The swine flu panic will turn into a national sickie

First, the good news. And we all need good news. According to the Home Secretary, Alan Johnson, the UK is no longer at a ‘critical’ level of threat from a terrorist attack. We’ve been downgraded to a ‘substantial’ level of alert against al-Qa’eda or other extremist groups. So we’ve gone from a ‘touch-and-go’, worst-case scenario to a merely ‘significant’ one. However, the bad news is that ‘the Fear’ has been replaced by the Big Bogey Man himself — Mr Piggy.

Swine flu allegedly now poses a cataclysmic and ‘far greater’ immediate threat to our country’s heath and safety than anything else, and so far the government has spent over £100 million stockpiling Tamiflu. At the time of writing, 30 Brits have died as a direct result of the outbreak since 14 June (according to the Department of Health, there are 12,000 deaths per annum from ‘normal’ seasonal flu in this country). Yet we have all been whipped into a state of such mounting hysteria that it surely won’t be long before the country’s workforce grinds to a complete standstill — just as the government, with immaculate timing, jumps ship and fades into recess for the summer.

It may be, as FDR said, that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. In which case, the authorities themselves are doing a damned good job of overdosing us on an IV drip of alarm. Don’t get pregnant, watch out at school, don’t go to your doctors spreading the horrible sickness. Nice Mr Johnson, Britain’s most famous former postie, even pushed the Black Spot through the nation’s letter-box last Sunday with the declaration that swine flu now comes ‘above terrorism as a threat to this country’. Which was, when you think about it, a pretty weird thing to say two days after the Muslim convert Andrew Ibrahim had been found guilty of plotting to blow up a shopping centre in Bristol.

New information is being churned out faster than Michael Jackson tribute albums and experts are tripping over themselves to contradict one another. On Tuesday morning we were told the Schools Department had sent guidance to schools and nurseries warning them to prepare to stay closed after the holidays — in swine flu hotspots at least. Yet by the afternoon, the chief medical officer, Sir Liam Donaldson, declared that it would be ‘extremely disruptive to society and would take a lot for us to move in that direction. Look what we did in the West Midlands. We did very aggressively initially close schools, treat people with Tamiflu who didn’t have symptoms but were contacts of cases. Eventually it broke out of the box and spread more widely.’ Confused? You will be.

Meanwhile, scientists who previously said there was little point in trying to contain the virus also appeared to have changed tack. The epidemiologists Dr Simon Cauchemez and Professor Neil Ferguson, of Imperial College London, wrote in The Lancet Infectious Diseases that ‘breaking the chains of transmission’ might be one of the benefits of closing schools. The epidemic would be slowed down to ‘create more time for vaccine production, and the incidence of cases at the peak time of the epidemic reduced’.

But — to add to the message mayhem — the schools secretary, Ed Balls, disagrees with this analysis, asserting instead that the ‘virus is already so established [that] school closure would have little effect’. Then there are people who, somewhat creepily, think it’s best to contract the virus now in its early stages as opposed to later on in the year, when it will have had time to gain strength and severity — although if the virus mutates, one’s immune system may not recognise a different strain. Confused? You must be by now.

Folks — I think we are fighting a civil war between common sense and hypochondria. If one truly believed the hype, now would be the time to stop the world and get off. The cynic in me thinks this mendacious government may just have cooked up the perfect storm. Be very afraid.

Personally, I reckon everyone needs to take a leaf out of Michael Winner’s book and ‘calm down, dear’. This pandemic seems more swindle than swine at present. I am writing from personal experience — in our household we have already fought the great fight and thankfully lived to tell the tale. Our 19-year-old daughter caught the plague a fortnight ago. The moment she woke up complaining of a headache and a temperature we were understandably worried. I guess, to be honest, we were much more worried than we would normally be. Instead of just giving her a couple of Nurofen and making her a cup of tea with honey we immediately sought medical advice. She was given a prompt ‘virtual’ telephone diagnosis by our brilliant and ever-calm NHS doctor, after answering a checklist of questions — confirming she had indeed contracted the H1N1 virus. We were firmly instructed not to bring her anywhere near the surgery, and my husband — her designated ‘flu friend’ — was sent scurrying off to Boots at Victoria Station to pick up a (free) prescription of Tamiflu. It doesn’t help that the drug has such a silly-sounding name: think Peter Andre’s backing group or a lesser-known Nashville country and western act. But it does exactly what it says on the packet: it works. And fast.

Because of the scare-mongering daily headlines, relentless breaking-news bulletins and dubious prophecies of impending doom and 28 Days Later-style hysteria, I was still keen to get her physically seen by a doctor, and ever mindful of the NHS’s work overload, called our private GP. He too said: ‘Whatever you do, stay put. There is little or no point coming in for a second opinion. She’s got it. Take the Tamiflu.’ So my little piggy did exactly as she was told and stayed home under house arrest.

Taken twice daily alongside regular doses of Paracetamol and TLC, the medication did the business. My daughter’s initial fever of 102 was completely normal after 48 hours, leaving her slightly achy, snuffly and lethargic for a further two days — time she spent curled up in front of the TV watching boxed sets of Californication and Friends and MTV. Perhaps she was just lucky and contracted a mild dose; for I would certainly hesitate to use the word ‘stricken’ when describing her illness. Too dramatic. Like the two doctors we consulted, I am fairly certain she had swine flu. But what does that mean? It was undoubtedly worse than a common cold — but it was nowhere near as unpleasant as (say) a teenage bout of tonsillitis. I would hazard a guess and say that the most acute and distressing symptoms she experienced was actually the sensation of panic and fear. She was made to feel scared and I would imagine slightly ashamed of her condition — a bit like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. She felt like a marked woman.

Here, it seems to me, are the rules of the game. Being diagnosed with swine flu obviously requires full disclosure. It’s no different in that respect to catching nits or contracting genital herpes — one has a strong moral obligation to come clean or else risk being socially blackballed (or as Brüno would say, schwartz-listed). It is one’s duty to inform visitors and then it is up to them to decide if they want to chance a close encounter. I flung open the windows, disinfected all telephones, remote controls and mobiles, and insisted on vigorous hand-washing. With true wartime spirit, we all just kept calm and carried on. As did visiting friends. My daughter took great care not to br eathe over anyone, diligently got rid of used Kleenex and I gave everyone we were planning on seeing ample opportunity to opt out. No one did. We all stayed away from anyone elderly or with young babies: straightforward enough.

Out of interest, I googled the NHS Direct helpline website. Initially one is confronted by a reassuring — albeit slightly Watch With Mother c. 1960 — page entitled ‘Before We Begin’. Before we begin to get down to the nitty-gritty, we are informed that ‘the symptom-checker is only suitable for adults and children over the age of five’ and urged to remember that ‘if one is using the symptom checker on behalf of someone else, remember the questions will be about them’. Next one clicks on the start of symptom checker itself: ‘Reasons for Call: Tick one box if you are unwell with flu-like symptoms (help)’. The ‘(help)’ is highlighted bizarrely in blue. Please note the brackets are theirs, not mine.

‘Alternatively, tick the second box if you have no symptoms but are “concerned” about swine flu.’ Ironically there are no brackets asking ‘isn’t everyone?’ after this sentence.

One is then taken to the second stage of the online diagnosis called ‘Just To Be Safe’ and invited to answer six supposedly medical questions including one that says ‘none of the above’ — not a phrase that I imagine appears in the Hippocratic Oath. Next the patient is directed towards a sentence highlighted ‘Why are you asking me this?’ I kid you not.

After further online queries that attempt to eliminate various afflictions or patient categories — heart attacks, meningitis, unusual rash, ‘high-risk groups’ — one eventually arrives at a section marked ‘Worsening Symptoms’ and from here one is but a short click away from the exciting denouement: ‘GP Contact’! Yes, it’s show-and-tell time. If you have tried but not been able to contact your own GP, been told by your GP to contact NHS Direct or been in contact with your GP but are getting worse or not getting any better you are told to request a call-back from an NHS adviser. This protracted advice seems to be making a guinea pig’s ear of it. It’s a bit like being a contestant on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? — do you want to: a) phone a friend, b) go 50/50 or c) ask the audience? A lot could depend on the final answer.

And this is the crux of the matter — the constant confusion, contradiction and indeed controversy that surround this disease. If we do exactly as we are told, and seek medical help over the telephone or via the internet to avoid spreading further infection through overcrowded GPs’ surgeries, how can any of us be 100 per cent certain we actually have or don’t have this wretched disease? Surely many of us may just be suffering from a (largely) self-diagnosed bout of bog-standard summer flu that has been media-mutated into the porcine variety? By the end of this week there will be a new nationwide helpline in place allowing sufferers to obtain anti-viral drugs without having to see their doctors. The first batch of swine flu vaccine is due to arrive next month with enough for half the population by Christmas, and the World Heath Organisation grimly warns that this is a virus that has travelled as far in six weeks as previous diseases have spread in six months. It’s scary stuff.

Is it any surprise we’re all worried sick? Literally worried sick. Every sneeze one overhears becomes magnified; every cough seems louder, tighter, drier, every standard headache suddenly resistant to the previous charms of Nurofen. For thousands of patients who have been told they have the disease there is no litmus test of proof; no certificate given out to conclusively confirm they’ve been infected by H1N1. Of the numerous victims I’ve spoken to, not one has been officially swabbed. My daughter certainly wasn’t; nor were either of my friends that got ill. Chloe Buckley, the six-year-old who tragically died in hospital on 9 July, just 48 hours after complaining to her mum of a sore throat, now appears to have been killed by a rare combination of bacterial infections. Did swine flu play a part? Probably. But is it right to categorise this unspeakably sad case along with all the other swine flu deaths? Probably not. But that’s what happens when there’s a scare on. Everything gets lumped together. Ministers panic. Headlines scream out ever scarier figures with the warning of much, much worse to come. Yet common sense makes me wonder if these terrifying statistics are way off the mark.

Here is one statistic you can rely on: the number of people taking time off work with swine flu has tripled in a week, although the number of people reported as actually having the disease has only doubled. The maths just doesn’t quite add up. With new plans that would allow swine flu victims to take two weeks off work without a doctor’s letter, I think we may well look back on the middle months of 2009 as the Summer of the Sickie. And that would be truly sickening.