Imagine a river with a towering waterfall. At the foot of the falls, dozens of people are frantically moving to help others who have fallen into the river and hurtled down the falls, many of them drowning.
As local residents try to save as many as possible, one individual looks up to see a seemingly endless stream of people falling into the waterfall. It pulls away from the shore and starts running upstream. One of the other rescuers shouts at him, “Where are you going? There are so many people who need help here. To which the individual replies: “I will find out why so many people are falling into the river. ”
This little story, attributed to American community activist Saul Alinsky, illustrates well the concept of prevention and the challenges we naturally have to give it some attention in times of crisis.
First doubts
I remember when the vaccination (first dose) was opened to my group, 40-year-olds without chronic health problems, last spring. In several countries poorly served by history and fate, health professionals and frail elderly people still did not have access to it. We were clearly not a global public health priority.
Yet the fact that I could be offered a dose so quickly was touted as a government success. To take it fell under the simple duty of a citizen. In a virtual meeting with colleagues, I timidly evoked my discomfort.
I had thought of writing a text begging our Prime Minister to send my dose instead where it would have had the most chance of saving a life. This place was clearly not in my arm. But I didn’t write it down.
Because this text risked making honest people feel guilty who, out of solidarity or personal fear of the virus, raised their sleeves. He risked slowing down the national effort. To give the semblance of good reason to refuse the vaccine. But above all, this text would have had real and sad repercussions, here and now: more hospitalizations, deaths and professional exhaustion of the nursing staff.
So I took my dose, then my second. Not complicated. No scandal. Then Omicron arrived.
Now more people continue to fall for the fall. Our rescuers are also more tired. In the end, we will perhaps have more hospitalizations and deaths than in the scenario that I feared with my first failed text.
This is also the problem with prevention: its success is an event avoided, therefore invisible. You never know if it is worth it since you do not know if misfortune would have befallen us if we had done without.
A donation
I will soon have access to my third dose. It will probably not be the last. But I won’t be able to take it. In any case, not right away. Because I contracted the virus just before the holidays.
Mr. Prime Minister, I would like to know if I can donate a dose. Send her where she has the best chance of saving a life. Several people more vulnerable or critical than me would need it somewhere on our precious blue planet. I want to contribute.
Moreover, many Quebecers like me have had an unexpected third “natural” dose lately and will not need the one you have reserved for them. What will you do with them before they expire?
Could you develop a program where, for each dose procured, we would purchase a proportional number of doses intended for international use?
It’s time to tackle what’s going on upstream from the falls.