The Antibiotic Apocalypse

https://medium.com/editors-picks/892b57499e77 – Imagining the Post-antibiotics Future

I read this piece during a spare moment at work. It terrified me.
Can you imagine a world where a scraped knee could kill a child? Where mothers don’t live long enough to see their children after childbirth? Where a sore ear could cause lifelong deafness?
It would be like returning to the 18th century.
A world without antibiotics is a terrifying prospect, not least because the advantages of modern science mean that we take our defence against infections for granted. It is clear that we need to take steps to prevent these important medicines from becoming completely ineffective, and it is important that these steps are taken by patients and doctors, hand in hand. Patients need to recognise that not every common minor illness requires antibiotic treatment. Obviously, severe bacterial infections necessitate such tough medicines, but for minor viruses like the common cold, antibiotics won’t help. At the same time, doctors need to ensure patients are informed of the proper uses for antibiotics, and guide them through alternative treatments for their minor ailments.
I came down with a cold not long ago. Nothing more than a sore throat, blocked nose and a cough. But the cough stopped me from doing my job of answering phones. I took the day off and visited the doctor for the necessary medical certificate – and left with a script for antibiotics.
I know what you’re thinking. The doctor knows best, he has years of medical schooling – but it is common knowledge that antibiotics will not treat a cold. My main concern was that I was prescribed these powerful drugs without having any further tests done. How could he be sure I needed them? He couldn’t. I dumped the script in the bin and, after a couple of days of rest coupled with codrals, I ‘miraculously’ recovered.
But it worries me that our first defence against serious bacterial infections can be so readily misused. No wonder then, that resistance to antibiotics is growing, when bacteria are given opportunities like this to develop their resistance to our medical weapons.
Obviously, as the article mentions, there are other factors contributing to the decreasing effectiveness of antibiotics. But it is important that patients and doctors alike recognise that antibiotics are effective only when used for their true purpose- fighting bacteria. Having spoken to others, I know I am not the only one who has been prescribed these drugs unnecessarily. Unless we want to see them fail completely, we need to start treating antibiotics with respect, using them only when necessary and as prescribed. The alternative world presented in the article above is only too close to becoming our reality.

I Gave Money to a Homeless Man Today

I gave money to a homeless man today.

He was not more derelict, or dirty, or impoverished looking, than others. He had no attractive wares to sell, was not actively calling for money, and did not have a starving pet with him.

He was sitting in a doorway midway up the street, wrapped in a surprisingly clean looking doona. Before him, the vessel that invited the generosity of passers-by: a used plastic coffee-cup.

The city is full of similar images of poverty and despair. Men and women of all ages, wrapped in whatever scraps they can find to keep out the biting wind, with hollow objects sitting on the ground in front of them, signals of their desperation for any spare change that might be offered.

Often, these people are ignored; they are the symptoms of a problem that no one really wants to confront in the course of their day. So, invisible, the beggars remain in their niches and crevices, holding out for change.

The man I saw was no different in this respect. Except that, rather than simply walking past, I decided to stop this time. 

Something in his expression caught me. Our eyes met, and I recognised the usual emotions of despair and resignation. But there was something else too. Something like hope, not just for the possibility of some spare coins, but also more generally. He had his face turned into the wind, looking back into the CBD, and his expression was completely calm.

I stepped up and deposited my offering in his cup. I mumbled a hello, and his response was raspy and parched, but grateful.

I don’t know anything about this poor man, other than that he happened to be the beggar I passed in that doorway that afternoon. Perhaps I imagined the emotions I read in that expression. Certainly his position is not unique; homeless people all over the city must feel the same as this man. But I like to think that the change I spared him may have genuinely helped him to have a more comfortable night, and perhaps add a spark to the hope that seemed to burn behind those accepting eyes.

The Club

Cold, and cigarette smoke. So much of it. Of both. With a laugh, the frighteningly large bouncer told us to have a few drinks so we wouldn’t feel the cold.

The female bouncers got defensive and threatening when we fumbled with our licences and couldn’t get them out of our purses; our fingers were too numb. A stamp on our hands certified us VIPs and got us in for cheap.

The first stop was the toilet; one of our party had started drinking early, and had broken her seal already. But the moment she was done, we headed for the bar.

They knew everyone, the other girls. In the darkness, it was surprising they could make out enough facial details to recognise anybody we passed. And yet they did, and I found myself standing awkwardly to one side, pretending to send a text and wondering if I should be attempting conversation with their friends. Perhaps friends wasn’t quite the right word though: acquaintances, drinking buddies, dancefloor grinders…. 

More drinks, more bodies, mostly youths of both genders squeezed into tiny clothes that did nothing to flatter their wobbling white flesh. It began to feel warmer in there. The volume got higher, and people screamed and stamped their feet with the beat, singing in time with the words they identified with. Hot sweaty bodies rubbed close against each other, drinks hit the floor and glasses got squashed beneath pin-point heels. Arms raised, the crowd pushed the ceiling, swigged alcohol from the bottle, screamed and shouted – a pulsing mess.

The lasers blinded, and the tables were sticky. It was dizzying, electrifying, terrifying. Crowd mentality had kicked in, and it was impossible to move. There was no room to dance anymore. The stench of cigarettes, alcohol, cheap perfume and puke was overwhelming. There was an almost otherworldly, mystical quality to the night now. The party-goers moved as one, trance-like, held in thrall by the movements of the DJ up on the stage. God-like, silhouetted against the black wall, he led the swaying, the thrusting… the dancing? Everything was insubstantial; nothing was certain, or solid, or real. 

It was Friday night in the suburbs; the week was over, we were young, loose and fancy free, and there was no reason not to let go for a while. Friday night was a lifetime, while work and study were a whole world away. There was only tonight, and a beat, and that was all we needed.