Over the past year or so, my good friend Anita and I have adopted Hepatitis B as our cause--our way to make a difference in our local world. We're hoping to increase awareness about HepB, to get people screened, and maybe even save a life or two. HepB is a virus that can chronically infect people and cause liver damage, without causing any signs or symptoms until the liver has developed cancer, cirrhosis, or failure. The prevalence of HepB in the US is low, less than 1%, but in Asian countries it's endemic. What most people don't know is that 1 in 10 Asians are chronic carriers, and 25% of those will die of liver disease. Most of these people get the virus from their mothers at the time of birth. In these cases, vaccines aren't protective--the virus is already there, causing disease. Currently, there are no policies in place to screen these high-risk populations--instead, people are getting vaccinated without being screened first. The result? People my age dying of liver cancer who never knew they had the virus, who in fact thought they were immune to the virus via vaccination, whose disease could have been slowed or even prevented with proper monitoring and care.
What it is: a disparity in health for a minority population that isn't considered big enough to save via physician and community education and screening.
Anita and I, and Pitt Med APAMSA, have been working REALLY HARD to get support to hold community HepB screenings, targeting ethnic Asians in Pittsburgh. We had a really successful screening at a Chinese church in November, and our second screening was today at CMU. But we've been working too hard. There hasn't been enough support; instead, it often feels like people are purposefully standing in our way, throwing road blocks and red tape everywhere to impede us. Lately, I've felt like I've been swimming through wet concrete, coming up for air only to be pushed under again. It's been, quite frankly, terrible.
How are we supposed to help people if the people who have power over us are doing everything possible to stop us? When does it turn into a satisfying experience of compassion and activism, and turn into something that just isn't worth it anymore?
I'm not a quitter, but I want to give up. And that's a sad thing.
But then I think: what if we identified even one HepB carrier today? We would have changed that person's life. It's bad news, yes, but it's news that will prevent that person from discovering at age 35 that his liver has failed and there is not much left to do but to get his affairs in order and spend as much time with his young children as possible before he dies. And that's what makes it worth it. That's why I'm doing this, after all--not just the HepB stuff, but med school, and a life of service. I'm doing it because, despite all the stress and the logistical nightmares and endless of maze of g*ddam beaurocratic red tape, there are people in the world that I might actually help. Sure, there are plenty more people that are going to put their hand in my face and refuse to hear the free potentially life-saving advice I give them. But that one person I reach, the one person that looks me in the eye and says "thank you"--that's why I'm in.
I just need not to forget that, especially in these next few weeks.
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