Machinist, Chronic Beryllium Disease Victim, Worker and Victims' Advocate
Autumn, 1968. George Wallace was running for President, Viet Nam was at the height, and, as a scruffy 20-year old, I was ready to take on the world. I had just moved from my small, rural hometown to "Atomic City, USA" - Oak Ridge, Tennessee. I had finished high school two years earlier, earned a certificate in machining at a regional vo-tech school, and completed an accelerated machinists' training program in Oak Ridge. I was both the epitome and the norm for a blue-collar worker of the time. Optimism was high, despite the likelihood of the ever-present draft. Things would change many things. I began my machinist's career working with state-of- the art computer and tracer controlled equipment, cranking out warhead parts for America's nuclear weapons at the Oak Ridge Y-12 Plant. The huge complex, and its two sister plants in Oak Ridge, were at full capacity at that time, and would remain so for another twenty years. I was tossed into the fray, in bewilderment, producing parts of every description in an array of exotic materials and chemicals-uranium, lead, steel, thorium, lithium, and beryllium. I had never heard of the latter but began work with the often-toxic material my first week on the job. Over the course of my career, I drifted in and out of the production and quality control shops never realizing its potential danger. The fourth lightest element, beryllium, has probably been used to some degree in every nuclear weapon the US produced. It is lighter than aluminum, stronger than steel, and its neutron reflector capabilities are especially desirable in giving a nuclear weapon a stronger yield. However, it can cause a hypersensitivity in 2-20% of those affected, depending on job category. This can lead to Chronic Beryllium Disease, a granulomatous condition of the lungs, which can progress to disability and death. This knowledge was known as long ago as the late 1940s as documented by archives of the Atomic Energy commission. However, this knowledge was minimized and production often took precedent over worker health and safety. The secrecy surrounding national security made sure it stayed that way. To date, beryllium disease experts say that beryllium disease is the single most serious illness to develop from the Cold War effort. I was diagnosed with Chronic Beryllium Disease in 1993 after being mis-diagnosed with adult asthma around 1980. My breathing had become progressively worse; yet I still received assignments in beryllium areas despite medical advice to the contrary. I only found this out after diagnosis. I had married and, gone through the joys and pain of children, and divorced, by then. I had nurtured my affection for fast cars and faster motorcycles and developed a talent for airbrush art. The divorce and loss of other relationships, through death and indifference, led me to my poetry as escape, solitude, and healing. After the diagnosis of CBD, I joined a support group of others affected by disease. This expanded into contacts with other ill workers and residents at other Department of Energy locations and a pattern of other illnesses emerged. I began to attend DOE-sponsored health conferences as an affected worker. I found there are allies and obstacles on all sides of the issues. In late 1998, in an about-face of the denials of the past, DOE admitted and recognized the illnesses. Public meetings were held over the next year at a number of sites, well-attended, and apparently well-embraced by DOE. The stories were chillingly similar. Exposures to some of the most toxic materials on earth. Improper or incomplete training in health and safety issues left Secretaries and security personnel with toxic exposure. And, to hear the often repeated phrase, "You can eat the stuff and it wouldn't hurt you" was painful. It is impossible to identify the level where the communication broke down or why it happened. A typical day for me begins with waking to the possibility of yet another breathing attack. If it is not an issue, I take my regimen of daily medicine and go to work. If I am awakened by an attack, typically in the wee hours of the morning, I must use my nebulizer, or "breathing machine, to bring the attack under control. This failing, I drive the short trip to the ER for treatment. I am typically hospitalized once or twice a year for several days to stabilize the condition. My work attendance record is in shambles, but I have thus far, had the support of my supervision. Side effects of the medicine are almost as bad as the disease -- mood swings, fatigue, joint and muscle cramps, insomnia, cataract surgery. But, breathing is basic. Aerobics classes have helped tremendously over the years when I am well enough to attend. The poetry is still an outlet as is the airbrush art, symptoms allowing. So now, when I can, I immerse myself in the struggle for a workable compensation for myself and other Cold War veterans. Such a plan is presently being implemented but is stalled, now, despite efforts of both government agencies and victims. At present, the "Energy Employees Occupational Illness Compensation Program Act of 2000" is neither acceptable nor fair. The program favors Chronic Beryllium Disease victims and a "Special Exposure Cohort" group who have certain cancers and worked at one of the gaseous diffusion plants. This with the knowledge that there are over three hundred covered sites and a growing number of work-related illnesses. It is my belief that all work-related illnesses should be treated equally, an opinion confirmed by several government and private studies. The keyboard has replaced the airbrush or mechanic's tools far too often. Frustration is a daily companion. A ride on the Harley, whether for a mile or a millennium, always brings needed stress relief. Friends continue to be invaluable. This is the single most important asset I own. So, I will continue to seek justice, enjoy life as I can, and hope that my efforts, and those of hundreds like me, will make a difference. And that our sons and daughters will not have such a legacy in their futures.
