Mangan delivered the news that ME
deserves research. The anticipated
“but” arrived in no time with the word “regrettably” as in “Regrettably,
Congress is now talking about a decreased budget for non-defense related
‘discretionary’ expenses… such as NIH-supported medical research. The
success rate for applications is likely to decrease. Opportunities for
additional research on ME/CFS will be lost.”
Pass the potatoes. I should add
that I once worked for a boss who couldn’t give me a raise but had a
wastebasket worth $14,000.
Mangan went on to discuss how
researchers working on a team science project should “know their
collaborators,” get input in the early planning stages, decide who should be a
“team leader,” and get “everyone fully committed to the project.” Who the hell
is this piece for? Children? You
know, when my niece was about 5 years old, she saw a photo of the Backstreet
Boys on the cover of my Entertainment Weekly. Pointing to their white T-shirts, she said shrewdly: “Those boys are on the same team.”
With what passes for wit in the government, Mangan drove home his point by including a
lame T-shirt in his piece:
In a follow-up letter came Mangan's inevitable catch-22: Until we have a "breakthrough" about ME, the government won't throw any meaningful money at it.
In my view, the only redeeming
things about the Mangan missive were the brilliant, piercing letters by ME patient Matthew Lazell-Fairman and CFIDS Association board member Jennifer
Spotila. In particular, Lazell-Fairman discussed the concept of “will”—or the
lack of it, when it comes to the government’s longtime lip service to ME.
In her letter, the
CFIDS Association’s Kim McCleary hurled a bunch of statistics, always guaranteed
to bore readers to death. I have no recollection of any of it, as I had to hold
my head to keep it from exploding. Please stop doing this, Kim. See the forest through the trees.
A man I used to sleep next to had
the bizarro habit of squirming uncontrollably before falling asleep, making it
impossible for me to fall asleep. So we devised a code word for keeping still:
“tomato.” And he’d remain blessedly still until I slipped into unconsciousness. I have no idea
how we arrived at “tomato,” except that we both loved Jersey tomatoes (with
coarse sea salt), so it conjured pleasant thoughts.
Maybe ME patients need a code word
for “cut the crap,” when it comes to government mumbo jumbo. What should it be?