I spent the summer in India during the peak of monsoon, the rainy season. Everywhere I went were signs like, “know your Lepto,” or “how to identify dengue before it identifies you.” I jest, but seriously. The rains, anxiously awaited by millions across the subcontinent, represent growth, fertility, the harvest, and, unfortunately, disease. In an economy that is as much agrarian as IT, and as dependent on weather as independent of time zone, monsoons are a blessing and a public health curse. Malaria incidence, too, was unprecedented this year, with public hospitals erecting overflow tents just to accommodate the hordes of patients flooding their grounds.
The flood has left 20 million homeless, and more than half a million suffering from waterborne and other diseases.
And this was just in areas of “normal,” seasonal rain. Imagine the situation in Pakistan. The floods have been catastrophic, not only for the devastation they have wrought, but also for the illness they bring. Diarrheal diseases have already claimed thousands of lives, and skin and respiratory illnesses follow closely. Waterborne diseases such as typhoid, jaundice, and diarrhea are particularly virulent, but higher incidence of H1N1 and other respiratory viruses also seems to be associated with the moist, cool climate.
As the situation in Pakistan evolves, it is increasingly clear that the flood’s chronic pathology will include large-scale infectious and health concerns, which must be addressed as urgently as any epidemic.
