Friends have suggested that the media circus around H1N1 is fostering fear. Why not skip the news media, then, and go straight to the Centre for Disease control?http://www.cdc.gov/h1n1flu/pdf/Table_CDC_Est_2009_H1N1_Cases_Related_%20Hosp_Deaths_April.pdf

David Suzuki is a yes: Anne Murray is a no. Suzuki wonders why anyone would think they know more than scientists.  Murray feels that lots of Purell is the answer.

I’ve been an admirer of Anne Murray since I was a gloomy adolescent – she was the Voice, if not Joni Mitchell. Suzuki? Despite my agreement with many of his causes, I think he can be a righteous ass. Of course, because of my irrational bias against celebrity, I’m crazed in knowing that he’s been elevated to the realm of halos and wings – the god-like Voice of all things ecologically sound and environmentally right. I know this is my problem. It irks me that he’s so smart and usually right.

I have to swing with the god-like Voice on this one. Why would one not have it? Ok, safety is the greatest concern. Thimerosal, a mercury preservative, is in the vaccine and it’s been linked to autism, but there is no sound evidence of that. There are those who believe that too much is unknown about the virus – they don’t want to be guinea pigs. Some are of the mind  that there’s not yet enough known about how the vaccine interacts with other vaccinations. There may be a fractional percentage of people who have allergic reactions (if you’re allergic to eggs, you may want to avoid the vaccine). These fears are understandable. There are those who do think they’re immune, and that’s the only reason they decline the vaccine (fear, one can comprehend –  stupidity – not so much).

I don’t really know which is best. I’ve had the shot knowing there are risks. Slim chance of being effected by one or more, but risks nonetheless.

I’m not particularly altruistic. This has been demonstrated by shameful behaviour – taking the last, or the largest, or even the only portion of wine, cheese and/or dessert. Or lying in bed in the morning until I know the coffee is ready and the cat is fed. I’m a selfish cow from time to time. But, if I were to get N1H1, I would not want to spread it. So I wash my hands, sneeze into my elbow (my brother was relieved to know that the safest location to re-direct sneezing was NOT the back of the knee), avoid shaking hands (very difficult not to). And I had the shot - I took the risk.

Sometimes the Greater Good has to win out. You know…forgoing what you feel is best for you for the benefit of many. The Greater Good. I have to swing with Suzuki on that one and admit that he may not be a righteous ass and accept the fact that he is smart and usually right. What a voice.

I tried on the costume (I wore it in ‘06 for a breast cancer fund raiser, and I was damned if I was going to wear pink – think before you pink: evil and insidious – dig deep and discover the corporate agenda). It fit. It’s pretty girly for a middle-aged women (me) – striped mini dress with wings and a stinger (not loaded). Throw on the antennae, voila. It’s not pretty, but it’s a costume. Frankly, the hardest part will be walking around in heels, being a Josef Seibel follower for a long, long time. Sensible, nunnish, boring. Comfortable.

Were I to break an ankle, I’d have to go to the emergency department at the QE II, our main hospital – the only emergency centre in the Halifax peninsula. But….dunno. I might be better served to re-set my own ankle and rig it up with mud and baling twine. Why? This is one reason why, and I challenge you to not be shaken by this:

A friend went to the emergency with pain in her back between her shoulder blades. She sensed it might be a pulled muscle, but after some discussion with her husband and some anxiety about using medical services for no good reason, she finally went. She went because she’s living with metastatic stage IV breast cancer – mets to liver and bone. It’s a troublesome concern when this gal has some severe pain in a place not too far from where she has bone lesions. OK…we get that, right?

The intake person (the guy who took her information and decided where she fit into the triage system they have) had to ask her what “metastatic” meant, stumbled on the word several times, and finally asked how it’s spelled. My friend, who brooks no fools under the best of conditions, asked if he didn’t have a medical dictionary to look it up. He replied, in chilly tones, that he was trying to save time by having her spell it. Well, to be fair, perhaps she should have. She should have because he then asked her to take a seat, which she occupied for two hours waiting for a doc.

Ok…here’s the thing: don’t you think that if one does not know what metastatic cancer is, that one cannot know what the implications are, and how serious the situation could be? Were my friend to suffer a break in her back…well, not good on so many levels.

The doc saw her, got a little chippy and dismissive, did nothing but tell her it was probably a pulled muscle. And it probably was. But it still does not instill faith of any kind in our emergency care.

So, if I break an ankle tonight, it will be mud, baling twine and a very nice Pinot Noir (classic pairing with lamb, I hear).