So long. Fare well.

It’s time to say good-bye to the year of change. Not only have we learnt, as humans, just how destructive we can be, we have found that love, compassion and kindness still exist. It survives and thrives on the burning embers and scattered remains of humanity’s desperate attempt to survive.

In the midst of the horrors that have occurred over 2020, we have witnessed the re-establishment of communities fighting for their weakest, holding up institutions filled with heroes willing to martyr themselves in their battle against an invisible enemy. Some of us less brave souls could only clap in unison to express our gratitude to them at assigned times each week, whilst others made sure those warriors were fed and watered during their most enduring of wars.

it is sad to mention a minority who formed a thick layer of denial against the truths of what was occurring. They rallied support through social media to defend their stance that a dystopia movement was imminent; our rights were slowly being eroded. Yet, they used those same rights they were afraid to lose to undermine the safety of others, choosing to be conduits for the deadly enemy, both mentally and physically.

And here we stand now, with the weaponry to keep the enemy at bay but racing against a ticking clock. How fast can we vaccinate humankind before more souls are taken or our enemy mutates again?

As we count down the hours to a new year, let us think of those brave enough to battle for our rights to live. Let us think about the souls already lost and those willing to use their bodies as conduits to test the resistance of vaccines against an enemy capable of mutating itself into new strains of monster.

Use these thoughts to help you cope with the silent nights and empty streets. We are all in the void together. Yet, we move. This won’t be forever. So, stay strong. Stay in. Stay safe. Tomorrow is a new year.

Happy new year to you all. I hope to see you on the other side soon.

Aiding the Future Silent Killers

It’s Thursday morning and the house is bubbling with activity at seven o’clock. After six months of watching the early bird rise, eat his worm and fly home before anyone stirred in our house, this feels unnatural. It’s the first day of the autumn school term and we are all a bundle of nerves.

My son has packed and repacked his school bag over the weekend, checking his school list for any bits of stationery or equipment he might have missed. The school has been adamant in its correspondence: no equipment or stationery will be given or shared with students. They must ensure they carry what they need to avoid cross contamination. I put my coffee cup down to help him. He complains again that his tummy hurts. I know it’s the worry that he might forget something and get a detention, so I go over the prepared speech he should deliver in case of he forgets or can’t find his way to one of his classes. ‘Apologise first and ask for help. If they shout, explain you are anxious and it makes it hard for you to remember directions under duress.’ He gives me a look and tells me some of the adults he deals with don’t care. They are more concerned with moving crowds and settling the younger newcomers to the school. They won’t have time to deal with him. I give him a reassuring hug but we both know he has to grow up and just deal with getting lost in the new buildings they’ve erected during lockdown.

My daughter realises that she has not packed a mask yet and starts to panic because the only clean masks we have are the material masks with funny smiles printed across the front. She refuses to take one, breaking down into hysterics when I shout from the kitchen, where I’m dealing with her brother, that it doesn’t matter. It matters to her. It matters a lot. She doesn’t want to have a funny smile etched across her face for most of the day. She doesn’t want to be the odd one out. She’s going to be a senior and even though lockdown left her out of the social loop, she still had social media to contend with and that dictates what cool and what is not in the new accessory we carry with us just to breathe easier when we step outside into society.

I rummage through the tumble dryer, hoping the batch of masks we used over the weekend have somehow hitched a ride to the other side of the laundry. Yes! I’m in luck. Two plain black masks pop out and I silently cheer. She hugs me tight and the relief in her eyes speaks volumes.

Both children have survived lockdown without meeting up with friends or going out. Limited exposure to the outside world kept them safe. And us. Being high risk meant taking the warnings seriously and playing by the government rules. Not that it made a difference to their older siblings who pandered towards the conspiracy theories that Covid-19 was contrived, to downright refusing to stay boxed up for the summer. The division in our family life has been apparent. The younger two and ourselves now refer to our grouping as the ‘core four’, excluding the older siblings who shirked the responsibilities of helping us all stay safe. As the core four, we have watched the news and prayed for some miracle that would slow the spread of the virus down so that we wouldn’t be at risk. Now that it has, the return to the outside world feels daunting.

Time is ticking away. My daughter wants to leave. She’s promised her friends she would meet up with them and walk together to school. I mutter something about social distancing and she looks at me. We both know that, as much as the schools will try to keep their bubbles and make everyone wash their hands, stagger breaks and lunch times, and change school start times, the children will still congregate. After all, that is their culture. That is what they know. It takes years to change tradition and we are only at the beginning; the pioneers of a new world.

I go over the list with her again before hugging her and letting her go. The front door closes, trapping me inside and her out. She is now free to roam. My mind goes wild with the possibilities and scenarios she’s going to have to face over the next five hours. Before I know it, it’s time for my son to leave. He looks so small and vulnerable and his bag makes him hunch over. I offer him a ride to school which he gladly accepts.

The village High Street looks like an overpopulated anthill teeming with worker ants scurrying to and fro. They are wearing blue uniforms and carry handbags and satchels. Packed pavements spit out random bodies onto the road, slowing the traffic down to a crawl. The scent of perfume, deodorant and pheromones waft in through the open car window. I shut it quickly, switching to aircon. Our eyes absorb the sights and sounds of the morning traffic and I despair. Parents, children, bicycles and pushchairs fight for dominance on the narrow pathways. No one is wearing a face mask. No one remembers the death toll rising each day through April and May. They have forgotten the long days of looking out of windows, wondering if the lone stranger spotted stalking the empty streets was a carrier or victim. Now, they mix like a deadly cocktail, swirling the moisture carried on their breath through open, unprotected mouths and noses. Each one trying to reach their final destination: the local schools and businesses.

We drive to the bottom of the hill that leads to my son’s place of education. I park on the side of the road and let out a big sigh. He is clutching the back seat, excited to get going now that he sees familiar faces. My fear and anxiety release in a tirade of commands: keep away from them; don’t touch the handrails; don’t touch your face or chew on your pen; wash your hands at break and lunch; be safe!

I watch his receding figure as it gets swallowed up in the sea of blue churning at the school gates. The government promised us safety at school, better mental heath for the children and a return to normal routine to free parents to work. Doubts dance in my tummy and burn in my chest. Why do I feel like I’ve just sent my kids to a factory where they will be converted into ticking time bombs then sent home? Am I looking at my silent killers filling the streets and standing at the corner shop with their friends? I guess time will tell.

I am the virus

I am the virus.

I need to be contained.

My venom spreads with every word I say.

I am the virus.

I wish I was contained.

The spikes are taken out of the wheels and I’m definitely not sane.

I am the virus.

You’ll wish I was contained.

I’ll make your every word the last one in this endless game.

I was the virus.

I’m all alone.

Not that I regret your number calling on my phone.

I was the virus.

I followed your decree.

Now your head sits alone on my bare knee.

I am the virus

I am the virus.

I need to be contained.

My venom spreads with every word I say.

I am the virus.

I wish I was contained.

The spikes are taken out of the wheels and I’m definitely not sane.

I am the virus.

You’ll wish I was contained.

I’ll make your every word the last one in this endless game.

I was the virus.

I’m all alone.

Not that I regret your number calling on my phone.

I was the virus.

I followed your decree.

Now your head sits alone on my bare knee.

Another One Bites the Dust!

Help! Advice needed.

Sicky Sicky Sicky All Night Long!

Good morning, good afternoon or good evening wherever you are in the world. This is the news from a small town in Berkshire, England.

Numerous families have been hit by the flu virus that is spreading like wildfire across the region. Sources confirm that most schools have reported low attendance over the past few weeks due to the viral outbreak. Not to be compared to Ebola of course, but nonetheless a serious matter for consideration for local doctors and hospitals. It has been said that if the number of infected keep growing, no-one will be well enough to cook the Christmas turkey, let alone keep it down long enough once consumed!

Closer to home, local mother Eloise, has given up on sleeping as she is now entering her third or fourth week of illness in her house. Thanks to the numerous children she decided to produce, each week brings new viral surprises for the family to share and enjoy at home. Her elder daughter felt that last week was particularly slow and therefore succumbed to a football injury to her wrist. She jokingly reported that if she hadn’t stopped the leather missile, she might not have had a nose on the front of her face today. Thanks to the aggressive footballers, she instead had torn tendons in her wrist. As an added bonus for being so careful, Eloise’s daughter caught the flu and stayed home with her mother for two days this week.

The ballet school known for winning most awards at festivals and trying to rival Abby Lee in the USA had to be shut down yesterday due to their teachers and students falling ill. Suffice it to say the studio was open the next day due to valiant efforts from sickly attendees. We await updates on how many more students will contract the flu thank to their generosity!

As this news bulletin is being broadcast at a time when the producer usually enjoys late movies, blogging and tweeting, we would like to point out that the producer herself is still ill but is on standby for the rest of the evening. This is due to the fact that another child had fallen ill with a fever and cold requiring frequent temperature checks to adjust clothing and covers accordingly. Paracetamol and water have been provided for this task. Flashbacks of having small babies again have been the running through the producer’s mind as she walks in the shadows and watches her sleeping family…and the pure amusement of listening to the Hubble’s snores as background noise.

Thank you for joining us on the Sickly News Round-up.

Keep well and enjoy the rest of your morning, afternoon or evening!

What I think you should know about the Ebola crisis…

I’m attaching my earlier post, http://wp.me/p4jaYl-7r, on Ebola. This is a post from Steven Konkoly, author of The Jakarta Pandemic, sharing his in-depth knowledge on the subject. A must read for anyone who wants to be prepared for Ebola.

When I published The Jakarta Pandemic in 2010, I had no idea it would be so widely read. Nor did I ever expect to be considered a “source” of information about pandemics. Over the past two months, I have fielded questions from concerned readers, friends, family, readiness bloggers, authors and preparedness consultants regarding the recent Ebola outbreak in Africa. I’ve been rather guarded in my approach to the crisis, having watched it slowly build throughout the summer. When the death toll exceeded previous outbreaks, including the outbreak made famous by the groundbreaking novel The Hot Zone, I started watching it more closely. The novel The Hot Zone, by Richard Preston was the catalyst for my interest in pandemic grade viruses and an inspiration for my first novel.

With that said, I want to share my thoughts on the current crisis and point you in the direction of some balanced, informative…

View original post 1,026 more words

I’m Alive!

I’m alive!

Ebola … What Will You Do?

From the first reported outbreak of the virus in Zaire back in 1976, we have had information roughly every decade showing the migration of Ebola from Zaire to Sudan, pop ups here and there across Europe and the United States, but mainly countries on Africa’s west coast. The western world has watched with trepidation as the disease spread with fury through villages and towns, wiping out tribes, laying to waste families and health officials.

This year, I have paid particular attention to the speed with which Ebola has spread. From March 2014, the first detected case was reported in the South Eastern forested area of Guinea (the deaths had occurred in December 2013 but were only flagged in March 2014) . It spread with deadly purpose to Liberia, Sierra Leone and Nigeria. As of the 18th of August 2014, the WHO (World Health Organisation) has reported a total of 2473 suspected cases and 1350 deaths. The organisation has declared a public health emergency of international concern, only used twice previously – in 2009 with the swine flu pandemic and 2014 with polio. The number of deaths now outnumber those from previous outbreaks combined; this is from 1976 to the present day!

What steps are we taking to fight the disease?

They have now granted permission for the administration of the drug Zmapp for Ebola patients in Liberia. This is the same drug that was given to the two Americans, Dr Kent Brantly and Nancy Writebol, who succumbed to the disease whilst in service with Samaritan’s Purse in Liberia.

Our borders are locking down on travellers coming from West Africa and a few cases have hit the headlines, showing us how close Ebola has come to touching down in our own countries.

Could Zmapp be the cure we are looking for?

Being an untested drug (no human drug trials apart from the two doctors have taken place for this drug) we are not sure of long term consequences and side effects. Our focus is on curing as many people as possible. But what if one of the other drugs filtering through to Africa changes the disease, morphing it into something worse?

The pharma companies have been given the go-ahead to rush test cures for Ebola. What if something else much worse than this deadly disease is created in the process? Monitoring the drug in a controlled environment is hard enough, but out where supplies to hospitals are scarce and facilities do not have sufficient equipment to monitor results could lead to misrepresented results. Could the zombie movies we enjoy as entertainment become a living reality? Maybe too far fetched, but the consequences of using untested drugs in a panicked environment makes me nervous.

What would you do if you were given the order to immunise your children or yourselves against this new terror?

After the reaction of MMR, what happens to those who decide not to get immunised? Ebola is transferred through body fluids of the infected (alive or deceased). We have experienced the Norovirus in our schools and hospitals and have seen the devastating consequences of sickness spreading through a closed environment. But immunisation from drugs not given enough time to see the side effects makes me think twice. The doctors mentioned above might have recovered on their own; they are still not 100% sure if the Zmapp cured them. Maybe it would be better to wait? I don’t know. 40% of those infected at this moment are recovering according to certain media sites but that is no guarantee my child/children might be the lucky one/s. It’s a game of Russian roulette.

What if there isn’t enough to cure everyone?

Only a few doses of Zmapp have reached Liberia and Canada has delivered 800 – 1000 does of VSV-EBOV, their untested vaccine. If this succubus of death spreads across the world, won’t the commodity suddenly become a prized possession? At this moment, it’s not financially viable for the Pharma companies to produce a vaccine as the returns are not matched with the demand. The disease is concentrated in poor countries where charity organisations or western governments have to fund production and administration of the drug. Once this changes I can hear the coffers filling quickly for these companies to churn out anything resembling a cure. We will all be panic buying, raising the costs and reducing the availability. It’s human nature. Chaos and death caused by a deadly disease or careful administration and recording of who has received the drug. This is if they manage to create a drug that works before the disease spreads further.

The more I read about the decisions being made, the more I worry. We sit and wait for the inevitable bad news within our borders, concentrating on the horrors of war across the Middle East. But are we paying enough attention to the silent killer that is reaching its infectious fingers across oceans, countries, factions, religions and cultures? How do we stop something so aggressive and deadly in its tracks once it catches fire within our borders?

What will you do when it comes?

MAPfrom UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs Published on 19 Aug 2014
Information obtained from CNN, Reliefweb, WHO, Wikipedia, CDC