she said. "You earned it."
I took the cup, our fingers brushing slightly.
"For the record," she added. "I think that was the best prom date choice anyone's made all year."
"Thanks," I said, and meant it.
"Here," she said.
"You earned it."
She looked across the room at Gran, who was laughing with two teachers near the dessert table. She was glowing in a way I hadn't seen before. Not like she was trying to belong.
Like she already did.
"My mom's going to love this story," Sasha said. "She's definitely going to cry. Just a heads-up."
"I cried," I admitted. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her."
Like she already did.
"So did I," she replied. "And that was before the slow song even started."
She bumped my arm gently with her shoulder.
"You know," she said. "I really like your gran."
"I know," I agreed. "She likes you, too."
She bumped my arm gently with her shoulder.
Sasha smiled again.
The following Monday, Gran found a folded note taped to her locker in the staff room.
"Thank you for everything.
We're sorry, Grandma Doris.
— Room 2B."
She kept it in her cardigan pocket all week.
The next Saturday morning, she wore her floral dress while she made pancakes. Just because she wanted to. And I knew that she'd walk into my upcoming graduation with pride.
"Thank you for everything."
