When the disease we now call AIDS was first diagnosed in 1982, the prognosis for humanity appeared grave. HIV, the viral agent responsible, had found a means of transmission that gave it fearsome scope 鈥� human sexuality (although other points of access soon appeared, such as use of infected needles and transfusions with infected blood).
The virus also mutated frequently, meaning early attempts at treatment failed. And the outcome was nearly always fatal.
Initially, it seemed this new plague would decimate the poorest regions of Africa and wreak a global death toll in the hundreds of millions. In just 10 years, AIDS became the leading cause of mortality among Americans 25 to 44 years old.
And yet today, only three decades later, the picture has changed beyond recognition. Antiviral drugs have been developed that can, in many cases, halt the onset of symptoms. They can even shield unborn babies when their mothers have the disease.
As a result, life expectancy for HIV-infected adults with access to treatment is now 73: In 1990, it was six months or less.
During this Christmas season, it鈥檚 worth recalling an act of religious devotion that played a part in this remarkable story. From the outset, St. Paul鈥檚 Hospital in Vancouver, founded by the Sisters of Providence, opened its doors to AIDS victims when other facilities, fearing contagion, turned them away.
As a result, some of the leading research was done by staff at the hospital. Other countries, the U.S. and France among them, have introduced treatment protocols developed at St. Paul鈥檚.
Today, while predictions are risky, researchers are cautiously optimistic that a cure is not far off. That is a stunning accomplishment. There is no other instance of a deadly new disease, with such a powerful mode of transmission, being overcome so quickly.
It鈥檚 worth savouring this moment. Contagious pandemics have been the bane of our existence.
Viral infections, in particular, have long eluded medical science: Consider how the common cold and flu have tortured us, despite every effort at a cure.
The problem is that viruses mimic DNA strands in their victims. The mimicry is close enough that a drug designed to disable the virus might harm the patient.
The breakthrough came, providentially, at the same time AIDS appeared. Scientists finally learned to read the genetic sequence of the HIV virus, and drugs were engineered to disable it without killing the patient.
The same technique was then used to attack the Hepatitis C virus, and there, too, near-miraculous results have been achieved. Unchecked, the virus destroys liver tissue.
Until recently, its victims often required a transplant, and many died of liver cancer. Yet now, a simple three-month course of pills cures almost 90 per cent of patients.
Looking ahead, it seems reasonable to hope that gene-based therapies can be extended to other infectious viral diseases, such as herpes, ebola and, yes, eventually, the common cold and flu.
And the same knowledge that leads to cures should also one day lead to vaccines. Prevention is always better than treatment.
In effect, we stand at the same point reached by Alexander Fleming in the 1920s, when he discovered that bacterial infections could be halted with antibiotics. At the time, germ-based diseases, such as the bubonic plague, syphilis and tuberculosis, were often the equivalent of a death sentence. Plague alone wiped out half of Europe in the 14th century.
Yet within a few decades of the discovery of penicillin, bacterial ailments had been tamed, and life expectancy improved dramatically.
With hard work and clever research, viral disorders could likewise be subdued. If so, the two great causes of premature death and suffering down the ages will have been defeated.
