The ABC's of STD's.

Aids
Bacterial Vaginosis
Chlamydia
Disease
Elephantitis
Fucking
Gonorrhoea
Hepatitis C
Infection
Jock Itch
Kangus
Lymphopathia venerea
Mono
No is what you should have said
Oral Herpes
Pubic Lice
Questionable rash
Rabies
Scabies
Trichomoniasis
Urethritis
Vaginal
Warts
Xylophone
Yeast Infection
Z
Now I know my STDs next time don’t give one to me!

Out of Africa

Ever since it was suggested to me, I haven’t been able to let go of the idea that foreign aid is bad. Medical advancement is a product of research and research is a luxury for wealthy countries. To impose the product of our research, medical advances, on other countries is not the natural way of things. The western world got to where it is without the aid of more advanced nations. The death of anyone is a tragedy, but before we had modern medicine, disease was rampant and death was inevitable for the sick. John Donne (1624) wisely stated in his poem, No man is an Island unto himself, that “any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” I will not make an appeal against caring for individuals, but in the same way that people die fighting for a cause; people may need to die in the pursuit of development. I propose that foreign medical aid should be reduced in developing countries. Foreign aid attempts to provide advanced medical treatment to places that lack the infrastructural support needed to accompany these medical prectices.

I find fault in the assumption that this global health assistance is really helpful. In ecology we are taught that in order to understand a correlation or relationship we must sample an area, and then we can interpolate the results to the rest of the area, assuming we correctly sampled. However, we cannot extrapolate these correlations to outside the scope of our sampling. If I saw that rain is an important factor for microarthropod communities on moss samples from Southwestern BC, then I conclude that rain is important for micro-communities on moss in Southwestern BC. I cannot conclude that rain has a large impact on moss communities in China, nor can I assume that rain has a large impact on black bears (Ursus arctos) in Southwestern BC. In a similar way, what is an effective treatment for AIDS in Canada was determined by clinical trials in Canada. I would like to argue that what is good for Canadians is also not necessarily good for developing countries, even though the people are the same, the available services are different.

HIV is no longer the death sentence it used to be. A person who contracts HIV, if detected early on by a simple blood test, can be treated and may live for a long time without actually contracting AIDS. HIV is the human immunodeficiency virus, and with manageable, albeit expensive, drug cocktails, known as HAART people can live with few or no symptoms, but this is not a cure. AIDS is the autoimmune deficiency syndrome and is also very treatable, but again, not curable. Recent estimates show that cooperative patients can live for more than a lifetime without having HIV become AIDS and that on average it takes 9 years for AIDS to develop from HIV, at which point they have with medication approximately another 11 years to live.

A gift of 20 years is a gift I feel every individual deserves. I do no t wish to deprive people of the gift of health, but I am willing to be considered heartless and propose that HAART is not a cure for everyone. Developing countries are not ready for an AIDS treatment. They do not have the stability or infrastructure to keep healthcare available, leaving patients unmonitored and without complete treatment. An episode of West Wing spelt out the simple but devastating detail that even with unlimited and regulated drug availability, individuals in these places don’t have watches and will not be able follow the drug regiment. Furthermore, if treatment were to be provided, most developing countries are far from having universal healthcare and would experience an increased economic disparity as the rich monopolize the available medicine. There is no limit to how power may take advantage of having this treatment in their hands and no abundance of drugs will guarantee the provision of treatment to the poorest and most helpless. And the biggest kicker of all is that without actually curing AIDS, these treatments if they do successfully reach the population, will simply prolong the life of individuals who are carrying a frighteningly contagious disease. AIDS kills, it spreads, and it is rampant in developing countries. Increasing the time that people with AIDS live seems like the gift of life, but in reality without safe sex education, the treatment may just be helping the spread of disease.

To bring this back to ecology, I’d like to think of conservation enthusiasts. In conservation biology, essentially applied ecology, scientist attempt to return ecosystems to the way they used to be. There is an assumption that diversity is valuable and should be preserved. The ultimate goal is to reduce anthropogenic influences and to some extent, I wonder if the ultimate goal should be to reduce the maximum anthropogenic influence of western world culture on developing countries.

This is one perspective from one person. This is not everyone’s opinion, nor is it the right opinion, nor is it even my only opinion on the matter. It’s just one stream of consciousness.

Quarantine.

I had a smile wiped so hard across my face that I felt like my smile was being held in place by the rain drops that were fiercely spearing down on me. I was certain that I was radiating a glowing light since my happiness in that moment felt too strong to be restricted to my frail body. The wind heaved against me and a couple Gs tugged me down and then I was dropped feather light as I rode the Barkley Star on the waves of the open ocean. The tough silver vessel coasted up and down the waves with grace and strength darting along the coast to avoid the open ocean swell, but still steering clear of the projecting rocks off of the islands. The size and shifting energy of the waves had me captivated. That was until we reached our destination.

Since I moved to the station I have intended to log some of my experiences for later reflection and perhaps to share. However, it isn’t until now that I have slowed down enough to write. Also, today I finally accepted that this will have to be Microsoft Word processed and not hand written on pretentious moleskin notebook paper as I had hoped. High quality paper here is mostly reserved for scientific tasks such as pressing interesting and rare seaweeds. Frankly, most of the seaweed pressing here is actually done to make Christmas cards, but still, typing is my reality.

Today after a morning lecture my classmates and I were instructed to wait as our teacher and his assistant conversed privately in the hallway. We put our feet up on our chairs and made small talk as we waited for leadership. There was a general spirit of enthusiasm amongst us that often arises from long lectures, either a restless enthusiasm from being released of the expectation of sitting still or occasionally a deeper enthusiasm inspired by the ideas from the lecture itself. This was definitely a case of the former, but the chatter was cheerful just the same. When they returned we received a careless haphazard announcement. One of our classmates, Emily, has swine flu. The chatter exploded with excitement and fear. We were a sickly bunch of undergraduates and few of us had not contracted one illness or another that semester and many were experiencing symptoms right then. The sick and at risk were collected from amongst the temporarily healthy and brought to the clinic, where a cloud of apprehension infected us all.

One by one the entire health staff of Bamfield, Donna, met with us. Myself and a diabetic were evaluated and quickly sent home with instructions to avoid the sick. Of the eight suspected cases, 5 were considered worthy of quarantine with Emily. A good enough idea, but communication broke down and in the afternoon I found myself at sea with my infected classmates.

I’ve written this disorderly and not chronologically, but it reflects the spirit of the day. The morning lecture had been cut in half and the afternoon seminar rescheduled for the next morning. The afternoon field trip (a canopy tour of the great trees) had been replaced with different field trip. The two shifts of students had been re-arranged to accommodate the medical crisis and the second shift was postponed an hour. All in all, a typical day in Bamfield. There’s a rule out here, they say is true of all research (but I’m pretty sure it is amplified at the station, because they use the excuse liberally), that everything takes longer than you expect. It is practically our mantra.

So, at 16:00, half an hour later then scheduled, we set sail for the Folgers islands, a migratory refuge for sea lions which summer in California and move north with the winter (odd). We left three bodies short, because we just couldn’t wait any longer, but of course we only made it to the mouth of the inlet when we spotted our tardy peers booting it full speed down the hill to the dock (and coughing up flem). At our plea, the captain, a real seaman, turned the vessel around and gracefully picked up the stragglers. And then we were off. “There’s no reason to go 8 knots when you can go 30 knots,” were that last words I heard before the sound of the rumble of the engine and the crash of displaced water was all I could hear.

At our thundering pace it only took a bit to get to the Folgers where I spotted the first sea lion breaching the sea’s grey surface. The sky and ocean were a homogenous light grey and the splash of the sea lion flashed black fin that stood out on the grey canvas. Excitement. Cameras. Flashes. Binoculars. We were a regular bunch of Japanese tourists, and that was before we realized that the rocky island we saw ahead was not covered in logs and was not rocky at all. It was a body of land covered in sea lions. Hundreds of them. Fat bags of warm flesh with disproportionately small heads that were almost comedic. They waddled about with great labor around each other. They barked like children mocking the mentally disabled. They were great lazy blobs of life just resting and chumming on the beach. There were Stellar sealions, lighter in colour, and California sea lions that appeared almost black when they were wet.

The boat slowed right down and we toured around the islands at crawling pace. Whenever you thought you’d seen all there was to see, you’d notice that the rock next too you was plastered with half a dozen more of these enormous monsters, occasionally with lackadaisical fighting males. Or if you were real lucky you would witness the ridiculous moment of transformation when an awkward sea lion would waddle off the edge into the water and become the graceful dancer of the sea.

Eventually we tore our eyes away from the sea lions and made for the station. Of course, the captain couldn’t resist another attempt to cause sea sickness, so he ripped off full speed and took us the long way home, which was really just the wrong direction for any destination except Japan (where perhaps we belonged with our hands clinging onto our cameras). We fought with the open oceans and maneuvered between great swells, dreaming about how incredible the force must be further out to sea or in a storm. Wet from rain and ocean spray we clambered out of the boat and headed to dinner. At the top of the dock we were met by the director’s wife, also known as ‘Mom’ or the ‘real director.’ She split us up into two groups and took away the five infected students to quarantine. Goodbyes were said and we went our separate ways. Dinner was amazing that night, roast beef and mashed yams with other vegetables. With my roommate in quarantine, I slept naked that night, a special treat. She got ice cream.