Rx for Druggy Waters

Let's brand our water "Boathouse Brew,"and profit from the pollution.

by Bruce Schimmel

Early one morning, Spousal Unit and I were sipping our warm green tea when I shattered the magic with a splash of reality. What else, I wondered aloud, other than tea and water, was in our teapot?

A couple of weeks ago, the Associated Press released their national study of tap water. The AP found that Philadelphia's source waters, like many cities, contain drugs — minute traces of dozens of pharmaceuticals that lower cholesterol, manage pain, or are used to treat asthma, epilepsy, heart disease and mental illness.

SU put down her cup of tea.

Yes, I said, the fish in the Schuylkill (whose water we drink) swim in a weak solution of Zocor, Vicodin and Prozac, along with scores of other pharmaceuticals. (Philly's waters may or may not be more polluted than others. We just know about more pollutants because our water department does a better job of testing for them.)

"OK. That settles it," SU declared. "It's bottled water from now on."

Uh, bad news: Bottled water is generally no better than tap.

"The drugs will be in there, too," I intoned. To remove this stuff, water must be treated with reverse osmosis — which is expensive and wasteful.

Like it or not, our water is like the pharmaceutical equivalent of frat-party punch. And a recycled punch, at that: One of the reasons the drugs are there is that millions in the Delaware Valley take them and excrete them, and they slip past our city's treatment plants. Upgrade the plants? Not likely. There are no plants in the nation, says the Environmental Protection Agency, specifically designed to remove pharmaceuticals. Nor are there plans to build any.

And yet our tap water will continue to thicken as Americans down more pills.

Now, for sure, the doses in your glass are miniscule — just parts per billion. But when drugs are mixed together, no one knows about their interactive and cumulative effects. When I asked some pharmacists about mixing drugs, I mostly got shrugs. "I don't like to think about it," said one.

But we've been forced to think about drinking, cooking and bathing in this brew. Which sent me and Spousal Unit in search of a solution, so to speak. (Full disclosure: SU's business does some drug-company marketing.)

We figured that since we can't get rid of the drugs, maybe we should go with the flow and add some more. Capitalizing on Philly's new rep for its, uh, varied water, we could brand it with the classic moniker, "Schuylkill Punch." Or maybe start a new brand, "Boathouse Brew."

France has Lourdes, America now has Philly. How about: Come experience Philadelphia's Therapeutic Pharmaceutical Waters. No ... make that Philly's Theraceutial Waters.

SU and I were getting cranked.

The big pharma companies in the area, we figured, could donate extra product for our rivers. Imagine a "theme" for every day of the week: Sedate your Sundays with Xanax. Gear up for Mondays with Dexedrine. On Tuesdays, fight cancer with Tomaxaphin, and so on. And Saturday ... that could be Cyalis-day!

We were on a roll: We imagined we could customize mixes for certain neighborhoods. During exams in University City, pour in Ritalin for snoozy students. During spring in Chestnut Hill, add Benadryl for sneezy souls. And, just about anytime, there's Thorazine for gangbangers across the city.

Which was a truly scary thought that brought our riff to a finish.

Because, however you play it, there is something deeply creepy about poisoning our own wells. Having dirty tap water is an insult to our culture, which leaped forward when we began to provide pure water for all. It's also such a terrible irony to be so dependent on pharmaceuticals, that our excess use puts everyone's health at risk.

Finally, it would be a sad day if Philadelphia — the garden city they grew out of two rivers — became a place whose water is unfit to drink.

(bruce@schimmel.com)