Multiple Chemical Sensitivity (MCS) - a condition that kicks you out of the

frying pan of the 21st Century and into the fire of a socioeconomic, financial,

and legal battlefield. Not only a condition that ushers in a totally new, yet

vigorously and sometimes viciously denied, disability category but one that

also, and not unrelatedly, has the potential to turn the 21st Century on it's

ear. Why? Because we have become an economy and a society based on a plethora

of manmade chemical products but for a large and rapidly increasing proportion

of the population it is these self-same chemicals that render it an unlivable

place. Those that appreciate the reality of MCS and those that wage a losing

battle to deny its existence have only one thing in common - they both wish it

would go away. But for those who have MCS the reality is - it doesn't.

MCS is not the scientific name - there is, as yet, no officially recognised or

agreed scientific or medical name - rather it is the name being used by the

rapidly increasing army of sufferers worldwide and by the doctors trying to

grapple with this silent epidemic for which they have no cure. Basically

victims of MCS become very sick when exposed to even minute amounts of a wide

variety of chemicals. Chemicals found in, and given off by, carpets, glues,

cleansers, disinfectants, polishes, lubricants, paper, inks, photocopying, man

made fabrics, pesticides, plastics, electronic equipment, foam rubber,

artificial food additives, paints, soaps, hair care products, deodorants and

perfumes, cigarette smoke, petrols and oils. In fact just about every product

of the 20th Century. It also usually applies to anything that has become

contaminated by those products.

The only known method of alleviating the debilitating and disabling effects of

MCS involves stringent avoidance of those chemicals to which the victim reacts.

For victims of severe MCS, such as myself, who react excessively to a very

wide-ranging list of chemicals and products, this means almost total isolation

from the modern world. Some people choose to opt out of modern day life and

enjoy it, but for those of us who have become chemically disabled it is a

vastly different story. You see, the 20th Century is where my wife works. It is

where my children go to school, where my 10 year old daughter took part in her

first ballet concert and starred in her first school concert. Where she sings

with the school choir and solo and speaks at eisteddfods. Where my 18 year old

son participated in his first school musical, eisteddfods, youth group church

services, and attends University. Where my family go to church and the cinema.

Where the entire medical profession work and have their facilities; all the

educational facilities, banks, shops and offices are; all the planes, trains

and buses are. Where all our friends and the rest of our families live and work

and socialise. And I cannot even visit it, let alone live in it.

What's more the 21st Century is where my children will raise their families and

without some radical changes I will be locked out of that also.

My story began in 1996. It was 28th June, I had just turned 44, we were

installing our first ever PC network, the end of financial year was about to

hit like a category 3 cyclone and next week we were going live with a totally

new Mainframe computer system. As Information Technology Administrator I was at

the middle of this technological tempest but this "wog" I seemed to be getting

each year lately was back again, this time with a vengeance. I just could not

shake this hacking cough, sore watery eyes, congestion, laryngitis, exhaustion,

malaise and constant sweats. "A virus" or bronchitis seemed to be the common

consensus of several local doctors at various times or maybe just a type of hay

fever or seasonal allergy. However I began to notice other odd changes and get

a bit concerned about my general health. What's more, my eyesight problems were

worse than ever. After these next couple of weeks I was definitely going to

take some time off to recuperate and get a thorough checkup.

It was the same day my boss told me both he and the CEO were very concerned

about my health and suggested I take time off notwithstanding the workload and

approaching deadlines. The next morning as I tried to gather up my flagging

strength for another day, and failed miserably, I knew he was right. Thus ended

my 26-year career in Local Government and probably any hope of future

employment. My life, and that of my family took a ninety degree turn and

careened off into an uncertain future. But had I waited -even those few extra

weeks - I possibly may have had no future.

It turned out, after much investigation, I displayed nearly all the classic

symptoms of chronic pesticide poisoning (potentially fatal). The symptoms and

their timing coincided with pesticides which, unknown to me, were used to

"bomb" the office and ceiling areas each year. However although I started to

improve almost as soon as I stayed away from the office I have been left a

lasting legacy - MCS.

I now live in what is basically a large, ill-defined, and for the most part

invisible, bubble with my specially modified house at its centre. On a good

day, if I am careful, it extends a half-day journey in the open air - I must

return to my house each night - there is nowhere else I can live. Neither can I

spend time in any other building or house save for a couple of particular food

preparation premises where I can, for the moment - ever so briefly - step

inside.

Outside, or inside, this vague bubble is a chemical minefield. Survival relies

on adherence to rules - strict rules - many rules. Rules about where you may

and may not go, what you can eat, wear, use and read and what you cannot. What

you can and can't do, and what you must do, and for how long. How close others

can come and when. And the list goes on. The rules are not negotiable nor

always logical, they just exist. For me contravention of the rules - by myself

or my family - is punishable by sometimes immediate, sometimes delayed and

protracted - but always severe - coughing, choking, gagging, vomiting,

constricted breathing, loss of voice, nausea, headaches, weakness, malaise,

blurred vision, double vision, palpitations, pounding heartbeat and/or several

other serious reactions. The rules hold no cure, they simply allow me to

maintain a semblance of health and normality. But the bubble and the rules are

invisible to most people. If they could see the bubble, touch the walls of my

prison, perhaps they might begin to understand. But most see only the distance

I keep and not the gossamer wall that enforces it, the empty chair but not the

mist that keeps it empty. They see me briefly (and it must be briefly) in the

street but do not see the vaporous guards at every door I pass. But mine is

just one case of many and I still have much to be thankful for. I have been

given a life sentence, but it could just as easily have been a death sentence.

Noticeably for those who have no vested interest in the denial of MCS -

superannuation, social security, etc. recognition and assistance has been a

mere, but not always easy or uneventful, process of education by me and the

doctors treating me. But for those threatened by an onslaught of costly claims

my battle continues and that story will have to wait until the final outcome.

What is it like to be chemically disabled? You look at Christopher Reeves

attending the premier of his latest movie and wish you could still go to such

places and do such things and in the same breath you give thanks that you can

still walk and use your hands. You press your nose against the outside window

of a restaurant and watch a blind man having a meal and wish you could join him

but are thankful you can at least see him. You watch a deaf man reading a book

like you use to be able to do and you console yourself with the sound of

birdsong. You see a one armed man doing things you may never do again and you

wonder what an amputated life looks like.

You wonder if your family can handle commuting between two worlds, yours and

the 21st Century where everybody else is. You wonder how you can provide them

with a future that is not imprisoned by your own. How to be a father from a

distance.

You wake up one day and realise you talk to more people on the Internet than

face to face simply because you can no longer meet many people face to face.

You give thanks that you can at least still write and write poetry, create web

pages, and create and moderate email lists. Then you wonder how you can take

these meager foundations and build a new life on top of them. You wonder if you

can shout loud enough from your world to be heard above the hustle and bustle

of the 21st Century. And you pray that your foundations are strong enough, for

if they crumble - then what do you do?

My name is Don Ludlow and I am chemically disabled - but there is still so much

more that I am beyond that. I live in an Island Place and while I cannot come

to your place you can visit mine at http://www.flexi.net.au/~dludlow . So

please drop in, read some more about me, check out some of my works and perhaps

drop me a line at dludlow@flexi.net.au . If you are, or care for, a chemically

disabled person in Australia (or New Zealand) please join myself and other

fellow sufferers on the Chemically Disabled Australia NETwork (CDANET) email

list - email me for details on how to subscribe.

(D.J. Ludlow Copyright 2000.)