Author Topic: Ebola Outbreak  (Read 9976 times)

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Online richb

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Re: The Ebola Epidemic: Still Happening Despite Media Moving On To Other Things
« Reply #40 on: September 01, 2014, 01:51:53 PM »
Despite what they say,  the lamestream media doesn't give a sh*t about Africa. 

Offline Libertas

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Re: The Ebola Epidemic: Still Happening Despite Media Moving On To Other Things
« Reply #41 on: September 01, 2014, 05:13:57 PM »
Despite what they say,  the lamestream media doesn't give a sh*t about Africa.

Oh, they care, only for the exploitation and the opportunity to blame the West, the Caucasian and the unprogressive.
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Offline Libertas

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Re: The Ebola Epidemic: Still Happening Despite Media Moving On To Other Things
« Reply #42 on: September 03, 2014, 06:40:47 AM »
http://atlanta.cbslocal.com/2014/09/02/cdc-director-ebola-outbreak-is-spiraling-out-of-control/

Ebola spiraling out of control, swell.

And I don't get this...

http://www.forbes.com/sites/davidkroll/2014/09/02/ebola-outbreaks-unrelated-in-west-africa-and-democratic-republic-of-congo/

...supposed to be happy since this outbreak is unrelated to the first?  It's still an outbreak, right?  Forgive me if I don't celebrate.

 ::facepalm::

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Offline Libertas

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It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #43 on: September 10, 2014, 07:46:49 AM »


http://www.zerohedge.com/news/2014-09-09/ebola-outbreak-doubles-3-weeks-who-warns-conventional-means-control-not-working

There is not way this ends well, the resources are overwhelmed even with Western help, their stupid cultural BS is allowing the disease to spread...

I say we quarantine Africa and blockade all communication with the continent and ban all contact.

OK, now libiots, go ahead call me a racist if it makes you feeeel better, but if you don't have a better idea then STFD and STFU!
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Offline Glock32

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #44 on: September 10, 2014, 11:43:40 AM »
I think we should quarantine Africa even without an ebola epidemic.
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Online benb61

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #45 on: September 10, 2014, 12:44:16 PM »
Lets send as many "African-Americans" as possible back there first if their allegiance is with Africa first.

Those who wish to act like Americans can stay.
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Offline Libertas

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #46 on: September 10, 2014, 12:59:54 PM »
Lets send as many "African-Americans" as possible back there first if their allegiance is with Africa first.

Those who wish to act like Americans can stay.

Been there done, er tried, that!

American Colonization Society

Only way I see if you go that route is forced expulsion.
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Offline trapeze

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #47 on: September 10, 2014, 11:52:04 PM »
While we are at it can we also do some nuke testing in certain parts of Syria and Iraq? Those clods want to behave like savages so we should just say, "wish granted" and bomb them back to the stone age and be done with it.
In a doomsday scenario, hippies will be among the first casualties. So not everything about doomsday will be bad.

Offline Libertas

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #48 on: September 12, 2014, 07:43:23 AM »
I'm good with that.
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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #49 on: September 16, 2014, 07:20:12 AM »
Stupid! Stupid!! STUPID!!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/09/16/world/africa/obama-to-announce-expanded-effort-against-ebola.html?_r=1

What a fracking retard!!!  This is a no win can only lose scenario!  Stay the frack out!  Where the frack is Congress?  Oh, I forgot, they're still on their knees...

Son of a  ::pullhair::
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Offline trapeze

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #50 on: September 21, 2014, 01:03:38 AM »
I am reading Richard Preston's "The Hot Zone" for the first time.

Very sobering stuff it is.

Here is an excerpt from the opening portion of the book as it describes the progress of the disease from when it first begins to show symptoms (about a week from infection) to the point of death. The victim is a French expat, Charles Monet, living in Kenya. Some of the narrative is speculative and some is based on eye witness accounts. It is all too real, though, and the victim didn't survive...

Quote
The headache begins, typically, on the seventh day after exposure to the agent. On the seventh day after his New Year’s visit to Kitum Cave— January 8, 1980— Monet felt a throbbing pain behind his eyeballs. He decided to stay home from work and went to bed in his bungalow. The headache grew worse. His eyeballs ached, and then his temples began to ache, the pain seeming to circle around inside his head. It would not go away with aspirin, and then he got a severe backache. His housekeeper, Johnnie, was still on her Christmas vacation, and he had recently hired a temporary housekeeper. She tried to take care of him, but she really didn’t know what to do. Then, on the third day after his headache started, he became nauseated, spiked a fever, and began to vomit. His vomiting grew intense and turned into dry heaves. At the same time, he became strangely passive. His face lost all appearance of life and set itself into an expressionless mask, with the eyeballs fixed, paralytic, and staring. The eyelids were slightly droopy, which gave him a peculiar appearance, as if his eyes were popping out of his head and half-closed at the same time. The eyeballs themselves seemed almost frozen in their sockets, and they turned bright red. The skin of his face turned yellowish, with brilliant starlike red speckles. He began to look like a zombie. His appearance frightened the temporary housekeeper. She didn’t understand the transformation in this man. His personality changed. He became sullen, resentful, angry, and his memory seemed to be blown away. He was not delirious. He could answer questions, although he didn’t seem to know exactly where he was.

When Monet failed to show up for work, his colleagues began to wonder about him, and eventually they went to his bungalow to see if he was all right. The black-and-white crow sat on the roof and watched them as they went inside. They looked at Monet and decided that he needed to get to a hospital. Since he was very unwell and no longer able to drive a car, one of his co-workers drove him to a private hospital in the city of Kisumu, on the shore of Lake Victoria. The doctors at the hospital examined Monet, and could not come up with any explanation for what had happened to his eyes or his faceor his mind. Thinking that he might have some kind of bacterial infection, they gave him injections of antibiotics, but the antibiotics had no effect on his illness.

The doctors thought he should go to Nairobi Hospital, which is the best private hospital in East Africa. The telephone system hardly worked, and it did not seem worth the effort to call any doctors to tell them that he was coming. He could still walk, and he seemed able to travel by himself. He had money; he understood he had to get to Nairobi. They put him in a taxi to the airport, and he boarded a Kenya Airways flight. A hot virus from the rain forest lives within a twenty-four-hour plane flight from every city on earth. All of the earth’s cities are connected by a web of airline routes. The web is a network. Once a virus hits the net, it can shoot anywhere in a day— Paris, Tokyo, New York, Los Angeles, wherever planes fly. Charles Monet and the life form inside him had entered the net.

The plane was a Fokker Friendship with propellers, a commuter aircraft that seats thirty-five people. It started its engines and took off over Lake Victoria, blue and sparkling, dotted with the dugout canoes of fishermen. The Friendship turned and banked eastward, climbing over green hills quilted with tea plantations and small farms. The commuter flights that drone across Africa are often jammed with people, and this flight was probably full. The plane climbed over belts of forest and clusters of round huts and villages with tin roofs. The land suddenly dropped away, going down in shelves and ravines, and changed in color from green to brown. The plane was crossing the Eastern Rift Valley. The passengers looked out the windows at the place where the human species was born. They saw specks of huts clustered inside circles of thornbush, with cattle trails radiating from the huts. The propellers moaned, and the Friendship passed through cloud streets, lines of puffy Rift clouds, and began to bounce and sway. Monet became airsick.

The seats are narrow and jammed together on these commuter airplanes, and you notice everything that is happening inside the cabin. The cabin is tightly closed, and the air recirculates. If there are any smells in the air, you perceive them. You would not have been able to ignore the man who was getting sick. He hunches over in his seat. There is something wrong with him, but you can’t tell exactly what is happening.

He is holding an airsickness bag over his mouth. He coughs a deep cough and regurgitates something into the bag. The bag swells up. Perhaps he glances around, and then you see that his lips are smeared with something slippery and red, mixed with black specks, as if he has been chewing coffee grounds. His eyes are the color of rubies, and his face is an expressionless mass of bruises. The red spots, which a few days before had started out as starlike speckles, have expanded and merged into huge, spontaneous purple shadows: his whole head is turning black-and-blue. The muscles of his face droop. The connective tissue in his face is dissolving, and his face appears to hang from the underlying bone, as if the face is detaching itself from the skull. He opens his mouth and gasps into the bag, and the vomiting goes on endlessly. It will not stop, and he keeps bringing up liquid, long after his stomach should have been empty. The airsickness bag fills up to the brim with a substance known as the vomito negro, or the black vomit. The black vomit is not really black; it is a speckled liquid of two colors, black and red, a stew of tarry granules mixed with fresh red arterial blood. It is hemorrhage, and it smells like a slaughterhouse. The black vomit is loaded with virus. It is highly infective, lethally hot, a liquid that would scare the daylights out of a military biohazard specialist. The smell of the vomito negro fills the passenger cabin. The airsickness bag is brimming with black vomit, so Monetcloses the bag and rolls up the top. The bag is bulging and softening, threatening to leak, and he hands it to a flight attendant.

When a hot virus multiplies in a host, it can saturate the body with virus particles, from the brain to the skin. The military experts then say that the virus has undergone “extreme amplification.” This is not something like the common cold. By the time an extreme amplification peaks out, an eyedropper of the victim’s blood may contain a hundred million particles of virus. During this process, the body is partly transformed into virus particles. In other words, the host is possessed by a life form that is attempting to convert the host into itself. The transformation is not entirely successful, however, and the end result is a great deal of liquefying flesh mixed with virus, a kind of biological accident. Extreme amplification has occurred in Monet, and the sign of it is the black vomit.

He appears to be holding himself rigid, as if any movement would rupture something inside him. His blood is clotting up— his bloodstream is throwing clots, and the clots are lodging everywhere. His liver, kidneys, lungs, hands, feet, and head are becoming jammed with blood clots. In effect, he is having a stroke through thewhole body. Clots are accumulating in his intestinal muscles, cutting off the blood supply to his intestines. The intestinal muscles are beginning to die, and the intestines are starting to go slack. He doesn’t seem to be fully aware of pain any longer because the blood clots lodged in his brain are cutting off blood flow. His personality is being wiped away by brain damage. This is called depersonalization, in which the liveliness and details of character seem to vanish. He is becoming an automaton. Tiny spots in his brain are liquefying. The higher functions of consciousness are winking out first, leaving the deeper parts of the brain stem (the primitive rat brain, the lizard brain) still alive and functioning. It could be said that the who of Charles Monet has already died while the what of Charles Monet continues to live.

The vomiting attack appears to have broken some blood vessels in his nose— he gets a nosebleed. The blood comes from both nostrils, a shining, clotless, arterial liquid that drips over his teeth and chin. This blood keeps running, because the clotting factors have been used up. A flight attendant gives him some paper towels, which he uses to stop up his nose, but the blood still won’t coagulate, and the towels soak through.

When a man is getting sick in an airline seat next to you, you may not want to embarrass him by calling attention to the problem. You say to yourself that this man will be all right. Maybe he doesn’t travel well in airplanes. He is airsick, the poor man, and people do get nosebleeds in airplanes, the air is so dry and thin  …   and you ask him, weakly, if there is anything you can do to help. He does not answer, or he mumbles words you can’t understand, so you try to ignore it, but the flight seems to go on forever. Perhaps the flight attendants offer to help him. But victims of this type of hot virus have changes in behavior that can render them incapable of responding to an offer of help. They become hostile, and don’t want to be touched. They don’t want to speak. They answer questions with grunts or monosyllables. They can’t seem to find words. They can tell you their name, but they can’t tell you the day of the week or explain what has happened to them.

The Friendship drones through the clouds, following the length of the Rift Valley, and Monet slumps back in the seat, and now he seems to be dozing.… Perhaps some of the passengers wonder if he is dead. No, no, he is not dead. He is moving. His red eyes are open and moving around a little bit.

It is late afternoon, and the sun is falling down into the hills to the west of the Rift Valley, throwing blades of light in all directions, as if the sun is cracking up on the equator. The Friendship makes a gentle turn and crosses the eastern scarp of the Rift. The land rises higher and changes in color from brown to green. The Ngong Hills appear under the right wing, and the plane, now descending, passes over parkland dotted with zebra and giraffes. A minute later, it lands at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Monet stirs himself. He is still able to walk. He stands up, dripping. He stumbles down the gangway onto the tarmac. His shirt is a red mess. He carries no luggage. His only luggage is internal, and it is a load of amplified virus. Monet has been transformed into a human virus bomb. He walks slowly into the airport terminal and through the building and out to a curving road where taxis are always parked. The taxi drivers surround him—“ Taxi?” “Taxi?”

“Nairobi  …   Hospital,” he mumbles.

One of them helps him into a car. Nairobi taxi drivers like to chat with their fares, and this one probably asks if he is sick. The answer should be obvious. Monet’s stomach feels a little better now. It is heavy, dull, and bloated, as if he has eaten a meal, rather than empty and torn and on fire.

The taxi pulls out onto the Uhuru Highway and heads into Nairobi. It goes through grassland studded with honey-acacia trees, and it goes past factories, and then it comes to a rotary and enters the bustling street life of Nairobi. Crowds are milling on the shoulders of the road, women walking on beaten dirt pathways, men loitering, children riding bicycles, a man repairing shoes by the side of the road, a tractor pulling a wagonload of charcoal. The taxi turns left onto the Ngong Road and goes past a city park and up a hill, past lines of tall blue-gum trees, and it turns up a narrow road and goes past a guard gate and enters the grounds of Nairobi Hospital. It parks at a taxi stand beside a flower kiosk. A sign by a glass door says CASUALTY DEPT. Monet hands the driver some money and gets out of the taxi and opens the glass door and goes over to the reception window and indicates that he is very ill. He has difficulty speaking.

The man is bleeding, and they will admit him in just a moment. He must wait until a doctor can be called, but the doctor will see him immediately, not to worry. He sits down in the waiting room.

It is a small room lined with padded benches. The clear, strong, ancient light of East Africa pours through a row of windows and falls across a table heaped with soiledmagazines, and makes rectangles on a pebbled gray floor that has a drain in the center. The room smells vaguely of woodsmoke and sweat, and it is jammed with bleary-eyed people, Africans and Europeans sitting shoulder to shoulder. There is always someone in Casualty who has a cut and is waiting for stitches. People wait patiently, holding a washcloth against the scalp, holding a bandage pressed around a finger, and you may see a spot of blood on the cloth. So Charles Monet is sitting on a bench in Casualty, and he does not look very much different from anyone else in the room, except for his bruised, expressionless face and his red eyes. A sign on the wall warns patients to watch out for purse thieves, and another sign says:

PLEASE MAINTAIN SILENCE. YOUR COOPERATION WILL BE APPRECIATED. NOTE: THIS IS A CASUALTY DEPARTMENT. EMERGENCY CASES WILL BE TAKEN IN PRIORITY. YOU MAY BE REQUIRED TO WAIT FOR SUCH CASES BEFORE RECEIVING ATTENTION.

Monet maintains silence, waiting to receive attention. Suddenly he goes into the last phase— the human virus bomb explodes. Military biohazard specialists have ways of describing this occurrence. They say that the victim has “crashed and bled out.” Or more politely they say that the victim has “gone down.”

He becomes dizzy and utterly weak, and his spine goes limp and nerveless and he loses all sense of balance. The room is turning around and around. He is going into shock. He leans over, head on his knees, and brings up an incredible quantity of blood from his stomach and spills it onto the floor with a gasping groan. He loses consciousness and pitches forward onto the floor. The only sound is a choking in his throat as he continues to vomit blood and black matter while unconscious. Then comes a sound like a bedsheet being torn in half, which is the sound of his bowels opening and venting blood from the anus. The blood is mixed with intestinal lining. He has sloughed his gut. The linings of his intestines have come off and are being expelled along with huge amounts of blood. Monet has crashed and is bleeding out.

The other patients in the waiting room stand up and move away from the man on the floor, calling for a doctor. Pools of blood spread out around him, enlarging rapidly. Having destroyed its host, the hot agent is now coming out of every orifice, and is “trying” to find a new host.

Nurses and aides came running, pushing a gurney along with them, and they lifted Charles Monet onto the gurney and wheeled him into the intensive care unit at Nairobi Hospital. A call for a doctor went out over the loudspeakers: a patient was bleeding in the ICU. A young doctor named Shem Musoke ran to the scene. Dr. Musoke was widely considered to be one of the best young physicians at the hospital, an energetic man with a warm sense of humor, who worked long hours and had a good feel for emergencies. He found Monet lying on the gurney. He had no idea what was wrong with the man, except that he was obviously having some kind of massive hemorrhage. There was no time to try to figure out what had caused it. He was having difficulty breathing— and then his breathing stopped. He had inhaled blood and had had a breathing arrest.

Dr. Musoke felt for a pulse. It was weak and sluggish. A nurse ran and fetched a laryngoscope, a tube that can be used to open a person’s airway. Dr. Musoke ripped open Monet’s shirt so that he could observe any rise and fall of the chest, and he stood at the head of the gurney and bent over Monet’s face until he was looking directly into his eyes, upside down.

Monet stared redly at Dr. Musoke, but there was no movement in the eyeballs, and the pupils were dilated. Brain damage: nobody home. His nose was bloody and his mouth was bloody. Dr. Musoke tilted the patient’s head back to open the airway so that he could insert the laryngoscope. He was not wearing rubber gloves. He ran his finger around the patient’s tongue to clear the mouth of debris, sweeping out mucus and blood. His hands became greasy with black curd. The patient smelled of vomit and blood, but this was nothing new to Dr. Musoke, and he concentrated on his work. He leaned down until his face was a few inches away from Monet’s face, and he looked into Monet’s mouth in order to judge the position of the scope. Then he slid the scope over Monet’s tongue and pushed the tongue out of the way so that he could see down the airway past the epiglottis, a dark hole leading inward to the lungs. He pushed the scope into the hole, peering into the instrument. Monet suddenly jerked and thrashed.

Monet vomited.

The black vomit blew up around the scope and out of Monet’s mouth. Black-and-red fluid spewed into the air, showering down over Dr. Musoke. It struck him in the eyes. It splattered over his white coat and down his chest, marking him with strings of red slime dappled with dark flecks. It landed in his mouth.

He repositioned his patient’s head and swept the blood out of the patient’s mouth with his fingers. The blood had covered Dr. Musoke’s hands, wrists, and forearms. It had gone everywhere— all over the gurney, all over Dr. Musoke, all over the floor. The nurses in the intensive care unit couldn’t believe their eyes. Dr. Musoke peered down into the airway and pushed the scope deeper into the lungs. He saw that the airways were bloody.

Air rasped into the man’s lungs. The patient had begun to breathe again.

The patient was apparently in shock from loss of blood. He had lost so much blood that he was becoming dehydrated. The blood had come out of practically every opening in his body. There wasn’t enough blood left to maintain circulation, so his heartbeat was very sluggish, and his blood pressure was dropping toward zero. He needed a blood transfusion.

A nurse brought a bag of whole blood. Dr. Musoke hooked the bag on a stand and inserted the needle into the patient’s arm. There was something wrong with the patient’s veins; his blood poured out around the needle. Dr. Musoke tried again, putting the needle into another place in the patient’s arm and probing for the vein. Failure. More blood poured out. At every place in the patient’s arm where he stuck the needle, the vein broke apart like cooked macaroni and spilled blood, and the blood ran from the punctures down the patient’s arm and wouldn’t coagulate. Clearly his blood was not normal. Dr. Musoke abandoned his efforts to give his patient a blood transfusion for fear that the patient would bleed to death out of the small hole in his arm. The patient continued to bleed from the bowels, and these hemorrhages were now as black as pitch.

Monet’s coma deepened, and he never regained consciousness. He died in the intensive care unit in the early hours of the morning. Dr. Musoke stayed by his bedside the whole time. They had no idea what had killed him. It was an unexplained death. They opened him up for an autopsy and found that his kidneys were destroyed and that his liver was destroyed. It was yellow, and parts of it had liquefied— it looked like the liver of a cadaver. It was as if Monet had become a corpse before his death. Sloughing of the gut, in which the intestinal lining comes off, is another effect that is ordinarily seen in a corpse that is several days old. What, exactly, was the cause of death? It was impossible to say because there were too many possible causes. Everything had gone wrong inside this man, absolutely everything, any one of which could have been fatal: the clotting, the massive hemorrhages, the liver turned into pudding, the intestines full of blood. Lacking words, categories, or language to describe what had happened, they called it, finally, a case of “fulminating liver failure.” His remains were placed in a waterproof bag and, according to one account, were buried locally. When I visited Nairobi, years later, no one remembered where the grave was.

Nine days after the patient vomited into Dr. Shem Musoke’s eyes and mouth, Musoke developed an aching sensation in his back...

The doctor became very ill but somehow survived.

Not saying that this monster will ever come to our shores or that, if it did, it would spread here as it has in Africa BUT...

...if it does then we will be facing a worse crisis than Katrina except it's potentially everywhere and we have total idiots running the show.

« Last Edit: September 21, 2014, 01:37:11 AM by trapeze »
In a doomsday scenario, hippies will be among the first casualties. So not everything about doomsday will be bad.

Online AlanS

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #51 on: September 21, 2014, 06:57:21 AM »
Quite a read. Downright scary when you think about who we have in charge.
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Offline trapeze

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #52 on: September 21, 2014, 06:15:52 PM »
Some more from the book:

Quote
Ebola Zaire attacks every organ and tissue in the human body except skeletal muscle and bone. It is a perfect parasite because it transforms virtually every part of the body into a digested slime of virus particles. The seven mysterious proteins that, assembled together, make up the Ebola-virus particle, work as a relentless machine, a molecular shark, and they consume the body as the virus makes copies of itself. Small blood clots begin to appear in the bloodstream, and the blood thickens and slows, and the clots begin to stick to the walls of blood vessels. This is known as pavementing, because the clots fit together in a mosaic. The mosaic thickens and throws more clots, and the clots drift through the bloodstream into the small capillaries, where they get stuck. This shuts off the blood supply to various parts of the body, causing dead spots to appear in the brain, liver, kidneys, lungs, intestines, testicles, breast tissue (of men as well as women), and all through the skin. The skin develops red spots, called petechiae, which are hemorrhages under the skin. Ebola attacks connective tissue with particular ferocity; it multiplies in collagen, the chief constituent protein of the tissue that holds the organs together. (The seven Ebola proteins somehow chew up the body’s structural proteins.) In this way, collagen in the body turns to mush, and the underlayers of the skin die and liquefy. The skin bubbles up into a sea of tiny white blisters mixed with red spots known as a maculopapular rash. This rash has been likened to tapioca pudding. Spontaneous rips appear in the skin, and hemorrhagic blood pours from the rips. The red spots on the skin grow and spread and merge to become huge, spontaneous bruises, and the skin goes soft and pulpy, and can tear off if it is touched with any kind of pressure. Your mouth bleeds, and you bleed around your teeth, and you may have hemorrhages from the salivary glands— literally every opening in the body bleeds, no matter how small. The surface of the tongue turns brilliant red and then sloughs off, and is swallowed or spat out. It is said to be extraordinarily painful to lose the surface of one’s tongue. The tongue’s skin may be torn off during rushes of the black vomit. The back of the throat and the lining of the windpipe may also slough off, and the dead tissue slides down the windpipe into the lungs or is coughed up with sputum. Your heart bleeds into itself; the heart muscle softens and has hemorrhages into its chambers, and blood squeezes out of the heart muscle as the heart beats, and it floods the chest cavity. The brain becomes clogged with dead blood cells, a condition known as sludging of the brain. Ebola attacks the lining of the eyeball, and the eyeballs may fill up with blood: you may go blind. Droplets of blood stand out on the eyelids: you may weep blood. The blood runs from your eyes down your cheeks and refuses to coagulate. You may have a hemispherical stroke, in which one whole side of the body is paralyzed, which is invariably fatal in a case of Ebola. Even while the body’s internal organs are becoming plugged with coagulated blood, the blood that streams out of the body cannot clot; it resembles whey being squeezed out of curds. The blood has been stripped of its clotting factors. If you put the runny Ebola blood in a test tube and look at it, you see that the blood is destroyed. Its red cells are broken and dead. The blood looks as if it has been buzzed in an electric blender.

Ebola kills a great deal of tissue while the host is still alive. It triggers a creeping, spotty necrosis that spreads through all the internal organs. The liver bulges up and turns yellow, begins to liquefy, and then it cracks apart. The cracks run across the liver and deep inside it, and the liver completely dies and goes putrid. The kidneys become jammed with blood clots and dead cells, and cease functioning. As the kidneys fail, the blood becomes toxic with urine. The spleen turns into a single huge, hard blood clot the size of a baseball. The intestines may fill up completely with blood. The lining of the gut dies and sloughs off into the bowels and is defecated along with large amounts of blood. In men, the testicles bloat up and turn black-and-blue, the semen goes hot with Ebola, and the nipples may bleed. In women, the labia turn blue, livid, and protrusive, and there may be massive vaginal bleeding. The virus is a catastrophe for a pregnant woman: the child is aborted spontaneously and is usually infected with Ebola virus, born with red eyes and a bloody nose.

Ebola destroys the brain more thoroughly than does Marburg, and Ebola victims often go into epileptic convulsions during the final stage. The convulsions are generalized grand mal seizures— the whole body twitches and shakes, the arms and legs thrash around, and the eyes, sometimes bloody, roll up into the head. The tremors and convulsions of the patient may smear or splatter blood around. Possibly this epileptic splashing of blood is one of Ebola’s strategies for success— it makes the victim go into a flurry of seizures as he dies, spreading blood all over the place, thus giving the virus a chance to jump to a new host— a kind of transmission through smearing.

Ebola (and Marburg) multiplies so rapidly and powerfully that the body’s infected cells become crystal-like blocks of packed virus particles. These crystals are broods of virus getting ready to hatch from the cell. They are known as bricks. The bricks, or crystals, first appear near the center of the cell and then migrate toward the surface. As a crystal reaches a cell wall, it disintegrates into hundreds of individual virus particles, and the broodlings push through the cell wall like hair and float away in the bloodstream of the host. The hatched Ebola particles cling to cells everywhere in the body, and get inside them, and continue to multiply. It keeps on multiplying until areas of tissue all through the body are filled with crystalloids, which hatch, and more Ebola particles drift into the bloodstream, and the amplification continues inexorably until a droplet of the host’s blood can contain a hundred million individual virus particles.

After death, the cadaver suddenly deteriorates: the internal organs, having been dead or partially dead for days, have already begun to dissolve, and a sort of shock-related meltdown occurs. The corpse’s connective tissue, skin, and organs, already peppered with dead spots, heated by fever, and damaged by shock, begin to liquefy, and the fluids that leak from the cadaver are saturated with Ebola-virus particles.
In a doomsday scenario, hippies will be among the first casualties. So not everything about doomsday will be bad.

Online IronDioPriest

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #53 on: September 21, 2014, 08:47:33 PM »
Seems like the perfect human-killing agent.
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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #54 on: September 21, 2014, 09:57:49 PM »
Oh, happy day.  So, what do y'all think the proscription is in such a case against hastening the inevitable, in terms of the mortal sins of suicide or homicide?
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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #55 on: September 21, 2014, 10:45:29 PM »
Right now I'm reading the part of the book about the 1989 Reston, VA "outbreak." This is apparently what the previous sections have been leading up to. Previously discussed in the book: Marburg virus (similar to Ebola (a filovirus) but with a much lower mortality rate...only something like 25%), Ebola Sudan and Ebola Zaire. Ebola Zaire is the one with the 90% mortality rate and the Reston virus is testing out as being extremely similar to it. (If you want to know what the end of this story is you can look it up on wikipedia here. Obviously, there was no mass outbreak and it was kept relatively quiet) Even though the world didn't end with the Reston virus the point is that it could have.

What is very clear from this tale is that we are, even today, nowhere near ready for a pandemic of this magnitude in the US. The politics alone are staggeringly dumbfounding. The government agencies which need to work together to attempt containment (because there is no vaccine and there is no cure) is mind boggling...The US Army, the CDC, the EPA, the USDA, state and local health departments are the minimum number involved in this.

The CDC has the authority but does not have the resources to deal with a major outbreak. The Army has the resources but not the authority. The EPA is supposed to have jurisdiction over "environmental" contamination by an extreme biohazard...I can't even imagine a bunch of clods who can't track down one of their own employees who is taking a crap in their own hallways in charge of anything. The USDA is in charge of any imported animals that might be involved. Throw in DHS and Immigration if it involves crossing the border. It goes on and on and on...

I would be totally confident that the current ebola epidemic could not become well established in the US were it not for the government sponsored open border situation. Right now we have absolutely no idea what is coming in across the southern border (or the northern border, for that matter) and we could be looking at terrorism or extreme biohazard as very real possibilities. We will know if one or both have crossed the border when we see the end results.

Another point to consider: There is no known airborne method of transmission for ebola. It also appears that it would be extremely difficult for the virus to acquire such a method. If it did manage to mutate in such a way as to become airborne it could also mutate in other ways such as those which might make it less dangerous, less lethal. However, (and I never hear anyone discussing this) I see no reason why ebola could not be spread by insect bite. After all, malaria and encephalitis are spread that way as are a great deal of other pathogens. Why not ebola? Mosquitos, fleas, ticks and any other stinging or biting insect should have the ability to pass the infection from one person to another. Just something to consider.

EDIT: FNC has a story about Reston here if you would rather read it than the wikipedia entry.
« Last Edit: September 21, 2014, 11:08:16 PM by trapeze »
In a doomsday scenario, hippies will be among the first casualties. So not everything about doomsday will be bad.

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #56 on: September 22, 2014, 07:12:26 AM »
There was another fiction writer who used a hemmoragic disease as a terror agent in his novel, my brain is slow this morning I should know the author easily but I am drawing a blank...it'll come to me...but the descriptions of the progression for the afflicted was horrid.

I agree with Trap that the border situation and this Regime's unlawful behavior in general makes it likely they will make things worse not better if something happens, and since West Nile can be transmitted by insect bite and is also a virus...that transmission avenue is a potential nightmare...

Just the early signs...


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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #57 on: September 22, 2014, 10:39:20 PM »
DrudgeReport ebola headline roundup:

Swiss healthcare worker flown home after being bitten by ebola patient

WAPO Tuesday: Liberia, WHO Launch Controversial Program To Halt Spread

NYT Tuesday: Outbreak Far Worse Than Authorities Acknowledge

Warning: Over 1 Million Ebola Cases By End Of January

A hopeful and optimistic person would say that this thing is going to burn itself out and stay confined to the countries in central  Africa.

A pessimistic person would be inclined to believe that 1) it is worse than being reported and 2) it's only a matter of time before it gets loose in a third world mega city...and from there...
« Last Edit: September 22, 2014, 10:47:30 PM by trapeze »
In a doomsday scenario, hippies will be among the first casualties. So not everything about doomsday will be bad.

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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #58 on: September 23, 2014, 06:54:41 AM »
I do not see anybody getting a full lid on this, the cultural wackiness of the region alone spells doom, and if it goes past the PONR we won't know about it until it is well past that point!
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Re: It is time to quarantine Africa
« Reply #59 on: September 23, 2014, 11:29:45 AM »
I am more concerned about Islamic types using this as a low tech biological weapon.  I've already heard about them promoting the idea of suicide "bombers" deliberately infecting themselves so they can spread the infection to Western targets.

I don't see much way to deal with this other than trying to contain it geographically.
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