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Sailors ill three years after sub fire
By MURRAY BREWSTER The Canadian Press | EXCLUSIVE
Mon. Mar 10 - 6:44 PM
Three-and-a-half years after a fatal submarine fire, surviving crew
members of HMCS Chicoutimi are falling ill with debilitating conditions —
severe enough to force some of them out of the navy.
And researchers, who only recently analyzed the noxious substances in the
smoke that crew members inhaled during the electrical fire, have yet to
determine the impact on long-term health.
Many of the men and their families have battled bureaucrats over pension
entitlements. And at one or time or another, they've had documented
compensation claims rejected.
``I know a lot of guys, their health is getting worse,'' said Denis
Lafleur, a former petty officer, who was among the most severely injured.
``Nobody has been willing to come forward and admit what was burned on
the boat.''
Almost half of the 56 men who battled to save their boat from a raging
electrical fire in stormy seas off Ireland in October 2004 have been
discharged from the service, will soon leave the military, or are on the
medically disabled list.
``It's hard to look in the mirror,'' said one sailor, who was among more
than a half-dozen who agreed to lengthy interviews with The Canadian
Press.
``I am a walking shell of what I once was. I was at the peak of my
fitness before the fire. I was the healthiest I had been in my whole life
and now I am half the person I was.''
Sailors still serving spoke on the condition their names not be used.
Part of their reluctance stems from not only fear of retribution but from
the stigma attached to them by fellow submariners who didn't experience
the fire.
At times, they say, their persistent health complaints have labelled them
as ``sick bay rangers.''
The handful of survivors who agreed to come forward brought with them
health documentation and letters to back up their claims.
Many of the crew have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress. Some
have developed severe breathing difficulties, preventing them from
climbing a flight of stairs.
Some sailors have had fainting spells, short-term memory loss. Others
have developed chronic conditions, such as asthma.
There are neurological disorders. Crew members spoke of a colleague with
epilepsy. Another had brain surgery.
All of those interviewed blame their illnesses on exposure to the noxious
smoke and grey soot left over from the fire, which crippled the used
British submarine during its maiden voyage to Canada.
Laboratory tests to recreate the thick, black smoke took place just last
fall and the chemical analysis only recently landed on the desk of the
navy's lead toxicologist, Dr. Stephen Tserkrekos.
``It's been a frustration for me that the process has taken as long as it
has, but I'm sort of stuck with the situation the way that it is,'' said
Tserkrekos.
Because of the complexity of the tests, the military was forced to rely
on the National Research Council, and had to ``get into the queue'' with
other government departments.
Tserkrekos says it could take until the fall to estimate what impact the
cocktail of chemicals had on the sailors.
Of particular concern to the crew is Peridite, an epoxy and known
carcinogen used to glue insulation to the deck and hull.
But Cmdr. Jeff Agnew says ``as far as we determine'' the substance, which
submarine-maker BAE Systems Inc. warned requires special handling if
burned, was not part of the fire.
Since the tragedy, which claimed the life of 32-year-old Lieut. Chris
Saunders, the Canadian military and the public's attention has been
firmly fixed on the deaths in Afghanistan.
``For all of us guys who were injured on Chicoutimi in the line of duty,
it seems like we've been forgotten,'' said a second sailor, who also
asked for anonymity.
A veteran's advocate agreed.
``There's so much competition for money and resources within the federal
government, (that) trying to understand how a myriad of different
chemicals interact with the human body on the battlefield — or in a
submarine — is low on the totem pole in terms of priorities,'' said Sean
Bruyea, who spent 14 years as an air force intelligence officer.
By failing to track the men as a group, documenting their health concerns
outside individual medical records, the navy is setting up Chicoutimi
survivors for the same bureaucratic nightmare experienced by soldiers
exposed to Agent Orange testing in the 1960s, Bruyea said.
Many of the men spent five days living in soot as the powerless warship
was towed to safety.
``You take a bite of a sandwich and the bread was black. There were
flakes of it floating in your drink,'' said a third crewman.
It permeated everything, including equipment, clothes and dishes that had
been sealed away in cupboards.
``We joked about who was going to play us in the movie. We joked about
how we were killing ourselves by eating.''
Every time someone moved or the boat lurched in the turbulent seas, soot
would be thrown into the air and sailors would start coughing.
``I remember that acidic taste, kind of like needles on your tongue,''
said a fourth sailor. ``The Chicoutimi still smells of the fire (today);
the burnt carbon, chemical kind of smell that you get.''
On their return to Halifax, the crew was told the soot had been analyzed
and it presented no long-term threat to their health.
But Tserkrekos says that study was meant to assess whether the boat was
safe for the temporary crew that eventually brought it to Halifax — men
who faced limited exposure. It did not take into consideration the health
risks someone would face living in ashes over a five-day period, a subtle
but important distinction.
``I still think to this day that whatever was in the soot (got) into my
blood,'' said one sailor.
Another sailor kept his ash-encrusted coffee mug, an unwashed sweater and
a pill-bottle-size vial of the soot, which he's considered having
analyzed by an independent lab.
``Maybe one day, if something happens to me, maybe there'll be enough
stuff there my wife can take it somewhere and find something out,'' he
said.
Tserkrekos says the soot and smoke reports will now be combined to
produce an updated, comprehensive health analysis.
The navy chose not to track the health of the crew as a whole beyond the
first anniversary of the accident, in October 2005.
Most sailors were told to rely on their individual doctors, while those
who failed certain medical tests were kept under watch.
But the absence of a body of evidence has made it tough for individuals,
especially those starting to get sick, to argue their claims before
Veterans Affairs bureaucrats.
Cmdr. Rob Briggs, a physician and senior fleet surgeon, said there are a
lot of variables that go into care. But the rule of thumb is the higher
the exposure to toxins and quicker a person gets sick, the more likely it
is they'll face long-term health issues.
``So the folks that showed up within a year of symptoms were the folks
we'd expect to be most sensitive to the exposure they received and these
folks are being followed up adequately,'' he said.
Because of the shortage of physicians and frequent transfers, some
sailors say they've seen several different doctors since the fire.
``I honestly feel like I'm a piece of garbage that's just been thrown
out,'' said one sailor.
``As soon as I got hurt, I felt like a second-class citizen. I was no use
to them any more.''
By MURRAY BREWSTER The Canadian Press | EXCLUSIVE
Mon. Mar 10 - 6:44 PM
Three-and-a-half years after a fatal submarine fire, surviving crew
members of HMCS Chicoutimi are falling ill with debilitating conditions —
severe enough to force some of them out of the navy.
And researchers, who only recently analyzed the noxious substances in the
smoke that crew members inhaled during the electrical fire, have yet to
determine the impact on long-term health.
Many of the men and their families have battled bureaucrats over pension
entitlements. And at one or time or another, they've had documented
compensation claims rejected.
``I know a lot of guys, their health is getting worse,'' said Denis
Lafleur, a former petty officer, who was among the most severely injured.
``Nobody has been willing to come forward and admit what was burned on
the boat.''
Almost half of the 56 men who battled to save their boat from a raging
electrical fire in stormy seas off Ireland in October 2004 have been
discharged from the service, will soon leave the military, or are on the
medically disabled list.
``It's hard to look in the mirror,'' said one sailor, who was among more
than a half-dozen who agreed to lengthy interviews with The Canadian
Press.
``I am a walking shell of what I once was. I was at the peak of my
fitness before the fire. I was the healthiest I had been in my whole life
and now I am half the person I was.''
Sailors still serving spoke on the condition their names not be used.
Part of their reluctance stems from not only fear of retribution but from
the stigma attached to them by fellow submariners who didn't experience
the fire.
At times, they say, their persistent health complaints have labelled them
as ``sick bay rangers.''
The handful of survivors who agreed to come forward brought with them
health documentation and letters to back up their claims.
Many of the crew have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress. Some
have developed severe breathing difficulties, preventing them from
climbing a flight of stairs.
Some sailors have had fainting spells, short-term memory loss. Others
have developed chronic conditions, such as asthma.
There are neurological disorders. Crew members spoke of a colleague with
epilepsy. Another had brain surgery.
All of those interviewed blame their illnesses on exposure to the noxious
smoke and grey soot left over from the fire, which crippled the used
British submarine during its maiden voyage to Canada.
Laboratory tests to recreate the thick, black smoke took place just last
fall and the chemical analysis only recently landed on the desk of the
navy's lead toxicologist, Dr. Stephen Tserkrekos.
``It's been a frustration for me that the process has taken as long as it
has, but I'm sort of stuck with the situation the way that it is,'' said
Tserkrekos.
Because of the complexity of the tests, the military was forced to rely
on the National Research Council, and had to ``get into the queue'' with
other government departments.
Tserkrekos says it could take until the fall to estimate what impact the
cocktail of chemicals had on the sailors.
Of particular concern to the crew is Peridite, an epoxy and known
carcinogen used to glue insulation to the deck and hull.
But Cmdr. Jeff Agnew says ``as far as we determine'' the substance, which
submarine-maker BAE Systems Inc. warned requires special handling if
burned, was not part of the fire.
Since the tragedy, which claimed the life of 32-year-old Lieut. Chris
Saunders, the Canadian military and the public's attention has been
firmly fixed on the deaths in Afghanistan.
``For all of us guys who were injured on Chicoutimi in the line of duty,
it seems like we've been forgotten,'' said a second sailor, who also
asked for anonymity.
A veteran's advocate agreed.
``There's so much competition for money and resources within the federal
government, (that) trying to understand how a myriad of different
chemicals interact with the human body on the battlefield — or in a
submarine — is low on the totem pole in terms of priorities,'' said Sean
Bruyea, who spent 14 years as an air force intelligence officer.
By failing to track the men as a group, documenting their health concerns
outside individual medical records, the navy is setting up Chicoutimi
survivors for the same bureaucratic nightmare experienced by soldiers
exposed to Agent Orange testing in the 1960s, Bruyea said.
Many of the men spent five days living in soot as the powerless warship
was towed to safety.
``You take a bite of a sandwich and the bread was black. There were
flakes of it floating in your drink,'' said a third crewman.
It permeated everything, including equipment, clothes and dishes that had
been sealed away in cupboards.
``We joked about who was going to play us in the movie. We joked about
how we were killing ourselves by eating.''
Every time someone moved or the boat lurched in the turbulent seas, soot
would be thrown into the air and sailors would start coughing.
``I remember that acidic taste, kind of like needles on your tongue,''
said a fourth sailor. ``The Chicoutimi still smells of the fire (today);
the burnt carbon, chemical kind of smell that you get.''
On their return to Halifax, the crew was told the soot had been analyzed
and it presented no long-term threat to their health.
But Tserkrekos says that study was meant to assess whether the boat was
safe for the temporary crew that eventually brought it to Halifax — men
who faced limited exposure. It did not take into consideration the health
risks someone would face living in ashes over a five-day period, a subtle
but important distinction.
``I still think to this day that whatever was in the soot (got) into my
blood,'' said one sailor.
Another sailor kept his ash-encrusted coffee mug, an unwashed sweater and
a pill-bottle-size vial of the soot, which he's considered having
analyzed by an independent lab.
``Maybe one day, if something happens to me, maybe there'll be enough
stuff there my wife can take it somewhere and find something out,'' he
said.
Tserkrekos says the soot and smoke reports will now be combined to
produce an updated, comprehensive health analysis.
The navy chose not to track the health of the crew as a whole beyond the
first anniversary of the accident, in October 2005.
Most sailors were told to rely on their individual doctors, while those
who failed certain medical tests were kept under watch.
But the absence of a body of evidence has made it tough for individuals,
especially those starting to get sick, to argue their claims before
Veterans Affairs bureaucrats.
Cmdr. Rob Briggs, a physician and senior fleet surgeon, said there are a
lot of variables that go into care. But the rule of thumb is the higher
the exposure to toxins and quicker a person gets sick, the more likely it
is they'll face long-term health issues.
``So the folks that showed up within a year of symptoms were the folks
we'd expect to be most sensitive to the exposure they received and these
folks are being followed up adequately,'' he said.
Because of the shortage of physicians and frequent transfers, some
sailors say they've seen several different doctors since the fire.
``I honestly feel like I'm a piece of garbage that's just been thrown
out,'' said one sailor.
``As soon as I got hurt, I felt like a second-class citizen. I was no use
to them any more.''