A WHO Epidemiologist Probes The Death of a Jakarta Nurse As Fears of Viral Mutation Grow
By Alan Sipress
Washington Post Foreign Service
Monday, February 6, 2006
JAKARTA, Indonesia The maroon minivan had just edged into morning traffic, but passenger Gina Samaan, a field investigator for the World Health Organization, admitted she was already a bit worried.
This much was for sure, she said, reviewing the case from the back seat on an excursion one day last month. A 29-year-old Jakarta woman hospitalized with acute pneumonia had died two days before, and the early diagnosis was bird flu. Her samples had tested positive for the avian influenza virus at a government laboratory and another, little-publicized lab run by the U.S. Navy across from the capital's main prison.
The local news media were reporting that chickens in the woman's neighborhood had recently fallen sick and died, suggesting she had caught bird flu from poultry like other Indonesian victims. But Samaan disclosed that bird samples tested by the city's veterinary department had all come back negative.
If the source was not chickens, could it have been another person? If so, it might mean the virus had mutated into a form more easily transmitted among humans -- signaling the earliest stages of a global influenza pandemic that could potentially kill millions.
That ominous prospect seemed to grow for a time as this influenza gumshoe followed a trail of clues that led her unexpectedly into a neighboring province and back again.
As in many cases on the influenza beat, Samaan, 29, might never be able to nail the culprit. But she was bent on determining whether human infection was at least the likely explanation.
If the evidence pointed to a chain of human cases, WHO might have to sound a global alert. Since the middle of last year, more people had died in Indonesi a from bird flu than anywhere else, and international health experts were warning that if a worldwide epidemic were to erupt, there was no likelier starting place for it than here.
Day 1: East JakartaSamaan, her dark eyes earnest and intent behind rimless glasses and her brown hair tied back in a ponytail, wasn't taking any chances. She had stashed several masks in the back of the WHO van. In her bulky brown pocketbook, she kept a small bottle of pink antiseptic hand sanitizer and a cheap thermometer. She had been taking her temperature twice a day since arriving in Jakarta eight months earlier from Australia's Health Department.
She had donned simple shoes with covered tops to protect her feet from sources of contamination, such as bird droppings, and with flat soles that were easy to clean. She said she washed them in the sink after each outing and, as a result, was going through a new pair every other month or so.
But for all her preparations, Samaan wasn't expecting what she saw when she pulled up in the victim's neighborhood, accompanied by her Indonesian interpreter and an official from the Health Ministry's national lab. WHO and Indonesian health officials allowed a reporter to join investigators on condition that the names of the victim and her relatives, home address and place of work be withheld for medical privacy reasons.
It was as if the whole neighborhood had turned out in a single grassy yard to wait for Samaan. Several men crowded around her, confirming that two chickens had died about a month earlier not far from the victim's home and that the carcasses had been quickly burned.
Samaan listened intently, lips pursed, jotting down the details in a spiral notebook. Two dead birds, no samples. It was hard to conclude they were the cause.
She found the victim's mother and ushered her to the shade of a tree in a quiet corner of the yard. The mother was a handsome woman in a plain orange dress, hair pulled back in a bun. Samaan inquired about the other members of the family, where they lived and whether they were healthy. Everyone, she was told, was fine.
Samaan asked whether the woman had noticed any dying birds.
"We didn't see any sick chickens. But most of the time we weren't home. We're a working family," the mother said, furrows deepening across her brow. Then she added, "My daughter's a nurse at a hospital."
Samaan's expression didn't change. But she later recalled feeling her heart drop. If the victim was a nurse, she might have been infected by a patient -- or, worse, passed the disease to others at the hospital.
"Which department did she work in?" Samaan probed. "ICU? Pediatrics?"
"I don't really know," the mother said. "She's a regular nurse."
Samaan asked to see the family's home and was led down a narrow, concrete alley, past small, neat dwellings with laundry hanging out front. The victim had lived at the end of the block. Samaan took a quick tour of the house, peeking into the refrigerator for possible contamination, examining the hanging basket where the family kept eggs for any sign of bird droppings. Everything looked clean.
In fact, except for a pair of black hens hiding in a bush near the house of the neighborhood official for the block, there was no trace of poultry anywhere, Samaan noted.
Though Indonesian and foreign media would continue in the coming days to blame chickens for the woman's death, Samaan did not think so. It could be something far worse.
Day 2: West Java ProvinceSamaan had been so anxious about checking out the hospital where her victim worked that she hadn't had time to arrange for the WHO van to take her. She roused her interpreter with a playful, early morning plea: "C'mon, let's go save the world." Then they hailed a taxi on the street.
After waiting nearly an hour in the lobby of the modern, five-story hospital in Jakarta's southern suburbs, Samaan was escorted to a conference room, where four hospital executives joined her across an oval table. The hospital's personnel chief, a slight woman in a pink blazer, recalled that the victim had complained of fever and chills when she reported for work on New Year's Day, so she was sent home. She had usually worked in the maternity ward as a midwife.
That last detail was welcome news. It made it less likely that the woman had contracted the illness in the hospital, because the maternity ward's patients tended to be healthy.
The personnel chief produced schedules and time sheets. Samaan and several others huddled around them. Samaan made a mental note of two overnight shifts the midwife had worked on Dec. 27 and 28 -- the dates she was most likely to have contracted the virus.
Samaan asked whether there was any illness among women who had given birth in the maternity ward or their families. Nothing unusual, she was told. She asked about the other midwives. All were healthy. She requested to meet a few.
The maternity ward was clean and quiet. Four newborns slumbered in small, glass-sided cribs. The personnel director showed in two midwives. They reported that their health was good, further allaying Samaan's fear that the hospital was the source of infection.
Samaan inquired about their colleague's final days.
"She mentioned she had been coughing for a while. That's all," one said.
"Did she ever talk about going to a poultry market?" Samaan continued, following up on what the family had told her a day earlier.
The young midwife giggled softly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sometimes she would go after work," she recounted. "She would go buy chicken feet. That was one of her favorite foods."
Day 3: East JakartaMarkets made Samaan uneasy.
When she first came to Indonesia, she recalled, she was always fretting about catching bird flu. "I counted the sneezes I'd make," she quipped. As she learned more about the disease's behavior, she worried less about the risk of contracting it at victims' homes or from their families.
But traditional Asian poultry markets -- where butchers, birds and buyers come into intimate contact, blood flowing and feathers flying -- could be dangerous places.
After two days of detective work, Samaan believed she had now tracked the infection to a large, covered market in a teeming quarter of the capital. She suspected that the victim had come here to pick up some chicken after an overnight shift at the hospital.
Samaan and two Health Ministry officials walked up to the second floor and waded into the dim aisles, passing gold shops, cluttered grocery kiosks and music stalls blaring Indonesian pop tunes.
Soon they could hear the thud! thud! of a meat cleaver. They sloshed along tile floors slick with water, mud and rivulets of blood. On the counters, butchered chickens lay in rows, claws extended upward. Toward the back, a few survivors clucked in dissent, their legs bound to makeshift wooden cages.
"Her friends at the hospital said she really liked chicken feet," Samaan said, pointing to a small pile on the counter.
Samaan and the other officials approached a merchant who was busy grasping chickens with his bare hands and slitting their throats. They asked whether the market had been checked for bird flu.
The merchant responded that local veterinary authorities tested the market once or twice a week.
"What did they find?"
Swoosh went the knife. "It's disease-free," the merchant said.
Samaan said she was skeptical about the quality of the local testing. Neither the merchant's responses nor the unsanitary conditions inspired confidence.
But then, emerging into the sunlight, she spied something else: several peasant women seated on the blacktop hawking chickens off wooden crates.
"She didn't have to go all the way in there," Samaan said, retracing the victim's steps in her mind. "She could have bought the chicken right here. That might be more risky."
Samaan had found no evidence that her victim caught the virus from another person. But she had been reluctant to end the probe until she was confident of a better explanation. Now, she said, she had uncovered the missing piece.
"There was plenty of potential for exposure here," Samaan concluded.