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Thursday, March 8, 2018

Contraceptives That Don't Quit

Contraceptives That Don't Quit

Norplants protects for five years, yet Depo-Provera is winning more fans


In 1990, when the Food and Drug Administration approved a new contraceptive known as Norplant for use in the United States, many assumed that the new product would join birth control pills and condoms as one of the dominant forms of contraception in America.

Similar to birth control pills  in its chemical makeup, the Norplant device provides highly reliable, reversible contraceptive protection for up to five years. But reported difficulties with the removal of Norplant, which is a contraceptive implant that goes into the underside of a woman's upper arm, and controversy about potential side effects have quieted much of the early enthusiasm for the drug. Instead, another approved hormonal contraceptive, Depo-Provera, which is taken by injection and provides about 14 weeks of protection per treatment, is winning wider approval from American women. 

Both Norplant and Depo-Provera are based on progestin, a synthetic version of the hormone progesterone that the body produces during menstruation. Progestin protects against pregnancy by inhibiting ovulation, impeding fertilization, and the endometrium (the lining of the uterus), making implantation of a fertilized egg very difficult.

Both Norplant and Depo-Provera are considered over 99 percent effective in preventing pregnancy when administered correctly, but the way they work is very different. Norplant delivers its dosage by employing a series of six matchstick-sized time-released capsules that must be surgically implanted into a woman's upper arm using local anesthesia. If inserted during the first seven days of the menstrual cycle, it becomes effective within 24 hours.

A child with a flower. Sketch by Elena

Depo-Provera is injected, rather than implanted, into the muscle of a woman's buttock or an upper arm. The treatment is administered every twelve weeks to ensure that protection from the previous injection has not yet worn off. Fertility may take several months to return to a woman discounting Depo-Provera, but more than three-quarters of women who stop in order to conceive become pregnant within 12 months, and more than 90 percent succeed within two years.

The side-effects of both Norplan and Depo-Provera are similar to those of women taking the pill. They can include irregular menstrual bleeding and spotting, weight fluctuations both up and down, breast tenderness, headaches, hair loss, and dizziness at times. But unlike Norplant, whose effects can be quickly reversed in a woman experiencing side effects until the shot's 14-week cycle has run its course.

Norplant's greatest appeal may be for women who have finished their childbearing but do not wish to undergo sterilization, and for those whose health conditions preclude the use of the Pill or other birth control measures. It is inappropriate for women who are breast-feeding during their first six weeks after delivery or have unexplained vaginal bleeding, blood clots, inflammation of the veins, or a serious liver disease. It is also off-limits to women with a history of breast cancer.

Depo-Provera is not recommended for pregnant women because of a possible link to premature birth. But, unlike Norplant, there is no restriction on use by women who are breast-feeding.

Birth techniques may appeal to women who seek a highly reliable – and highly private – contraceptive method. Depo-Provera requires more frequent visits to a doctor or clinic for treatment, but at about $35 per shot and usually no more than $47 to $80 for a pre-shot examination, it is less of a financial burden than Norplant, which costs between $500 and $750 for insertion by a trained practitioner and another $50 to $150 for removal.

Norplant has been plagued by two other major complaints by users as well. One has been charges, unsubstantiated by scientific studies, that Norplant contributes to everything from strokes to cancer to autoimmune diseases. The drug's manufacturer Wyeth-Ayrest, revised its labeling to acknowledge that adverse reactions have been reported since the product went on the market, but noted, with the FDA's approval, that health problems, such as strokes, thrombosis, and heart attack, that have stricken Norplant users on occasion could be entirely coincidental and have nothing to do with the fact that the woman may have been a Norplant user.

Even more controversial have been the difficulties that some women have experienced during the removal of their implants from just below the skin. Because of problems in some physicians' training and techniques for inserting and removing the hormonal rods, some patients report the procedure proved unexpectedly painful and resulted in unsightly scarring. A number of class-action lawsuits have been filed and are being vigorously contested by the manufacturer, but the adverse publicity appears to have slowed the product's acceptance markedly.

Still, properly implanted and removed by trained medical personnel, Norplant has much to recommend for women seeking reliable, long-term, reversible birth control that demands very little involvement on their part on mouth to mouth. For women wanting something less than five years' protection from a single implant, Norplant's manufacturer is also developing Norplant II, which would use just two rods to provide up to three years' protection.

Birth Control by the numbers


Sterilization is the most frequently used contraceptive technique in the U.S. Method and percent of women who use it:

For women – PIII – 25%. Spermicides (foams, creams, gels) – 6%. Diaphragm/Cervical Cap – 5.7%. Springs – 1.1%. Implants (Norplant) – 1%. IUD – 1%. For men and women – Sterilization/ Tubal ligation – 27%. Condoms – 19%. Withdrawl/rythm – 7%.

The Emperor of Mars

The Emperor of Mars

By Allen M. Steele


Out here, there`s a lot of ways to go crazy. Get cooped up in a passenger module not much larger than a trailer, and by the time you reach your destination you may have come to believe that the universe exists only within your own mind: it`s called solipsism syndrome, and I`ve seen it happen a couple of times. Share that same module with five or six guys who don`t get along very well, and after three months you`ll be sleeping with a knife taped to your thigh. Pull double-shifts during that time, with little chance to relax, and you`ll probably suffer from depression; couple this with vitamin deficiency due to a lousy diet, and you`re a candidate for chronic fatigue syndrome.

Xx

Folks who`ve never left Earth often think that Titan Plague is the main reason people go mad in space. They`re wrong. Titan Plague may rot your brain and turn you into a homicidal maniac, but instances of that are rare, and there is a dozen other ways to go bonzo that are much more subtle. I`ve seen guys adopt imaginary friends with whom they have long and meaningless conversations, compulsively clean their hardsuits regardless of whether or not they`ve recently worn them, or go for a routine spacewalk and have to be begged to come back into the airlock. Some people just aren`t cut out for life away from Earth, but there`s no way to predict who`s going to lose their mind.

The Emperor of Mars. Photo by Elena

When something like that happens, I have a set of standard procedures: ask the doctor to prescribe antidepressants, keep an eye on them to make sure they don`t do anything that might put themselves or others at risk, relieve them of duty if I can, and see what I can do about getting them back home as soon as possible. Sometimes I don`t have to do any of this. A guy goes crazy for a little while, and then he gradually works out whatever it was that got in his head; the next time I see him, he`s in the commissary, eating Cheerios like nothing ever happened. Most of the time, though, a mental breakdown is a serious matter. I think I`ve shipped back about one out of every twenty people because of one issue or another.

But one time, I saw someone go mad, and it was the best thing that could have happened to him. That was Jeff Halbert. Let me tell about him…

Back in `48, I was General Manager of Arsia Station, the first and largest of the Mars colonies. This was a year before the formation of the Pax Astra, about five years before the colonies declared independence. So the six major Martian settlements were still under control of Earth-based corporation or another, with Arsia Station owned and operated by ConSpace. We had about a hundred people living there by then, the majority short-timers or short-term contracts; only a dozen or so, like myself, were permanent residents who left Earth for good.

(Read the full text in The Best Year’s Science Fiction Anthology 2011, edited by Gardner Dozois)

Re-Crossing the Styx

Re-crossing the Styx

By Ian R. Macleod


(Read the full text in The Best Year’s Science Fiction Anthology 2011, edited by Gardner Dozois)

It seemed like there were more corpses than ever as he led the morning excursion to the ruins of Knossos in Crete, with the Glorious Nomad anchored off what remained of the city of Heraklion. At least fourteen out of the forty two heads he counted on the tour bus looked to be dead. Make that double, if you included their minders. The easiest way to tell the dead apart from the living was by a quick glance at their wigs and toupees. Not that the living oldies didn’t favour such things as well, but the dead were uniformly bald – hair, like skin, seemed to be something the scientists haven’t fully got the knack of replacing – and had a particularly bilious taste in rugware. The lines of bus seats Frank faced sprouted Elvis coxcombs, dyed punky tufts and Motown bechives. The dead loved to wear big sunglasses, as well. They shunned the light, like the vampires they somewhat resembled, and favoured loose-fitting clothes in unlikely combinations of manmade fabrics. Even the men put on too much makeup to disguise their pasty skins. As the tour bus climbed towards the day’s cultural destination and Frank took the mike and kicked into his spiel about Perseus and the Minotaur, a mixed smell of corrupted flesh, facecream and something like formaldehyde waffled over him.

The September sun wasn’t particularly harsh as Frank, Glorious Nomad lollipop in raised right hand, guided his shuffling bunch from sight to stairlift to moving walkway. Here is the priest-king fresco and here is the throne room and here is the world’s first flush toilet. The only other tour group were from the Happy Minstrel, another big cruise vessel berthed at the old American naval base at Souda Bay. As the two slow streams shuffled and mingled in their frail efforts to be first to the souvenir shop, Frank couldn’t help but worry that he was going to end up with some of the wrong guests. Then, as he watched them some more – so frail, so goddamn pointless in their eagerness to spend the money they’d earned back in their discarded lives as accountants from Idaho or lawyers from Stockholm or plant hire salesmen from Wolverhampton – he wondered if it would matter.

Re-crossing the Styx. Photo by Elena

He corralled what seemed like the right specimens back on the bus without further incident, and they headed on toward what today’s itinerary described as A Typical Cretan Fishing Village. The full place looked convincing enough if you ignored the concrete berms erected as protection against the rising seas, and the local villagers did local villager as well as anyone who had to put on the same act day after day reasonable could.

Afterwards, Frank sat under an olive tree in what passed for the harbourfront tavern, took a screen out from his back pocket and pretended to read. The waiter brought him stuffed olives, decent black decaf and a plate of warm pita bread. It was hard, sometimes, to complain.

And Ministers of Grace

And Ministers of Grace

By Tad Williams


(Read the full text in The Best Year’s Science Fiction Anthology 2011, edited by Gardner Dozois)

He passes the various mechanical sentries and the first two human guard posts as easily as he hoped he would – his military brethren have prepared his disguise well. He is in line at the final human checkpoint when he catches a glimpse of her, or at least he thinks it must be her – a small, brown-skinned woman sagging between two heavily armored port security guards who clutch her elbows in a parody of assistance. For a moment their eyes meet and her dark stare is frank before she hangs her head again in a convincing imitation of shame. The words Martyrdom Sister – but he does his best to blur them again just as quickly. He can’t imagine any word that will set off the E-Grams as quickly as “Martyrdom”.

The final guard post is more difficult, as it is meant to be. The sentry, almost faceless behind an array of enhanced light scanners and lenses, does not like to see Arjuna on Kane’s itinerary, his last port of call before Archimedes. Arjuna is not a treaty world for either Archimedes or Covenant, although both hope to make it so, and is not officially policed by either side.

The official runs one of his scanners over Kane’s itinerary again. “Can you tell me why you stopped at Arjuna, Citizen McNally?”

Kane repeats the story of staying there with his cousin who works in the mining industry. Arjuna is rich with platinum and other minerals, another reason both sides want it. At the moment, though, neither the Rationalists of Archimedes or the Abramites of Covenant can get any traction there: the majority of Arjuna;s settlers, colonists originally from the homeworld;s Indian sub-continent, are comfortable with both sides – a fact that makes both Archimedes and Covenant quite uncomfortable indeed.

And Ministers of Grace. Photo by Elena

The giant post official doesn’t seem entirely happy with Lamentation Kane’s explanation and is beginning to investigate the false personality a little more closely. Kane wonders how much longer until the window of distraction is opened. He turns causally, looking up and down the transparent u-glass cells along the far wall until he located the one in which the brown skinned woman is being questioned. Is she a Muslim? A Copt? Or perhaps something entirely different – there are Australian Aboriginal Jews on Covenant , remnants of the Lost Tribes movement back on the homeworld. But whoever or whatever she is doesn’t matter, he reminds himself: she is a sister in god and she has volunteered to sacrifice herself for the sake of the mission – his mission.

The Books

The Books

Kage Baker


By the time I was six we felt like old performers, and we swaggered in front of the other kids because we were the only kid act. We’d played it in six towns already. That was the year the aunts and uncles decided to take the trailers as far down the coast as this place on the edge of the big desert. It used to be a big city before it all went down. Even if there weren’t enough people alive there anymore to put on a show for, there might be a lot of old junk we could use.

We made it into town all right without even any shooting. That was kind of amazing, actually, because it turned out nobody lived there but old people, and old people will usually shoot at you if they have guns, and these did. The other amazing thing was that the town was huge and I mean really huge, I just walked around with my head tilted back staring at these towers that went up and up into the sky. Some of them you couldn’t even see the tops because the fog hid them. And they were all mirrors and glass and domes and scowly faces in stone looking down from way up high.

But all the old people lived in just a few places right along the beach, because the further back you went into the city the more sand was everywhere. The desert was creeping in and taking a little more every year. That was why all the young people had left. There was nowhere to grow and food. The old people stayed because there was still plenty of stuff in jars and cans they had collected from the markets, and anyway they liked it there because it was warm. They told us they didn’t have enough food to share any, though. Uncle Buck told them all we wanted to trade for was the right to go into some of the empty towers and strip out as much of the copper pipes and wires and things as we could take away with us. They thought that was all right; they put their guns down and let us camp, then.

But they liked Aunt Lulu and her little trained dogs and they liked Uncle Manny’s strongman act where he picked up a Volkswagen. Illustration: © Megan Jorgensen (Elena)

But we found out the Show had to be a matinee if we were going to perform for them, because they all went to bed before the time we usually put on the Show. And the fire-eater was really pissed off about that because nobody would be able to see his act much, in broad daylight. It worked out all right, in the end, because the next day was dark and gloomy. You couldn’t see the tops of the towers at all. We actually had to light torches around the edges of the big lot where we put up the stage.

The old people came filing out of their apartment building to the seats we’d set up, and then we had to wait the opening because they decided it was too cold and they all went shuffling back inside and got their coats. Finally the Show started and it went pretty well, considering some of them were blind and had to have their friends explain what was going on in loud voices.

(Read the full text in The Best Year’s Science Fiction Anthology 2011, edited by Gardner Dozois)