If
Dr. Mona Hanna-Attisha hadn't had a friend over to dinner in August, the public
might still be in the dark about the lead contamination poisoning the water
supply in Flint, Michigan.
Her
friend was a water expert who had worked for the Environmental Protection Agency
when the District of Columbia encountered similar issues there more than a
decade ago.
When
she told Hanna-Attisha that she had heard the city of Flint wasn't doing
"corrosion control" to prevent lead in aging pipes from leaching into
the water supply, the doctor didn't need to be told twice about the gravity of
the potential consequences.
"When
pediatricians hear anything about lead, we absolutely freak out," says
Hanna-Attisha, director of the pediatric residency program at Hurley Medical
Center, a public hospital in Flint.
"Lead
is a potent known neurotoxin. The CDC, the AAP, everybody tells us that there
is no safe level of lead," she says, referring to the Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention and the American Academy of Pediatrics.
Lead
poisoning affects "your cognition and your behavior. It actually drops
your IQ," she says.
"The
very next day I started our crusade to see if that lead in the water was
getting into the bodies of children," says the doctor-turned-campaigner
who became the first to sound the alarm about the water crisis afflicting the
struggling city.
Brown,
smelly water and rashes
Through
her work, Hanna-Attisha already had heard complaints from Flint residents since
officials switched the city's water supply from Lake Huron to the dirty Flint
River in April 2014 as a cost-cutting measure.
The
water was brown, and it smelled and tasted bad. Residents reported developing
rashes and eye irritations, and had been advised to boil their water because of
the presence of E. coli.
The
prospect of lead in the water made her realize urgent action was needed. Her
response, she says, was to undertake "the easiest research project I've
ever done."
The
hospital routinely screened children -- who are most vulnerable to lead
exposure -- at ages 1 and 2 for the substance, monitoring levels among infants
who may have ingested the neurotoxin through eating paint chips in their homes,
for example.
Her
research involved comparing the lead levels in samples taken before and after
the switch in the water supply.
What
she found was incontrovertible.
Lead
poisoning doubled in Flint children, doctor says
The
percentage of children in Flint with lead poisoning had doubled, she says.
"In
some neighborhoods, it actually tripled. (In) one specific neighborhood, the
percentage of kids with lead poisoning went from about 5%, to almost 16% of the
kids that were tested," she says.
"It
directly correlated with where the water lead levels were the highest."
The
findings went against trends across the country, which had seen lead levels
dropping every year.
"Our
mouths were ajar, and we couldn't believe that in 2016 now, in the middle of
the Great Lakes, we couldn't guarantee a population access to good drinking
water," she says.
Flint
is about 70 miles from the shores of the Great Lakes, the largest group of freshwater bodies in
the world.
Having
uncovered the shocking data, Hanna- Attisha took the unconventional step of
sharing the findings at a September press conference, flanked by medical
colleagues.
"Research
is not supposed to be shared at press conferences. It is supposed to be
published in peer-reviewed journals, which it is now," she says.
"We
had an ethical, professional, moral responsibility to alert our community (to)
what was going on."
'Denial,
denial, denial'
The
news understandably created a big splash -- but an equally large backlash.
"We
were attacked," Hanna-Attisha recalls.
She
was labeled an "unfortunate researcher" and accused of causing
hysteria. Critics said her figures did not line up with the state's findings.
Even
though General Motors stopped using the city's water supply because it was
corroding engine parts, the official reaction, Hanna-Attisha says, was one of
"denial, denial, denial."
The
criticism, she says, took its toll.
"I
was physically ill. I think my heart rate went up to 200. You know, you check
and you double-check, and you know your research is right. The numbers didn't
lie, but when the state is telling you you're wrong, it's hard not to
second-guess yourself."
A
turning point came, however, through a conversation with a state health
official who reached out, asking how she had come to her findings.
"They
re-looked at their data and found, 'You know what? Our findings are consistent
with your findings,' " she says.
Now
Hanna-Attisha is working with former critics to address the crisis. "The
state has apologized," she says. "I've accepted their apology."
Flint's
woes
Attempting
to mitigate the impact of an irreversible neurotoxin on a community requires a
complex response -- one that a financially struggling city such as Flint is
poorly equipped to provide.
"There's
no treatment, but there's a lot of things that we can put in place for these
children," Hanna-Attisha says, citing universal preschool, nutrition,
education and health services.
"It's
all of these wraparound services that we need to throw at these children now.
That is why I feel that we're in a state of emergency, because if we don't
intervene now, if we don't throw everything at these kids now, we will see
these lifelong, multigenerational consequences."
She
says she feels an obligation to the children of Flint, a city of 100,000,
which, even before the water crisis, "had every disparity in the
world."
The
past three decades have been rough for the blue-collar city, which has
experienced a drop in population and rise in violent crime since auto plants
began closing in the 1980s. Local officials say about 40% of residents live in
poverty. Fifteen percent of homes are abandoned. The city doesn't even
have a grocery store.
"Every
single obstacle for our children's success was already here," she says.
'My
job is the kids'
Now
the scandal has been brought to light, the political finger-pointing has begun
in earnest to determine who should take responsibility.
"Accountability's
important," says Hanna-Attish, adding that she looks forward to people
being held responsible. "But that's someone else's job. My job is the
kids."
Surprisingly,
her experience fighting for vulnerable children -- weathering criticism and
taking time away from her own two daughters -- hasn't left her jaded or weary.
"I
am reinvigorated. My job, as a pediatrician, is to take care of that kid in
front of me, but to make sure that they have the brightest future ahead of
them," she says.
"We
owe it to these kids to make this better. I may be an optimist, too much of an
optimist, but we have to try hard to mitigate this exposure."
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