Tag: education

Lessons From Reunion

So, this weekend I attended Cornell reunion with my family. Here are the key lessons:

1) Science is continuing to accelerate, despite political pushback.

2) College students are wily, especially the girls. Do not underestimate them.

3) I need a new phone yesterday.

Let’s start from the beginning, and work our way down, shall we?

1) Science is continuing to accelerate, despite political pushback.

Sometimes I wonder whether fields like veterinary science get too much prestige for the amount of actual groundbreaking work they do. And then they bring in a pair of puppies to the donor gala I was attending; the first puppies ever to have been created via in vitro fertilization. They seemed just like any other dogs, to the point that I felt compelled to double check my own pictures against those in the scientific journals just to be sure I wasn’t being duped.

Pictured: The most adorable breakthrough in recent memory

This is, naturally, a huge step for veterinary science, but also a significant step for medicine in general. Humans and dogs share a lot of genetic code, including many genetic diseases, and being able to clone and genetically modify puppies, aside from producing absolutely adorable results, will yield valuable information on treatments for humans. Additionally, as one who had played the fundraising game, I must say, kudos. Bringing puppies who are both adorable and a product of a major scientific breakthrough is rather brilliant.

I was a little unsure about how different things would be this year, given the open hostility between the presidential administration and academia. It feels as though last June was a lifetime ago, and that since then the world has only gone downhill. And so seeing a good showing of support for the sciences was a great boost to morale. Seeing large attendance and participation at space sciences open house, and massive lines for lectures by Bill Nye is, I firmly believe, a good sign for the cause of humanity.

Given my health situation, I put a lot of my hope for a better future, and indeed, having a future at all, in continued scientific advancement. As I noted in my last post, most of this progress is out of my hands, and relies on large, systemwide cooperation. Having these systemwide mechanisms under threat, therefore, as they have been within the past six months, is not only threatening to humanity’s future overall, but to my personal existence. Having public reaffirmation of the value of science and rational thought, therefore, is very reassuring.

2) College students are wily, especially the girls. Do not underestimate them.

Okay, so I already knew this. Still, I was reminded to be on my guard. Allow my to recount a story:

T’was the last night of reunion, and there I was, sitting against the base of the statue of A.D. White, getting my bearings as I treated my low blood sugar, my brother sitting beside me. In such a state, I could conceivably be mistaken as slightly intoxicated, especially given that the tents which were giving out free alcohol to those who had reunion badges. The dance music and shouts from the tents was audible, and the sense of celebratory gluttony was palpable. Between me and the tents was a checkpoint, with security guards inspecting badges.

Pictured: “Ain’t no party like a Cornell party ‘cos a Cornell party don’t stop” (Direct quote)

Theoretically, such badges were only given to alumni who had paid full registration price, and who had already proven they were of drinking age. As it were, both my brother and I had been given adult badges despite being underage, owing to the fact that our registration desk had run out of youth badges. Because the badges were supposed to work as ID throughout campus, and because both my brother and I were now shaving, it seemed to me quite likely that if we were to with confidence and self assurance, stride up to the checkpoint for admission, that we would be allowed in.

From the darkness into our midst came two figures, one in the lead a short blonde lady who could have been anywhere between eighteen and twenty five to look at her, with a taller, scruffy gentleman in tow. Both were dressed up in the usual style of young people out for a night of entertainment and diversion. The lady approached with the air of an old friend, though I don’t believe I had ever seen her before, coming just close enough to make it clear that she was addressing us, without coming so close as to put herself within immediate striking distance.

She smiled and leaned forward in a maneuver that amplified the visual effect of her deep neckline, and for a moment I was moved to wonder if I was wearing or else doing something that might be construed as suggesting that I was looking to solicit romantic overtures.

“Hey guys,” she crooned in a tone that made me wonder if she was about to begin twirling her hair, just to complete the picture.

I don’t remember whether my brother or I actually responded with words, or whether the mere reaction of our expressions caused her to deduce that she had captured our expression. Regardless, she immediately continued with her proposition.

“Could you lend us your badges so we could use them to get in?”

Again, I don’t consciously remember either me or my brother saying anything. She continued in the same coquettish voice that made me question whether her tone was meant to be a parody; a détournement of the stereotype of the young blonde.

“We’ll throw them back over the fence after we’re through, so you can follow after us.”

The pieces began to come together as my brain overcame its momentary surprise and the lingering effects of low blood sugar. I glanced at the checkpoint, and the plastic mesh fence, reinforced by occasional metal posts, and lined with rope lights to prevent drunken collisions, that ran the perimeter of the quad. It was a decent plan in theory, though I couldn’t see any part of the fence that was obviously obscured from the view of the guards. There was also the matter of subversion, and aiding what was most likely underage drinking. Though I have become accustomed to the fact that many people, especially youth, will inevitably seek to indulge in reckless behavior against medical and legal recommendations, actively enabling such self destruction is another matter entirely.

While I could not participate in such acts, I did give consideration to attempting to stall out the conversation; demanding lengthy assurances and ridiculous payments for my cooperation which would never come; the endgame being that if I could stall for long enough, they would waste time they might otherwise spend committing fraud and alcohol abuse, and perhaps, if I was effective enough, grow frustrated enough to give up on their plan entirely.

“We can get them back to you.” The gentleman standing further behind her stammered in assurance. “Are you leaving right after this?”

I assessed my position: They most likely assumed that my hypoglycemia-induced pallor was due to drunkenness, which would work in my favor. I could be crass, unreasonable, and incoherent without tipping my hand. The gentleman seemed to be unsure and hesitant, which I could use. If the lady was attempting to persuade us by employing stereotypical feminine charms, and appearing unreasonably affectionate and extroverted, I could likewise act cordial and complaisant to a fault. With a lifetime of experience in public speaking and soliciting donations, I was reasonably confident in my ability to filibuster. Any physical confrontation which my words might lead to would be quickly ended by the security at the nearby checkpoint.

Alas, I did not get to execute my plan, as before I could speak, my brother, ever the Boy Scout, answered that we were both underage, and couldn’t get in ourselves. The second point may or may not have been strictly true, as we did technically have adult badges, we never actually tried to get past the checkpoint, and in the entire time we sat near it, I never saw anyone turned back who had a badge, regardless of how old or young they looked. Still, it was enough for the two figures.

The lady’s coy smile evaporated in a second. “Oh. Well then, you’re no help.” She waved a hand dismissively and stalked off back into the darkness. The gentleman lingered for a moment longer, muttering something that sounded like “thanks anyways” scarcely loud enough to be heard above the noise of the music.

I find this story both intensely amusing, and a nice reminder that, despite insistence that new college students are lazy, unmotivated, and unable to execute schemes, there is still plenty of craftiness on modern campuses.

3) I need a new phone yesterday.

Shortly after this incident, I opted to check my phone, only to discover that it had spontaneously died. This, after being charged to ninety four percent a ,ere twenty minutes ago. For a device on which I routinely depend to make medical dosage calculations, look up nutritional information, and contact assistance during emergencies, this kind of failure is unacceptable. This isn’t the first time that such a thing has happened, though it is the first time it has happened outside of my house.

As such, I am in the market for a new phone. Or perhaps more accurately, given that I am about to embark on summer travels, I need a new phone in my hands as soon as possible. Given the usual timeframe for me to make major decisions, this means that in order to get my phone on time, I really need to have started on this process a couple of weeks ago, in order to have had my hands on the new phone yesterday, in order to have enough time to get contacts switched over, get used to the new phone, and so on.

Overall, Reunion was great fun as always, despite a few minor incidents. This year in particular, it was nice to spend a weekend in an environment surrounded by intelligent, cultured people in a setting where such traits are unambiguously valuable. And of course, having been taught the Cornell songs since I was newborn (my mother used Evening Song as a lullaby), the music is always fun.

The Antibiotic Apocalypse and You

Following up on the theme established inadvertently last week: I’m still sick, though on the whole, I’m probably not feeling worse, and possibly arguably marginally better. In an effort to avoid the creativity-shattering spiral that happens when I stop writing altogether, this week I will endeavor to present some thoughts on a subject which I have been compelled to be thinking about anyway: Antibiotics.

A lot of concerns have been raised, rightfully, over the appearance of drug-resistant pathogens, with some going so far as to dub the growing appearances of resistant bacteria “the antibiotic apocalypse”. While antibiotic resistance isn’t a new problem per se, the newfound resistance to our more powerful “tiebreaker” drugs is certainly a cause for concern.

In press releases from groups such as the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, much of the advice, while sound, has been concentrated on government organizations and healthcare providers. And while these people certainly have more responsibility and ability to react, this does not mean that ordinary concerned citizens cannot make a difference. Seeing as I am a person who relies on antibiotics a great deal, I figured I’d share some of the top recommendations for individuals to help in the global effort to ward off antibiotic resistance.

Before going further, I am compelled to restate what should be common sense: I don’t have actual medical qualifications, and thus what follows is pretty much a re-hash of what other experts have given as general, nonspecific information. With this in mind, my ramblings are no substitute for actual, tailored medical advice, and shouldn’t be treated as such.

Before you’re put on antibiotics

1) Stay home when you’re sick

This one is going to be repeated, because it bears repeating. Antibiotic resistant strains spread like any other illness, and the single best way to avoid spreading illness it to minimize contact with other people. Whether or not you are currently infected with antibiotic-resistant illness; in fact, whether or not you even have an illness that is treatable by antibiotics; staying at home when you’re sick will help you get better sooner, and is the single most important thing for public health in general.

2) Wash hands, take your vitamins, etcetera.

So obviously the best way to deal with illness is to avoid spreading it in the first place. This means washing your hands frequently (and properly! Sprinkling on some room temperature water like a baptism for your hands isn’t going to kill any germs), preparing food to proper standards, avoiding contact with sick people and the things they come in contact with, eating all of your vegetables, getting your vaccinations, you get the picture. Even if this doesn’t prevent you from getting sick, it will ensure that your immune system is in fighting shape for if you do.

3) Know how antibiotics work, and how resistance spreads

Remember high school biology? This is where all that arcana comes together. Antibiotics aren’t a magical cure-all. They use specific biological and chemical mechanisms to target specific kinds of organisms inside you. Antibiotics don’t work on viruses because they aren’t living organisms, and different kinds of antibiotics work against different diseases because of the biological and chemical distinctions.

Understanding the differences involved when making treatment decisions can be the difference between getting effective treatment and walking away unharmed, and spending time in the hospital to treat a resistant strain. Antibiotic resistance is a literally textbook example of evolution, so understanding how evolution works will help you combat it.

Public understanding of antibiotics and antibiotic resistance is such a critical part of combating resistance that it has been named by the World Health Organization as one of the key challenges in preventing a resistant superbug epidemic.

4) Treat anyone who is on antibiotics as if they were sick

If someone is on antibiotics and still doesn’t feel or seem well (and isn’t at home, for some reason), you’re going to want to take that at face value and keep your distance. You can also kindly suggest that they consider going home and resting. If you become sick after contact with such persons, be sure to mention it to your doctor.

If they’re feeling otherwise fine, you want to treat them as if they were immunocompromised. In other words, think of how you would conduct yourself health-wise around a newborn, or an elderly person. Extra hand-washing, making sure to wipe down surfaces, you get the picture. If they’re on antibiotics preventatively for a chronic immunodeficiency, they will appreciate the gesture. If they’re recovering from an acute illness, taking these extra precautions will help ensure that they don’t transmit pathogens and that their immune system has time to finish the job and recover.

5) Never demand antibiotics

I’ll admit, I’m slightly guilty of this one myself. I deal with a lot of doctors, and sometimes when I call in for a sick-day consult, I get paired with a GP who isn’t quite as experienced with my specific medical history, who may not have had time to go through my whole file, and who hasn’t been in close contact with my other dozen specialist doctors. Maybe they don’t recognize which of my symptoms are telltale signs for one diagnosis or another, or how my immunology team has a policy of escalating straight to a fourteen day course, or whatever.

I sympathize with the feeling of just wanting to get the doctor to write the stupid prescription like last time so one can get back to the important business of wasting away in bed. However, this is a problem. Not everyone is as familiar with how antibiotics work and with the intricacies of prescribing them, and so too often when patients ask for antibiotics, it ends up being the wrong call. This problem is amplified in countries such as the United States where economics and healthcare policies make it more difficult for doctors to refuse. This is also a major issue with prescription painkillers in the United States. So, listen to your doctor, and if they tell that you don’t need antibiotics, don’t pressure them.

Bear in mind that if a doctor says you don’t need antibiotics, it probably means that antibiotics won’t help or make you feel any better by taking them either, and could cause serious harm. For reference, approximately one in five of all hospital visits for drug side effects and overdoses are related to antibiotics.

It should go without saying that you should only get antibiotics (or any medication, really) via a prescription from your doctor, but apparently this is a serious enough problem that both the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention feel the need to mention this on their patient websites. So, yeah. Only take the drugs your doctor tells you to. Never take antibiotics left over from previous treatment, or from friends. If you have antibiotics left over from previous treatment, find your local government’s instructions for proper disposal.

If you are prescribed antibiotics

1) Take your medication on schedule, preferably with meals

Obviously, specific dosing instructions overrule this, but generally speaking, antibiotics are given a certain number of times per day, spaced a certain number of hours apart, and on a full stomach. Aside from helping to ensure that you will remember to take all of your medication, keeping to a schedule that coincides with mealtimes will help space dosages out and ensure that the antibiotics are working at maximum efficiency.

Skipping doses, or taking doses improperly vastly increases both the likelihood of developing resistant pathogens, and the risk of side effects.

2) Take probiotics between dosages

Antibiotics are fairly indiscriminate in their killing of anything it perceives as foreign. Although this makes them more effective against pathogens, it can also be devastating to the “helpful bacteria” that line your digestive tract. To this end, most gastroenterologists recommend taking a probiotic in between dosages of antibiotic. Aside from helping your body keep up it’s regular processes and repair collateral damage faster, this also occupies space and resources that would otherwise be ripe for the taking by the ones making you sick.

3) Keep taking your antibiotics, even if you feel well again

You can feel perfectly fine even while millions of hostile cells linger in your body. Every hostile cell that survives treatment is resistant, and can go in to start the infection all over again, only this time the antibiotic will be powerless to halt it. Only by taking all of your antibiotics on the schedule prescribed can you ensure that the infection is crushed the first time.

Furthermore, even though you may feel fine, your immune system has been dealt a damaging blow, and needs time to rebuild its forces. Continuing to take your antibiotics will help ensure that your weakened immune system does not let potentially deadly secondary infections slip through and wreak havoc.

4) Stay Home and Rest

Is this message getting through yet?

If you are on antibiotics, it means your body is engaged in a struggle, and it needs all of your resources focused on supporting that fight. Even the most effective antibiotics cannot eliminate every hostile cell. You immune system plays a vital role in hunting down and eliminating the remaining pathogens and preventing these resistant strains from multiplying and taking hold. In the later stages of this fight, you may not even feel sick, as there are too few resistant cells to cause serious damage. However, unless all of them are exterminated, the fight will continue and escalate.

Ideally, you should stay at home and rest for as long as you are taking antibiotics. However, since antibiotics are often given in courses of fourteen and twenty one days, this is impossible for most adults. At a barest minimum, you should stay home until you feel completely better, or until you are halfway done with your course of antibiotics, whichever is longer.

If you do return to your normal routine while taking antibiotics, keep in mind that you are still effectively sick. You should therefore take all of the normal precautions: extra hand washing, wiping down surfaces, extra nutrition and rest, and the like.

5) If you don’t feel better, contact your doctor immediately

Remember: Antibiotics are fairly all or nothing, and once an illness has developed a resistance to a specific treatment, continuing that line of treatment is unlikely to yield positive results and extremely likely to cause increased resistance to future treatment. Obviously, antibiotics, like any course of treatment, take some time to take effect, and won’t make you feel suddenly completely better overnight. However, if you are more than halfway through your treatment course and see no improvement, or feel markedly worse, this could be a sign that you require stronger medication.

This does not mean that you should stop taking your current medication, nor should you take this opportunity to demand stronger medication (both of these are really, colossally bad ideas). However, you should contact your doctor and let them know what’s going on. Your doctor may prescribe stronger antibiotics to replace your current treatment, or they may suggest additional adjunctive therapy to support you current treatment.

Works Consulted

“Antibiotic resistance.” World Health Organization. World Health Organization, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. <http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/antibiotic-resistance/en/>.

Freuman, Tamara Duker. “How (and Why) to Take Probiotics When Using Antibiotics.” U.S. News & World Report. U.S. News & World Report, 29 July 2014. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. .

“About Antibiotic Use and Resistance.” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 16 Nov. 2016. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. <https://www.cdc.gov/getsmart/community/about/index.html>.

Commissioner, Office Of the. “Consumer Updates – How to Dispose of Unused Medicines.” U S Food and Drug Administration Home Page. Office of the Commissioner, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. <https://www.fda.gov/forconsumers/consumerupdates/ucm101653.htm>.

NIH-NIAID. “Antimicrobial (Drug) Resistance.” National Institutes of Health. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2017. <https://www.niaid.nih.gov/research/antimicrobial-resistance>.

Me vs. Ghost Me

My recent attempts to be a bit more proactive in planning my life have yielded an interesting unexpected result. It appears that trying to use my own My Disney Experience account in planning my part of our family vacation has unleashed a ghost version of myself that is now threatening to undo all of my carefully laid plans, steal my reservations, and wreck my family relationships.

Context: Last summer, I was at Disney World for a conference, which included a day at the park. Rather than go through the huff and puff of getting a disability pass to avoid getting trapped in lines and the medical havoc that could wreak, I opted instead to simply navigate the park with fastpasses. Doing this effectively required that I have a My Disney Experience account in order to link my conference-provided ticket and book fastpasses from my phone. So I created one. For the record, the system worked well over the course of that trip.

Fast forward to the planning for this trip. Given my historical track record with long term planning, and the notable chaos of my family’s collective schedule, it is generally my mother who takes point on the strategic end (I like to believe that I pick up the slack in tactical initiative, but that’s neither here nor there). Booking our room and acquiring our Magic Bands naturally required to put names down for each of our family members, which, evidently, spawned “ghost” accounts in the My Disney Experience system.

This is not a particularly large concern for my brother or father, both of whom are broadly nonplussed with such provincial concerns as being in the right place at the right time, at least while on vacation. For me, however, as one who has to carefully judge medication doses based on expected activity levels over the next several hours, and more generally, a perpetual worrier, being able to access and, if necessary, change my plans on the fly is rather crucial. In the case of Disney, this means having my own account rather than my “ghost” be listed for all pertinent reservations and such.

The solution is clear: I must hunt down my ghostly doppelgänger and eliminate him. The problem is that doing so would cancel all of the current reservations. So before killing my ghost, I first have to steal his reservations. As a side note: It occurs to me belatedly that this dilemma would make an interesting and worthwhile premise for a sci-fi thriller set in a dystopia where the government uses digital wearable technology to track and control its population.

All of this has served as an amusing distraction from the latest sources of distress in my life, namely: Having to sequester myself in my home and attend meetings with the school administrators by telephone because of a whooping cough outbreak, the escalating raids against immigrant groups in my community, neo-fascist graffiti at my school, and having to see people I despise be successful in ways that I never could. Obviously, not all of these are equal. But they all contribute to a general feeling that I have been under siege of late.

While reasonable people can disagree over whether the current problems I face are truly new, they certainly seem to have taken on a new urgency. Certainly this is the first time since I arrived back in the United States that immigrant communities in my local community have been subject to ICE raids. Although this is not the first time that my school has experienced fascist graffiti, it is the largest such incident. The political situation, which was previously an abstract thing which was occasionally remarked upon during conversation has become far more tangible. I can see the results in the streets and in my communications with my friends as clearly as I can see the weather.

I might have been able to move past these incidents and focus on other areas of my life, except that other areas of my life have also come under pressure, albeit for different reasons. The school nurse’s office recently disclosed that there has been at least one confirmed case of Whooping Cough. As I have written about previously, this kind of outbreak is a major concern for me, and means in practice that I cannot put myself at risk by going into school until this is resolved. Inconveniently, this announcement came only days before I was due to have an important meeting with school administrators (something which is nerve wracking at the best of times, and day-ruining at others). The nature of the meeting meant that it could not be postponed, and so had to be conducted by telephone.

At the same time, events in my personal life have conspired to force me to confront an uncomfortable truth: People I despise on a personal level are currently more successful and happier than me. I have a strong sense of justice, and so seeing people whom I know have put me and others down in the past be rewarded, while I myself yet struggle to achieve my goals, is quite painful. I recognize that this is petty, but it feels like a very personal example of what seems, from where I stand, to be an acutely distressing trend: The people I consider my adversaries are ahead and in control. Policies I abhor and regard as destructive to the ideals and people I hold dear are advancing. Fear and anger are beating out hope and friendship, and allowing evil and darkness to rise.

Ghost me is winning. He has wreaked havoc in all areas of my life, so that I feel surrounded and horrifically outmatched. He has led me to believe that I am hated and unwanted by all. He has caused fissures in my self-image, making me question whether I can really claim to stand for the weak if I’m not willing to throw myself into every skirmish. He has made me doubt whether, if these people whom I consider misguided and immoral are being so successful and happy, that perhaps it is I who is the immoral one.

These are, of course, traps. Ghost me, like real me, is familiar with the Art of War, and knows that the best way to win a fight is to do so without actual physical combat. And because he knows me; because he is me, and because I am my own worst enemy, he knows how best to set up a trap that I can hardly resist walking into. He tries to convince me to squander my resources and my endurance fighting battles that are already lost. He tries to poke me everywhere at once to disorient me and make me doubt my own senses. Worst of all, he tries to set me up to question myself, making me doubt myself and why I fight, and making me want to simply capitulate.

Not likely.

What ghost me seems to forget is that I am among the most relentlessly stubborn people either of us know. I have fought continuously for a majority of my life now to survive against the odds, and against the wishes of certain aspects of my biology. And I will continue fighting, if necessary for years, if necessary, alone. I am, however, not alone. And if I feel surrounded, then ghost me is not only surrounded, but outnumbered.

Revisiting the Future

A little less than three years ago I was on a seven day cruise on the Disney Fantasy. It was New Year’s Eve, and our ship had just passed into the Bermuda Triangle. The live show that evening featured the tribulations of a trio of teenagers coming to grips with the fact that they could no longer reasonably claim to be mere children, and would soon have to enter the dreaded “real world”. It struck a chord with me, even though I was still a couple years younger than the protagonists, and graduation seemed far off. Still, it was the first time that graduation, and the world beyond it, truly struck me a genuine, personally relevant concern.

Despite little of immediate, lasting consequence occurring on that particular cruise, I have nonetheless come to consider it something of a turning point in my life. About this same time, it began to become undeniably apparent to all interested parties that the school’s strategy towards my disability of masterly inactivity would most likely not be sufficient to assure my timely graduation. At the same time, I began to solidify my own doubts that the school administration would prove capable of overcoming its bureaucratic inertia. In short, it became clear that following the “normal” path would not end with my triumphant graduation and ascension to the most prestigious colleges with a full scholarship, etcetera, etcetera, as I had previously planned.

Shortly after we returned home, I began to receive fliers from various academic institutions. I chuckled at this, feeling appropriately flattered that they would deign to waste the cost of postage on one such as myself, yet nevertheless regarding their outreach as premature, and not of genuine concern. After all, with the delays which the school had made in processing various transfer credits from my online classes, it was suddenly unclear what my graduating year ought to be listed as. How could I give serious consideration to such far-off problems when I could not even confirm my graduating date?

My eighteenth birthday, which I had previously imagined would mark the milestone of my victorious conquest over public education, and the commencement of my proud campaign into the “real world”, was spent, like so many other days of my life thus far, in a hospital bed, struggling for survival. Although I knew that such an occasion ought to merit some manner of recognition and self reflection, given my circumstances, I was too preoccupied with the difficult task of evading imminent death to give much thought to the future. I promised myself, as indeed my parents promised me, that once I had recovered, and these temporary troubles with my schoolwork had been dealt with once and for all, that we would have a grand celebration for my birthday. Nothing came of this promise; indeed, I have not had a proper birthday party with a guest list and presents since.

The last day of my fourth year of high school was bittersweet, to put it mildly. On the one hand, summer meant a welcome reprieve from the daily stress of regular classes (by this point, most of my actual academic progress was being accomplished at home with the assistance of a tutor, and this would not change), and a temporary truce between myself and the administrators who, during the school year, sought to harass me daily over my apparent lack of progress. On the other hand, it was the last day I would see any of the friends I had made in school. They, unlike myself, had been able to keep their heads down, and stick to the normal path. They had graduated. All of them were college bound, and excited about it. Despite my efforts to be empathetic, I could not bring myself to subject myself to attending the graduation ceremony that I could not participate in.

Shorty before that day, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to remain in high school for an indeterminate period. Neither I nor the administration could come up with an estimate for my completion, owing to missing or misplaced records on their part. Guesses ranged from three months to four years. With no new data, and a history of disappointment, I gave up on guessing. With no graduation date, I could not make plans for college. With no plans, I had nothing to look forward to. Working mainly from home rather than subjecting myself to the degradation of school, the days and weeks began to meld together. With no real future to look forward to, I gave up on the future altogether.

This may sound like a purgatorial dystopia. And indeed, it was. I joked about this much with my friends over text messages. Yet I would be remiss if I didn’t last say that it was also quite liberating. With no change from day to day, I could stop worrying about anything beyond the present moment. After all, I had total job security. There was always plenty of schoolwork to ensure that I never had energy to make use of any free time I might have. There was no petty social drama; no conflict of any kind. So long as I had no expectations, I could never be disappointed. It was a dystopia alright, and a perfectly executed one at that.

Yet, within the last two weeks, something has changed. Last week, my special education case manager contacted me regarding some manner of questionnaire meant for outgoing seniors. My natural response was and remains to ignore it. If it is important enough, they will get it to me another way, and if it isn’t, I’ve just saved myself a great deal of effort. Still, this bears relevance if for no other reason then because it is the first time which they have recognized me as a senior, and on track to graduate. The same week, I received a mass email from the guidance department (where they got my address in order to spam me remains a mystery) regarding generic scholarship offers. Suddenly, it seems, my tranquil little dystopia is under siege from the “real world”.

After years of doing my utmost to avoid imagining a future outside of a weather forecast, I am suddenly being made to explain my life plans. A younger, pre-cruise version of myself would be excited. Things are back on track. Things are getting back to normal. Except, things can never go quite back to normal. Trying to relive past fantasies is a fool’s errand, and trying to navigate the coming future by the plans a different me made many years ago, or by whatever cookie-cutter claptrap the administration may find in their self-righteous self-help books, will only end with me facing the same problems as now five years from now.

Imagining a realistic future which is completely independent from both the administration and my own childhood fantasies is both difficult and daunting. Indeed, given the nature of my disabilities, and the apparent track record of my forecasting abilities, it begs the question whether a future plan which extends beyond my next quarterly hospital visit is even knowable in any meaningful capacity. Given that I cannot say with any absolute confidence that I will even still be alive in five years, does it really make sense to speculate on what a life for me might look like?

Coincidentally, on that same cruise which seems simultaneously so recent and so distant from me, I saw for the first time the filmic adaptation of “Into the Woods”. While I shall endeavor to avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that the theme of planning for the future, and having said plans go awry does come up. Indeed, one of the songs, arguably my favorite of the lot, focuses on the dilemma faced by one of the protagonists when pressed into a snap decision which has the potential to radically affect her entire future. The conclusion she reaches is to avoid the dichotomy altogether, and to keep her options open rather than back herself into a corner. It turns out to be the correct decision, as both alternatives collapse in the long run. This is interesting advice, which I think I shall endeavor to apply to my own like situation.

So, what can I say about my future? Well, I can say that even though I may not be absolutely confident in a specific graduation date, that I will most likely graduate from public school in the next year or so. I can say that I would like to continue my education and attend university, even if I do not yet know where and precisely how I will make attendance work, or how I will be able to apply given the problems with my transcript. I can say that I intend to travel and learn about other places, people, and cultures, as traveling and learning have had an undeniably positive impact on my life thus far. I can say that I intend to continue to write and speak about my experiences.

But perhaps most importantly, I can say that my path will not be the “normal” one, and as such, it is perfectly acceptable to not have every detail planned out. Just as I can learn without a grade, and have a positive role without having a neatly defined career, so too can I have a future without having a plan.

Facing Failure

I am in a particularly gloomy, dare I say, depressed, mood upon the eve of my writing this. Owing to the impending blizzard, United Nations Headquarters has been closed, and subsequently the events which I was to attend for the Women’s Empowerment Principles have been “postponed indefinitely”. The news reached me only minutes before I was to board the train which would have taken me into the city, where I had arranged for a hotel room overnight so as to avoid to having to travel during a blizzard.

This left me with an urgent choice: I could board the train, and spend a day trapped in a frozen city that was actively trying to dissuade people from traveling, or I could cut my losses, eat the cost of the hotel room, and return home to ride out the storm there. It probably surprises few that I chose the latter option; the option touted as the more sensible, strategically conservative, objectively correct option. Still, making this choice left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. It leaves me feeling as though I have failed.

I do not like failure.

Actually, that statement is inaccurate, or at least, misleading. I don’t merely dislike failure, in the same way that I dislike, say, sunscreen. No, I hate failure, in every sense of the word. I loathe it, detest it, and yes, I fear it.

This is not to say that I have such strong feelings toward losses. I feel this is an important distinction. Though I do have an adversity to unnecessary losses, sometimes, such sacrifices are necessary. What I hate is trying, making sacrifices, and then failing despite, or even worse, because of those efforts. The important distinction, at least in my mind, is that losses are a strategic principle, and a passing phenomenon, while failure is a state of being, whether for a few moments surrounding a particular exercise, or for a lifetime.

As one might expect, this makes me, in general, rather risk averse. Of course, this itself presents a paradox. Not taking a given risk also entails the inverse risk contained in the opportunity cost. That is to say, by not taking a given bet, you are effectively betting against it. This means that refusing to accept risks is always inherently itself a risk. So, for example, one cannot accept a zero percent chance of food poisoning without not eating altogether; and if one were to attempt to do so, they would quickly find themselves confronted by the more urgent problem of starvation.

The blizzard that closed the UN put me in a no-win situation. As a rational person, I can accept this, and act to cut my losses. Either I canceled my trip, resigned myself to staying at home, and ate the cost of my hotel reservations, or I purchased my train ticket, defied government instructions to stay home and avoid travel, put myself in danger, and spent the day trapped in a hotel room. I understand rationally why I chose as I did, and rationally, maintain that I made the correct decision. Yet I cannot escape the feeling that in choosing to abort my plans, I have failed my objective. Even if there was nothing to gain by getting on the train, I cannot suppress the feeling that my conscious choice invited some moral failing.

Some cursory research suggests that this particular feeling is not unique to myself, nor is it a new field of philosophical musings. Humans feel more emotional and moral responsibility for acts which are consciously undertaken than for merely following existing plans. This feeling is so prevalent it carries legal weight; binding contracts cannot be made by failing to decline an agreement; they require active assent. This might explain why I feel particularly upset with myself; If I had made no choice, then any perceived failure could only be an act of God, and out of my control. By making a conscious decision to cut my losses, I made that result a personal consequence, at least to my subconscious mind.

This leaves me at something of an impasse. I know why I am upset, yet can do little to console myself except to distract and reassure the nagging elements of my unconscious mind that I made the correct decision. I am left in conflict with myself, and left acutely aware of the fickleness of my own mind. While I suppose that this state of affairs is strictly preferable to feeling upset and not understanding why at all, I still cannot bring myself to feel in any meaningful way confident about myself in the present tense, particularly as these most recent reactions would seem to indicate that I might not be the single-mindedly rational being that I like to pretend that I am.

As I have indicated previously, I have very little intrinsic self confidence, at least in the manner which most people seem to expect that I ought. For whatever reason, I cannot seem to raise such self-evident feelings of self worth, and therefore, when I project such feelings, it is borne not of some internal passion, but extrinsic, statistical calculation. I base my self-assessment not on my own feelings, nor on others’ opinions, but on data and milestones. And though I feel that this generally gives me a better handle on the limits of my abilities, it also means that when I put my mind to a particular objective, and yet still fail for whatever reason, it becomes not only a momentary setback, but a point of evidence against my worth as a human being.

This can, and historically has, resulted in a mental loop whereby a temporary failure, such as a meeting which I had my aspirations set upon being cancelled by a snowstorm, leads to a general hardening of outlook, which in turn causes me to shift to the back foot, acting more conservatively, and taking fewer risky opportunities. Consequently, I wind up having fewer major victories to celebrate and reassure myself, and am instead left to reflect upon all of the opportunities which I missed. Because I was led to skip these choices by seemingly rational means, I cannot regret individual choices, but rather categorize them as mere symptoms of a general moral failing. These reflections promote further self-doubt, further strategic conservatism, and so on.

So, what can I do about it?

With the help of family and friends, I have come to realize that this is a viscous cycle that represents many of the worst and most self-destructive aspects of my personality and manner of thought. Of course, recognizing this fact consciously is the easy part. Hindsight is perfect, after all. The hard part is determining how to counter this cycle.

Historically my solution to such problems has been to throw myself into work, especially school work. This serves a dual purpose. First, if I am working hard enough, I do not have the time nor the energy to stew over my situation in more general terms. Second, it gives me a sense that I am accomplishing something. From primary through early high school, this approach has generally worked.

However, more recently, as the school has continued to demonstrate its gross incompetence in accommodating my physical disabilities, and as they have become increasingly distraught over the fact that my disability has not healed itself by magic, it has apparently occurred to the school administration that the correct way to inspire me to overcome medical impossibilities is to continually evoke shame each time my medical issues cause me to miss a deadline. Exactly what they aim to accomplish through this pestering continues to elude me. But in any case, this state of affairs means that greater effort on my part is more often scolded than rewarded. For, it seems, every time I attempt to reach out for clarification and assistance, I am subjected to a lecture on “personal responsibility”.

Because the school administration is apparently so “forward thinking”, and therefore does not believe in disability whatsoever, I am told that the fault for my failures is not, cannot, lie in my disability, but only in my personal moral failings. I am told by special education professionals that if I were truly dedicated to my academic performance, that my chronic diseases ought not have any impact on my life whatsoever. My promises that I will do my utmost given what I have to work with fall on deaf ears, because, allegedly, if I were to truly do my utmost, I would already be done on my own.

Needless to say, this experience is extremely stressful, and only deepens my sense of failure, self-hatred and anxiety. It should surprise no one that I am not terribly productive under such conditions, which only exacerbates the problem. Thus it comes to pass that throwing myself into schoolwork and attempting to prove myself wrong; to prove that I can indeed overcome opposition and be successful, only leads to more evidence that I am a failure.

I have looked, and am still looking, into various strategies to deal with this cycle moving forward. One strategy has been to write, and to post here. Another has been to give myself permission to engage in short “micro-vacations” as I call them, or “sanity-breaks” as my doctors refer to them. These short periods can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days depending on the severity of my initial state, particularly as they tend to coincide with when I am most physically fatigued*, but the important part is that they remain constrained to a specific time instead of drawing out into a general malaise. During this time, I temporarily do away with all pretense of productivity, and allow myself to engage in whatever petty amusement strikes my fancy.

*Sidenote: the overlap between physiological issues and mental symptoms is a recurring theme, making meaningful treatment for both all the more challenging. After all, is it really paranoia if your statistical chances of dying are vastly increased? The consensus thus far is that it isn’t. This is the reason why, despite having all of the symptoms, I do not technically qualify for any mental health diagnosis; because in my case, the source is obvious and completely justified.

In this respect, the fact that the same blizzard which set me on this spiral also shut down most everything in the vicinity comprises a silver lining of sorts. Obviously, there is no magic bullet for irrational feelings of failure. But perhaps that is beside the point. Perhaps the point of overcoming this feeling is not to wind up standing triumphantly atop the pile of slain emotions, but to reach a peaceful stalemate. I do not necessarily need to feel good about the fact that I could not accomplish my goals; merely be able to accept it without it destroying myself. Perhaps it might be enough to be able to calmly analyze and discuss my thoughts in writing, without necessarily having to reach a decisive conclusion.

Reflections on International Women’s Day

I stated previously that I intended to bring this blog offline once again in solidarity with the Day Without Women Strike for International Women’s Day on March 8th. Two things have convinced me to alter my plans slightly. First, the strike organizers seem to be calling for only women to actually strike today, and are encouraging men to participate in other ways. This is fair enough. After all, it’s not my voice being put down, and I would have a hard time coming up with a tangible example of a time that gender discrimination has impacted me directly (It impacts me indirectly all the time, by holding back scientific progress by the selective suppression of certain groups’ advancement, but I digress).

Second, and arguably more important, is the point that, while striking and industrial action may be effective means of grabbing headlines, the point of these exercises is not to elicit silence, but conversation. Given that people seem to have this notion that I am a moderately talented communicator, and have chosen to listen to me, it stands to reason that a more appropriate response might be to attempt to add to the conversation myself.

It’s easy not to notice something that doesn’t affect oneself directly. Humans, it seems, possess an extraordinary talent for ignoring things that they feel do not concern them, particularly where knowledge of those things would make their lives and understanding of how the world works more complicated. This is probably a good thing on the whole, as it allows us to get through the day without having an existential crisis over the impending heat death of the universe, and feeling continually depressed about the state of affairs for our fellow humans in the developing world. On the other hand, it also makes it distressingly easy for us to overlook challenges to others when they do not have a direct impact on us.

Recently, I was invited to attend an event regarding the ongoing development and implementation of the Women’s Empowerment Principles at the United Nations. Now, as much as I like to believe that I am a progressive person capable of and inclined to provide and advocate for equal opportunity, it is impossible to deny the simple fact that I am male. And while I can name all kinds of discrimination that I have myself encountered, none of them relate to my sexual and gender identity. And so when it comes to suggesting ways to remedy present injustices, I do not really have a solid background to draw from.

I probably could have gotten away with what I already know. After all, with my limited experience in educating others on specific issues, and with my commitment to the principles of equality in general, surely I have enough context to be able to, if not contribute on my own, then at least, to pay homage to the general notion of women’s struggles?

Perhaps. But, I know enough people whom I respect, for whom this is a serious issue worthy of dedicating entire careers to. Additionally, I like to make a point to be an informed interlocutor. It is my firm position that all opinions worthy of serious discussion ought to have a firm factual and logical backing. And given that, in this case unlike most others, I do not have a personal background experience to draw upon, it seems only correct that I do my due diligence research so that I may make responsible and informed conclusions.

Thus, it transpired that I set myself the goal of becoming, if not an expert, then at least competent, in the field of gender relations and sexual inequality around the world in the space of just over two weeks. A lofty goal, to be sure, but a worthy one. My reading list included an assortment of United Nations, governmental and NGO reports, various statistical analyses, news stories, and a few proper books. Actually, calling it a reading list is a tad misleading, as, in order to cram as much information into as short a time as possible, most of the material in question was consumed in audio format, played at double or triple speed. This is a very effective way of gleaning the key facts without having to waste time on wasteful frivolities like enjoying the plot.

Most of my initial digging started in various UN organizations, chiefly the media center of the World Health Organization. While not always as in depth as respective national organizations, the WHO is useful inasmuch as it provides decent cursory summaries for the global perspective. What was most fascinating to me was that there were surprisingly few hard statistics. The biggest problem listed, particularly in the developing world, was not that women received a necessarily lower quality of healthcare, but that most did not receive health care at all, and therefore properly compiled statistics on gender discrepancies in health were notoriously hard to come by. Rather than telling a story, the data simply does not exist.

In a bitter irony, the more likely data was to exist for a specific region, the less likely significant gender discrepancies were to be shown to exist, at least in healthcare. That is to say that by the time that rigorous evidence could be compiled, the worst elements of inequality had been subdued. This makes a kind of sense. After all, if the problem is that women aren’t being allowed to participate in public, how exactly are you going to survey them? This also hinted at a theme that would continue to crop up: different regions and cultures are starting at tackling gender inequality from radically different starting points, and face accordingly different challenges.

My second major revelation came while listening to I Am Malala. For those who may have been living under a rock during that timeframe, here is the background: In 2012, Malala Yousefzai, a human rights and women’s education activist in rural Pakistan was shot by the taliban, sparking international outrage and renewed interest in the plight of women in the Middle East. Malala survived after being airlifted to the United Kingdom, and has since garnered celebrity status, becoming a goodwill ambassador for the United Nations’ women’s empowerment initiatives.

I have still not yet made up my mind on whether I will go so far as to say that I liked the book. I do not know that is the sort of book that is meant to be liked. I did, however, find it quite enlightening. The book is a first person biography; a kind of story that I have never been quite as interested in as the classic anecdote. If I am completely honest, I found most of the beginning rather dry. The story felt to me as though it had grown rather repetitive: Malala would have some dream or ambition that would seem fairly modest to those of us living in the developed world, which would naturally be made extremely contentious and difficult because she was a girl living in her particular culture.

It got a the point where I could practically narrate alongside the audiobook. And then, halfway through the twelfth or so incident where Malala came up short owing to her gender and her culture, it hit me: that’s the whole point. Yes, it is tedious, to the point of being frustrating to the narrative. That’s the point here. No part of this book would have happened, if not for the constant, grating frustration of sexist attitudes and policies. The story couldn’t progress because of those obstacles, and every time it seemed like one hurdle had been surmounted, another one cropped up. Because that’s what it’s like. And if I, the reader, was frustrated trying to hear the story, just imagine what it would be like to deal with the real deal.

A second revelation also occurred to me. In trying to tell of my tribulations in living with physical disabilities, I have often been accused of overstating the scope of their impact, to the point of copping blame for stirring up unnecessary trouble. People believed, or at least, suspected, that while life might be more difficult in a few select areas, surely it couldn’t effect absolutely everything in the way that I suggested it did. Perhaps, then, the problem lay not with the actual task at hand, but in the fact that my perception had been tainted. Perhaps I was not truly as disabled as I claimed, but merely suffered from a sort of persecution complex. I realized that I had unintentionally, unconsciously, made the same mistake in my reading of Malala’s story.

This also helped to answer another important question: In the developed world, we often hear bickering over to what degree we still “need” the women’s empowerment movement. After all, we have full suffrage, and equality before the law. Discrimination on the matter of sex is illegal, if it can be proven. Given how much better life is for women in the developed world than the developing, is it reasonable to expect more? Are these western advocates simply suffering from a persecution complex? Certainly there are those whose concerns are more immediately applicable and actionable than others, and certainly there are those who will insist no matter how much is done, that it isn’t enough. Such is the nature of politics, and on this the women’s empowerment movement in the developed world is not any different from any other political movement. But on the general question over whether genuine, actionable, inequities exist, it seems now far less unreasonable to me to accept that there may yet be more work to be done than I might have initially been led to believe.

I expect that even this conclusion will be contentious. I expect that I shall be told in short order that I have drawn conclusions from the data which I have aggregated which are faulty, or else that the data itself is biased or misleading. On this point I concede that I am still quite young in my in-depth study of this particular field, and, as mentioned previously, far better minds than mine have devoted entire careers to ironing out the finer points. Reasonable minds may, and indeed do, disagree about specifics. However, if there is one thing which my cursory research and analysis thereof has confirmed in my mind, it is that, on matters of general policy, I would rather err on the side of empathy, choosing rather to be too trusting in the good faith of others, than to ignore and unintentionally oppress.

It follows, then, that I should find myself wholeheartedly endorsing and supporting the observation and celebration of today, International Women’s Day, and reaffirming my support for continuation and expansion of the UN’s Women’s Empowerment Principles.

Open Letter: Betsy DeVos

Today at school there was an informational session regarding the policies of the new department of education, and a letter-writing session to the new secretary of education. Unfortunately, in a bitter and illuminating irony, I was prevented from attending and participating owing to a flare-up of my disability. I have therefore resolved to make my point via online open letter.

Madam Secretary,

If I am completely honest, I hold reservations that you are qualified to hold your current post. Your lack of experience with public schools at all is disturbing; and your characterization of education as an industry rather than the duty of the government in protecting the inalienable right of the citizens in accordance with both international law and domestic precedent, is alarming.

With that said, I shall invite you to prove me wrong. I remain open to the possibility that I have underestimated your abilities and convictions, and those of your cabinet colleagues. In particular, your short-lived, halfhearted attempt to prevent the rollback of existing protections for transgender students is quite heartening, despite its failure. However, I should have to inform you that merely paying lip service to the idea of equal protection is not nearly enough, particularly for one who has sworn an oath to uphold it.

Because I do not expect much in the way of expanded services from your office, the main point of your tenure will be to ensure that existing protections for minorities and those such as myself with disabilities are enforced. Your job is to stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves. This is an enormous responsibility, and one that is arguably more critical to the continuing function of our democratic society than the jobs of your other colleagues.

I will hasten to point out, since the papers have brought it to my attention, that the primary motivation for your backing down during the standoff over transgender protections owed to your job security, that your position is most likely more secure than you may be led to believe. Yours is a senate-confirmed position. You, who were evidently the most qualified candidate the president could muster, only barely made it through senate approval. I do not expect the same senators would take kindly to you being asked to resign over adhering to your legally-mandated duty. I urge you to point out this matter to your colleagues the next time you feel pressured to compromise on principles.

In closing, I urge you, Madam Secretary, to prove me wrong; to demonstrate that you are qualified to uphold your constitutional and legal obligations. Prove that you are willing to put moral principles before money and politics. Give me reason to believe, as you put it during your confirmation hearings, that you “fully embrace equality [and] believe in the innate value of every single human being, and that all students, no matter their age, should be able to attend a school and feel safe and be free from discrimination.” Prove that you will stand by your words and enforce the civil rights legislation that ensures that our society can yet function.

Sincerely,
The Renaissance Guy
Registered independent voter, Blogger, and Student

You Have The Right To An Education

I am not sold on the going assumption seemingly embraced by the new US presidential administration which characterizes education as an industry, at least, not in the sense that the United States government has traditionally approached other industries. While I can appreciate that there may be a great deal which market competition can improve in the field, I feel it is dangerous to categorize education as merely an economic service rather than an essential civil service and government duty. Because if it is an industry, then it ceases to be a government duty.
The idea that education is a human right is not new, nor is it particularly contentious as human rights go. Article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights reads in part as follows:

Everyone has the right to education. Education shall be free […] Technical and professional education shall be made generally available and higher education shall be equally accessible […] Education shall be directed to the full development of the human personality and to the strengthening of respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms. It shall promote understanding, tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups, and shall further the activities of the United Nations for the maintenance of peace.

The United States lobbied strongly for the adoption and promotion of this declaration, and for many years touted it as one of the great distinctions which separated the “free world” from the Soviet Union and its allies. Americans were proud that their country could uphold the promise of free education. The United States remains bound to these promises under international law, but more importantly, is bound by the promise to its own citizens.

Of course, there are other, more nationalist grounds for opposing the erosion of the government’s responsibility to its citizens in this regard. Within the United States, it has long been established that, upon arrest, in order for due process to be observed, that a certain exchange must take place between the accused and the authorities. This exchange, known as the Miranda Warning, is well-documented in American crime shows.

The ubiquity of the Miranda Warning is not merely a coincidental procedure, but is in fact an enforced safeguard designed to protect the constitutional rights of the accused. Established in 1966 in the US Supreme Court Case Miranda vs. Arizona, the actual wording is less important than the notion that the accused must be made aware, and must indicate their understanding of, their constitutional rights regarding due process. Failure to do so, even for the most trivial of offenses, is a failure of the government to uphold those rights, and can constitute grounds for a mistrial.

The decision, then, establishes an important premise: Citizens who are not educated about their rights cannot reliably exercise them, and this failure of education represents sufficient legal grounds as to permit reasonable doubt on the execution of justice. It also establishes that this education is the duty of the government, and that a failure here represents an existential failure of that government. It follows, then, that the government and the government alone holds a duty to ensure that each citizen is at least so educated as to reasonably ensure that they can reliably exercise their constitutional rights.

What then, should we make about talk of turning education into a free-for-all “industry”? Can the government still claim that it is fulfilling its constitutional obligations if it is outsourcing them to third parties? Can that government still claim to be of and by the people if it’s essential functions are being overseen and administered by publicly unaccountable individuals? And what happens when one of these organizations fails to educate its students to a reasonable standard? Can the government be held accountable for the subsequent miscarriage of justice if the necessary measures to prevent it were undertaken in such a convolutedly outsourced manner as to make direct culpability meaningless?

As usual, I don’t know the answer, although I fear at our present rate, we may need to look at a newer, more comprehensive Miranda Warning.

Compulsion to Quarantine

I have a sign in my files which is pre-designed in case I should ever need to print it and place it on my door. It is one of many similar contingency plans I maintain just in case conditions should become such as to require immediate action on my part. Unlike most of the other contingencies which I maintain standing plans for, this one has actually happened to me before.

Here is a screenshot of the sign in question:

As you can see, this sign is designed to help enhance our house’s notably robust health precautions. Given the fact that I am not only immunocompromised, and thus more vulnerable to infections of all sort, but also physically disabled in such a way that makes treatment of acquired infections all the more difficult to treat, these relatively mundane precautions really are a matter of life and death.

In a perfect world, this would be a non-issue. In such a world, the appearance of any kind of infectious disease in a community, such as, to pick a relevant example, my high school, would result in an immediate and coordinated response to isolate and care for those affected, and to ensure that the disease is never allowed to spread. In such a world, the burden of ensuring that the sick receive adequate treatment to, if nothing else, avoid further spread of contagion, would be shared among all those potentially affected, which is to say, among all those that use community services and participate in community life.

Work would be provided for students who missed class, and absences due to illness would not be held against student advancement. Students would be encouraged to stay home and recover when sick, minimizing the overall impact of infection on the entire population. In such a world, it would be easy for me to attend school without fear of contracting illness and being hospitalized for a prolonged period, or worse, owing to the complications of my legally recognized disabilities.

Of course, this is not the world we live in. In our world at the present time, students rarely, if ever, stay home when contagious, or even when attending would be detrimental to their health. Having spent a considerable amount of time in my school nurses’ office, I can state categorically that it is vastly more likely for a given sick student to be sent home forcibly by the nursing staff than to be voluntarily taken home by parents, even when said students already have a clinically high fever and are obviously contagious. There are, of course, plenty of solid reasons why this is the case. Quite simply, the incentives created by the school administration are to blame.

For starters, ours is a terribly competitive school, where students are advised and compelled not only be parents and peers, but by staff advisors and counselors to take as many advanced placement and honors courses as can be logistically fit into a single schedule, without great regard for student interest or workload capability. This, in addition to a myriad of recommended extra-curricular activities and volunteer work. The nature of such courses is, obviously, to be quite intensive, and often unforgiving.

Furthermore, the fact that so many students, many of whom would probably be better served by courses that are “merely” honors or college-prep, are bumped up into higher echelon courses means that teachers are given the unenviable task of having to weed out those who oughtn’t be enrolled in the first place from those with genuine ability. This is accomplished primarily by a relentless onslaught of busywork designed to be taxing to even the best of students, and sufficiently crushing to those who lack the necessary conviction that they become compelled to drop those courses.

Naturally, this kind of curriculum is rigidly inflexible and unforgiving in such a way that missing one class becomes a major setback, and missing a week (the CDC’s recommended recovery time for seasonal influenza) is an effective death sentence. Teachers, who are as much burdened by the need to keep consistent and challenging curricula as the students are to keep up with it, are either too busy to meaningfully accommodate students who have been ill, or else are so jaded from years of having students cheat and evade work by any means in order to maintain a competitive edge, that they simply cannot effectively empathize.

Subsequently, it remains in the short term rational self interest of each individual student to continue coming to class for as long as they are physically capable, regardless of contagion risk, regardless of the long term harm that such exhaustion wreaks on an ill body. And after all, in the unlikely event that such a normally-healthy student is rendered so wretchedly close to death that they are forcibly removed from class, such a traumatic event will undoubtedly attract sympathy and support from the administration, only then providing the necessary accommodations.

This is, of course, only one part of a systematic incentive system which compels students to maintain their attendance regardless of health. There is still the larger problem of recorded absences. In our school, every absence after a certain number of days must be accompanied by a note from a licensed physician – even if standing orders exist from certified specialists to cover such eventualities. Failure to provide such documentation to the school’s liking results in automatic referral to Child Protective Services. This is still true, regardless of the age of the student. So, an eighteen year old who is completing high school will still require a parent to call in each day with a note from a licensed physician, under threat of referral to CPS.

As noted previously, even where absences are “excused”, actual class accommodations for said absences are never forthcoming. Thus, a culture of working oneself to death emerges, with students extolling the virtues of “working through a cold” unto one another. As with most discussions between adolescents, this naturally evolves into a sort of competitive posturing, with students all working to prove that they are the most devoted, most strong-willed, most likely to prevail against all other kinds of adversity.

And of course, if through this manner of working, one’s rivals should be exposed to some nasty pathogen that causes them sufficient pain to nudge the grading curve into a more favorable state, or else knock them out of the running for valedictorian, it might come to be seen that the proliferation of infection throughout the school is not entirely at odds with one’s own academic and political ambitions. In which case, what incentive is there for a rationally self-interested person to do anything but continue to attend regardless of contagion?

Thus it comes to pass that my school is, as my immunologist calls it, “the germ factory”, with seasonal outbreaks as reliable as the teachers’ quiz schedules. For most students who have normal physiologies and the robust immune systems to defend them, the occasional coronavirus or sinusitis is no great pain. At worst, it means a couple days carrying a box of tissues everywhere. But for me, these remain plan-derailing, life threatening catastrophes that likely end with me in the hospital.

Except as much as I wish myself to be above the stubborn self-damaging habits of my able-bodies comrades, I find myself in the same dilemma with regards to missing class. After all, why ought I to have to isolate myself, when I’m not even contagious? At a certain point, after a certain number of reported outbreaks, the strategic calculus changes enough to justify my own voluntary self-quarantine. This is especially true when the illness in question is a GI bug, which are, for a variety of reasons, my Achilles heel. But until that point, what can I do to balance my own safety against my education?

This is a question without a proper answer. In an ideal world, the burden would not be on me to sequester myself, but on others to ensure that they are not spreading contagious disease. But this is not the world we live in. We live in a world where the right thing to do, and the economically sensible thing to do are at odds. Ideally, this would be set right by a coordinated societal effort to realign the incentives with the morally and socially responsible choice. For the time being, I will keep my sign on the door.