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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=93TT0243>
<link 93TO0113>
<title>
July 26, 1993: After The Deluge:Health Hazards
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
July 26, 1993 The Flood Of '93
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
COVER, Page 32
DISASTERS
After The Deluge: Health Hazards
</hdr>
<body>
<p> If hurricanes are Mother Nature's barroom brawlers, swiftly
finishing their business and heading for the door, floods tend
to behave more like unwanted houseguests: they park themselves
in the living room, tear up the furniture, and generally make
a nuisance of themselves for weeks or months before finally
having the decency to pack up and hit the road. That's not good
news for residents of the Mississippi River Valley, who long
after floodwaters have crested will play host to a chocolate-colored
inland sea sprawling across the spine of the Midwest--a stagnant,
festering stew of industrial waste, agricultural pesticides
and raw sewage that laminates buildings in goo and provides
a superb growing environment for bacteria. The entire floodplain,
says Anita Walker in Des Moines, Iowa, will be a "muddy, stinky,
awful mess to clean up."
</p>
<p> As the Great Flood of '93 recedes, it is likely to leave in
its wake a rash of health problems ranging from disease to chemical
pollution. A variety of infections related to sanitation and
hygiene, all spread by floodwater, are already giving health
officials headaches. Thanks to at least 18 breached sewage plants,
microbes have penetrated the nearly 800 miles of piping that
keeps the Des Moines area's 250,000 residents supplied with
drinking water; it will take a month to disinfect the system.
Tetanus is another concern, especially for sandbaggers and rescuers
slogging through the slimy silt and sewage-invested waters.
And then there is encephalitis, a viral disease that inflames
the spinal cord and brain and can produce a combination of low-grade
fever, seizures and even coma. It is transmitted by mosquitoes,
whose numbers are expected to explode along the saturated bottomlands
in the coming weeks.
</p>
<p> So far, there have been no major outbreaks of illness. Health
officials say such traditional scourges as cholera and typhoid
are unlikely to pose a significant threat, and authorities insist
that clean water and uncontaminated food--which so far have
been available in most areas--will ensure that a full-scale
epidemic doesn't take place. "There's a misperception that every
time there is a disaster, people are at risk," says Mitchell
Cohen of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. "The
key elements are providing safe water and safe food. Health
authorities know this controls any infectious-disease problem."
</p>
<p> Less predictable, however, are the effects of the farm pesticides
and industrial chemicals churning in the silt-encrusted swamps
and ponds marooned by subsiding rivers. While hydrologists anticipate
that the sheer volof water will dilute and neutralize any toxicity,
no one knows what dangers, if any, are posed by toxic runoff
from hundreds of submerged factories, fuel-storage facilities
and waste dumps. "Think of all this stuff making a witches'
brew of new compounds," says Kevin Coyle, president of American
Rivers, an environmental group in Washington. "We have no precedent."
</p>
<p> There is, however, plenty of precedent for the nightmare that
awaits residents when the waters finally recede. Denizens of
the river valley who have endured previous temper tantrums of
the Mississippi are all too well acquainted with the thick,
claylike layers of earth that will coat the inside of houses,
barns and machinery, delaying repairs and driving up the cost
of recovery. Farmers have an appropriate term for the stuff:
they call it gumbo.
</p>
<p>-- By Kevin Fedarko. Reported by Marc Hequet/St. Paul and David
Seideman/New York
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>