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Global Warning - Jul 29, 2006 - Printable Version
- Inside, Outside, Upside Down
by Robin Buckallew
(Note from the author: the ideas presented in this column are those of the author, and do not represent a medical opinion. It is not suggested that you should consider the following as medical advice, or in any way discontinue any medical treatment which you may be receiving. If you have any condition mentioned in this column, please consult your physician before making any changes in your regimen.) A drama is unfolding in Lascaux, France, a tragedy originally of microscopic proportions, but now at a level sufficiently obvious to have worked its way into human consciousness. In the prehistoric caves of Lascaux, where fabulous painted animals speak to us from our mysterious past, a fungus has begun to develop, white fuzz spreading rapidly over the bright red paint in the cave of the bulls, and in other locations throughout the large, popular cave system. The caves are not without their history of problems. First discovered in 1940 by a couple of teenagers out for a hike, they were an instant sensation, and attracted thousands of visitors each year. Over time, curators began to notice deterioration resulting from the changing cave environment following exposure to the elements coupled with large numbers of carbon-dioxide-exhaling humans trailing through day after day. Careful planning yielded a solution: a climate control system to carefully mimic the natural environment the cave had maintained for millennia. The system functioned well, but recently, aware that the system was aging (it was installed in the 1960s), the city planners arranged to have it replaced with a newer system. This system, instead of operating passively and recreating the natural cave environment, was an active system, and created a new environment of its own. Soon after the installation, the curators began to notice the fungus. Coincidence? They thought not.
For a long time now, humans have been susceptible to a mode of thinking that I refer to as having inside/outside upside down. We have been steadily moving indoors, away from the weather, away from the mold and pollen and other air pollutants that we fear might get into our lungs and cause us undue respiratory distress. We lock our doors, seal up our houses, and turn on our air conditioners, safe in our comfort zone, while we listen to the droning voice of the TV weatherman slowly intoning the day’s pollen and mold counts, or warning us of the latest ozone alert. We snuggle closer into our favorite easy chair, listening to the air conditioner whining, and congratulate ourselves for locking out all the nasty little particles that could get into our lungs and begin having a toga party in our bronchioles. Asthma has been on the rise, and parents everywhere are keeping their children shut in the house, away from everything that might lead to an attack of wheezing. Of course, as in any B horror movie, the self-congratulations and feeling of security come much too soon (cue the organ music, maestro): like the nubile cheerleader ready to turn the corner and come face to face with a masked madman wielding an axe, we have smugly locked the real enemy inside with us.
For years, we have been assaulted with commercials for bug killers and weed killers, allergy medicines and other products that have convinced us that the natural world around us is hostile, alien, and unsuitable for human life. In spite of the fact that our immune systems evolved in a world filled with the plants and animals, the bugs and weeds that we meet on our daily hikes, we begin to believe that the natural world holds nothing but suffering and misery for us. With little understanding or experience of the plant kingdom, we think every flower that blooms is ready to spray us with allergenic pollen in a burst of hostility as we stroll in the park with our loved ones at our side (quick note: if you see a large, colorful and showy flower, you are not being pelted with pollen by this beastly critter – the pollen is carefully locked up inside the flower, waiting for the appropriate pollinator to come along, and it ISN’T you). So, instead of making the effort to go out in the hot weather for an arduous hike in the park, we curl up in the easy chair in our cool living room, reading our favorite author, or playing board games with our youngsters. Sealed up inside our comfort zone, filled with love, warmth, and all the nasty chemicals modern life can possibly cram into one normal household. Chemicals and substances with which we surround ourselves day in and day out, nearly all of which have been introduced on the market during the latter half of the 20th century, and for which our immune systems have not evolved any defenses. Testing has demonstrated, in fact, that indoor air is several times as contaminated as outdoor air. Our carpets, our furniture, our household products made of plastics and other synthetic materials, even the processed foods we eat contain substances that are potentially allergenic, some even potentially lethal. In an attempt to keep this hermetically sealed tomb clean and allergen free, we buy large bottles of still more chemicals, with enticing names and alluring spokesmen such as Mr. Clean and the Scrubbing Bubbles, to spread over every exposed surface of our “safe haven”. No soap and water for us, no sirree! We want BIGGER, BETTER, INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH SUPER POWER EXTRA SPECIAL NEW AND IMPROVED chemicals. We use products that are potential carcinogens to kill organisms that are potential allergens, and we fail to see the irony. How can we miss such an utter contradiction? Well, it seems that most people I speak with have simply never even been introduced to the simple concept known as Indoor Air Pollution (IAP). Most people assume if they keep their houses clean, they don’t have to worry about pollutants indoors. The scientific literature is immense (and growing larger every day) documenting this phenomenon, but most people have never even heard of it. This shouldn’t surprise you too much – after all, when is the last time you wandered down to the university library and spent a leisurely Sunday afternoon browsing through the scientific literature? Don’t feel too bad about yourself if you realize that was thirty years ago last March – very few people, including scientists, spend their spare time browsing through scientific literature. You’re definitely not alone. So, if the evening news has decided this isn’t interesting enough to tell you about, and you haven’t gone out to do independent research on a topic you haven’t even heard of, don’t waste valuable time beating yourself up over it.
At this point, I would like to stop and invite you to share my own personal experience. Although I am aware that anecdotes are not evidence, my own experiences in the field are so in tune with much of what science is discovering that I felt a personal touch here would help. You see, I’m an asthmatic. In fact, I am at times a severe asthmatic, with out-of-control symptoms, and I am no stranger to the experience of wishing I could just hurry up and die to get the pain over with (my doctor at that moment was taking a deep interest in the particular shade of blue that was suffusing my skin – perhaps he was interested in seeking a color-coordinated office). I am also a botanist – and I am a field botanist, one who puts on sunscreen instead of makeup, hiking boots instead of spike heels, and snake guards instead of a lab coat, and spends hours tromping in the woods and prairies, among the living, breathing plants that make our world turn green every spring and summer. Many people find this hard to grasp. “You mean you’re a botanist?” they gasp. Yes, says I. “You mean you have ASTHMA?” they nearly shout. Yes, I wheeze. “How…wha…how…” they sputter. I don’t mind the incoherent stammering, the obviously flabbergasted astonishment. In fact, I look forward to it; I get an opportunity to explain a little bit of my own experience, and help to spread a little more information about indoor air pollution. You see, I have very little difficulty breathing when I’m outdoors. I wander obliviously through ragweed, tramp dreamily through fertile fields, and come home literally painted from head to toe in yellow pollen. It is very unusual for me to wheeze, or even to sneeze very often, when I am outside working with my beloved plants. I spend hours, even days, wheeze-free as I sample and count and measure and record plant data, or even just occasionally stop to smell the roses. One day in an air-conditioned room, and I’m turning blue, wheezing, coughing and generating pity in all the kind souls who have to listen to me suffer. In fact, there have been only two years since I became a botanist where I have had significant difficulty with my asthma – the year 2001, and this year. The only common denominator in both years was the lack of field work in which I engaged. I had completed my research on an ongoing project, and was holed up with my computer, furiously analyzing data, crunching numbers, and compiling results. In short, I was inside, in my air-conditioned nest, cleaned with a high-powered disinfectant, with no pollen/mold/bacteria/fungus to torment me. I was living a clean, man-made existence. And I couldn’t breathe. In fact, I began having dizzy spells as the lack of oxygen began making me swoon. I could go to the hospital. Or I could go to the park. In 2001, I chose the hospital. This year, I chose the park. This year, I didn’t turn blue.
Today, as I think about the millions of children toting around asthma inhalers, earnestly explaining that they can’t come out and play because they have asthma, closing themselves up inside sealed homes with chemical floors, chemical walls and chemical furniture, I wonder if we are doing the wrong thing. Are we saving our children? Or are we killing them? I remember the many years of my childhood when I lived in a house without air conditioning, without carpeting, without heating, all the windows open in the summer, and with chilly drafts blowing through all winter. I grew up with cats and dogs in the house. I rolled in the yard with my sisters, creating green hideaways where the grass was so tall we could fool ourselves into believing that our mother couldn’t see us. For years, as a child, I never once suffered from a fit of wheezing. I never had to be rushed to the emergency room because I was turning blue. I never took medicine or carried around inhalers. That life started for me as a young adult, soon after beginning a more “normal” existence with air conditioning, heating, and a dust-free, pet-free life. Nights of hacking and coughing, wheezing and crying sent me to the doctor who prescribed handfuls of daily medicine and an air-conditioned, heated (electric, of course), dust-free, pet-free, plant-free life. For a number of years, I listened. Then, one day, I began to ignore him, and ventured into the wonderful world of botany. Now, once again living the wide open, outdoor life our species once called “normal”, I am able to breathe. I am able to sleep at night. Oh, I still have to take medicine and visit the doctor occasionally, because the built world around me is still filled with all the pollutants that drove me there in the first place. Like the cave at Lascaux, I was a victim of good intentions and well-meaning advice that went awry. In short, the thinking about inside/outside was upside down.
Coming soon: another discussion of the trials and tribulations of the unfortunate Lascaux cave, as we look behind the scenes at the wonderful world of bacteria.
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