C5 On Drugs In South America- Part 7 -Antibiotic and Drug Storage Times

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With you host Category5 and special guest, Flightmedic.


Get your printers ready folks. This is another C5 exclusive that you won’t get anywhere else, that you will want to print out on solid paper. Oh, not my usual babble but the PDFs and other info Flightmedic has provided near the end. So, tell your friends. Tell your wife. Tell your lovers wife.

( Updated a week after posting. Now, I noticed, not many people clicked on this post.  I went for complete SHOCK AND AWE in this post, intending to scare off viewers, but that was not what was happening. They simply were not reading the post to be in Shocked and Awed in the first place. I guess DRUGS are taboo…Soooo, I updated the Title so people know what they are getting after the Shock and Awe part. It does rune the suprise though )


Semantics is an interesting subject.

The same English sentence can have several meanings. It depends on what words you put an inflection on, a little more emphasis on, or an almost unnoticed pause between words. Sometimes, it’s simply that, though 2 people use the same words, they are speaking a completely different cultural language. Cultural context is everything. Semantics do not translate well to the internet or the written word. You can’t read the person. It’s hard to tell sarcasm or if a person is serious. Did a person just insult you or was there a raised side of the lip that communicates that the insult was a sign of familial friendship and you trusted each other enough to say something inappropriate that if a stranger said it, would deserve a punch in the face if not boot heel to the skull.

In my strange life, I have been several different people. I have recreated myself many times. It’s always frightening when I do it. A lover once told me, “I know you. You are always afraid… and you always do it anyhow. That is the definition of bravery. A fearless person is not the same. A fearless person is not brave. They are mentally ill. A fearless person is a sociopath. They don’t understand consequence. You are not a sociopath. You are brave.” I was flattered but also relieved.

Context is everything. At that time, I had recently had a sociopath in my life. I didn’t recognize it. I couldn’t see it coming. They seemed brave and exciting like me. Afterwards I had worried that I had attracted that into my life or that I might be the same type of monster. That particular sociopath would never understand that their actions had just ended my life. I instantly understood, when the monster was revealed, that they had just killed me… but it would take years for me to die.

Wow.  That’s the most personal thing I have shared on the subject online or to most people I know that I usually try to shield it all from. I need to take a break here for a moment. I need a smoke.

Well that break took a few hours longer than expected to recover. Yes, a couple of posts back, I came out of the closet to reveal I am a survivor of PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder. I survived. By the way, I am doing great. If anything, I feel some survivor guilt while others still suffer and many die from it. I luckily, eventually got the help I needed from a specialist in PTSD. I was able to trust her because she knew intimately one of the neighbourhoods I was from, knew the players and had volunteered there in the same place I had “Served”. Because you can’t see my face or the inflections in my voice on the written page, I used the term “served” with contempt.

Which swings us back to semantics. When you read the Title, I wonder what you heard. Is C5 on drugs? Is he doing coke? Perhaps he is exploring Ayahuasca tourism? Now that he has revealed PTSD, maybe he is talking about prescription mental health drugs. Maybe I read that wrong and C5 is going to talk about the South American drug trade.

Nope. This is all the lead up to me introducing you to my good friend, Flight Medic, on drug storage times. Specifically antibiotics. The ones most relevant to disaster management. If you remember my “lethal diarrhea” story you will realize these aren’t individual articles but that this series is one long train of thought. It plays out in a particular order. But before you meet him…

I’m not quite done yet.

Semantics. “When you say (…), what do you mean?”. That is a simply trick for understanding communication between different cultures or sub-cultures. People look at me like an alien when I tell them that the far left and the far right believe most of the same things and don’t know it, while completely fearing the other. They simply can’t talk to each other because they are speaking a different cultural language.

Back to Jesus… or Chris Martenson… sorry. I get the two mixed up sometimes. Chris is sort of the best at translating between the two so you can ,sort of, think of him as bi lingual. (Ha Ha. That C5 just said “bi” again… and “lingual” and he did it lickety split! A cunning linguist). If you haven’t watched his 4 hour series, “The crash course”, book the time investment into your life.


Rice Farmer is also pretty good at this bilinguilarity.


Me, I learned it from infiltrating Cults. A weird phase of my life but very educational. It was my first “undercover” work. I won’t get into my reasons for doing this but I learned how to overcome my fear of the “other” by investing months of siting in the background, listening and watching social interactions. The 1st thing I learned was that all of these groups spoke their own language. It only seemed like English. If I wanted to talk to them or argue effectively, first I had to understand them.

Example. Perhaps you have met a Christian missionary along the way. You may have noticed that they use a lot of funny words. It’s jokingly called “christianese”. There use of words like grace or blood or soldier have completely different meanings than modern English which is constantly evolving.

So when trying to understand a new Cult… or Culture, we are back to being brave enough to overcome fear, patience, and then ask, “When you say (…) what do you mean?”


(news update – I just observed my 2nd robbery since being here. This time in our own neighbourhood. I didn’t notice the event. My instinct kicked in when I noticed 2 men running. I instantly focused on anyone moving at an irregular pace. At first I just thought they were rough housing, which is normal here. On more than one occasion I have stumbled onto 2 young bucks setting up against each other to fight and one will punch the other in the face. Then one will be holding his face and both will be laughing. These are the descendants of the Inkas, afterall. This tendency stays into adulthood. I have seen old men splash their friends with a hose, throw a plastic bottle at someone’s unsuspecting head, trip someone they are walking with or sneak up on someone and pretend to snatch their wallet. One time the person instantly turned around to stare directly at me before his friend that had snuck by him broke out laughing. But in the robbery, the front runner hopped onto the back of a waiting motorcycle that gunned it into traffic. The chaser almost caught the guy and would have if he hadn’t been hobbled by his dangling computer bag that he was trying to stabilize with one arm as he ran. My guess is that this person had an expensive smart phone grabbed out of his hands. I also guess that this took place in an internet café that would be a target to steal an expensive laptop or phone in a snatch and run. This is the 2nd time I’ve seen this two person snatch and escape vehicle. So that is how they do it here.

So what have I learned. Don’t overfocus on the thief. Look for his partner and go for the getaway driver. A thumb in the eye will ruin even a professional fighter’s, cop or soldier’s day. And that, my friends, is about the only combat advice I will ever give you on this blog. I don’t know you. I refuse you to teach you anything I know about the application of violence. The internet and other shit survival sites are already full of this shit. It is a distraction. I won’t contribute to it. Sure, someone may try to kill you once or twice in your life… but you have to eat every single day… often, more than once. That should teach you the percentage you should focus on each topic of preparedness. If you lose your job and can’t afford to eat, your SHTF tactical AR-15 with all the Lego accessories is going into the pawn shop at pennies on the dollar for groceries to keep you children fed for one more week. Then again, it’s probably still useful for armed robbery… or for a Broke and Broken, unprepared “prepper expert” to end their consequence filled life with a bullet. Insert sarcastic irony inflection here. So what should you learn from this event. Don’t be staring at your expensive phone in a public place having no awareness of what’s happening around you. Duh. Don’ be flashing expensive status symbols in public. Double duh. Now I can hear the wealthy preppers whining, “I worked hard for this. Those lazy socialist commies just don’t like it because of envy and envy is a sin”. Oh, it’s a sin alright. Look at it this way. If you bought something to show off your alpha male status, say an expensive car or truck, that’s very purpose is to create envy, and if you get car jacked at gunpoint, that car has fulfilled its intent. It was envied and then a Real alpha male showed you your bitch place. The REAL competitive free market without the nanny state. If you used this as an excuse to Hate On the poor… now, THAT is a Real Sin and Jesus would spit on you. But the much more important lesson here is don’t own an expensive smart phone. The costs and extortive cell phone plans are robbing you. It’s more lifestyle than you can afford if you ever want to buy your way out of slavery. But the gods of Dirk Gently must be happy and fucking with me a bit because this was the next line I was about to right before the robbery…)


So, I was taking a walk back to the Parada market I mentioned in a previous post. I try to learn all the hidden routes through town, if only for escape routes. This route brought me to the poor, back end of the market, which is Totally Sketch. It’s a rough and dirty area. At the beginning of my time down here in South America, I would have just turned around and found a safer route. But I have been here enough that I had already felt that fear, took its warning and was ready to confront it. Fear is a good thing. It let’s you know you are out of your depth. It’s there to keep you alive. But each place I had turned around before, I eventually found myself back at. The 2nd time I knew what to expect. I knew it was sketchy… and I pushed on. Now, don’t think I am being stupid here. I am very street smart. My situational awareness is in high gear. Being 6’3’’ with a biker beard helps. I have had people come at me here… but I saw them, looked at them to let them know I saw them, then looked away as if they weren’t interesting so not to trigger confrontation. They always veered off knowing I was more than they can handle. I walk a balancing line through subtle internalized shifts of emotion, communicating to people that I am no threat and a nice guy. Then I can also shift to a posture and facial deadness that communicates to people, “If you fuck with me, I will flay your children with a blow torch while you watch”. I’d love to show you photos of some of these awesome places but there is no way in hell I would pull out a camera here.

Sooooo, as I am walking down this street straight out of a dystopian novel, this woman in the passenger seat of a grubby 5 ton delivery truck opens the cab door and says Buenos dias with an honest smile. A block later, a vendor with a tear drop tattoo by his eye that he had reworked into a Nike sign since leaving prison, gave me a double take but then gave me an honest greeting. Then a vendor amongst a couple of competing vendors selling racks of recycled cart wheels did the same.  (everything, even cart wheels, get recycled and resold here) It’s not like they haven’t seen a gringo before. They had just never seen one walk down this road before. Only poor outcasts try to sell their wares here. Don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t bohemian utopian unicorns shitting skittles out of their ass. I owe that line to Re over at the Doomstead Diner. Some people gave me the stare of, what the hell are you doing here.

It’s just that familiarity dispels fear. This creates  better perception and adaptation.

As soon as I have mentioned that I have been hanging out at the Parada market, I have seen local’s disposition to me completely change and they suddenly… became honest. One older gentleman that didn’t speak any English, after he heard me mention Parada, gave me the nudge on the shoulder that said, “I’m in. I am a local. I am no longer one of the Do Goody, NGO volunteers that are just here as an excuse for a vacation.” They had seen it before. They knew the hypocrisy. They had simply been being polite to the poor delusional Canadians.

Remember, there is a circular logic going on here. It leads to antibiotic storage times. If you don’t like this writing style feel free to go try and find the information somewhere else.

For me this all leads back to my very strange time of infiltrating cults.

About this time, there was a particular conspiracy theory going around that all these cults were part of a New Age conspiracy. Supposedly, they were all doing rituals to invoke Lucifer, shot lasers into space in 666 patterns to be recognized by alien demons and they control the U.N. through the Trilateral Commission and the Club of Rome to coral Christians into concentration camps for execution after giving them the mark of the beast. A powerful fear based conspiracy theory for a certain type of people.

Long before the spastic Alex Jones, there was Bob Larsen promoting this on the airwaves. This was sort of a non-racist, or racist lite version of the Jewish conspiracy theory promoted by the Klan and assorted splinter groups. The Survivalist tie in here was the Christian Patriots Defense League, which was a militant arm of the Klan training to fight a race war. They ended up being promoted in survivalist magazines. Now will you ever hear the words Christian Patriots again without thinking of them.. More about them in another post. The New Age conspiracy theory also mirrored the Birch Society’s, Communist Conspiracy theory and the Protestant Chick Tracks, Catholic Papacy conspiracy theory. This was all pre-Alex Jones who I often refer to as Alex Jonestown, after the Reverend Jones, Jonestown massacre. Jones is just going to pull it all off on a Rwanda massacre sized national scale. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid.

Now boots on the ground told a different story.

This wasn’t a grand conspiracy allied to the anti-christ doing mass child sacrifices. It was flaky, counter-conspiracy theorists more worried about being abducted by aliens and being anally raped. Anal rape fantasies play into a big part of conspiracy theories. Sigmund Freud would just pass a doob to you and say, “seriously dude. Just come out.” The other supposed new world order conspirators were flaky hippies that just liked crystals, incense and Enya. Supposedly they had a secret army allied to the blue berets.

Wow. How much of a Chicken Shit, piece of human garbage do you need to be to be afraid of Pacifist hippies. Seriously. How is this even possible amongst people. Monkey instinct behaviour, fear of the “other” mixed with potent fear based propaganda is the only thing that makes sense to me.

In my sexually repressed state, I even ended up with a woman that spent time with the Rajneesh cult, could projectile female ejaculate across the room onto the wall, taught other women to do it, and wanted to train me to be a tantric sex teacher because I knew how to worship her inner goddess and on top of that she was a close friend of Tony Robbins. Seriously. I can’t make this shit up. I was creeped out the first time she splooshed because I thought she had just peed on me while doing the dirty. Now, does this sound like the master mind, co-conspirator of a grand conspiracy where the Muslims, the Pope and the Jews have all allied under the United Nations and a rainbow bridge to Lucifer to bring in the mark of the beast. Are you kidding me? We have to have a serious talk about lithium and when did you last stop taking it.

Boots on the ground.

All of this starts by taking a Bilbo Baggins moment. “It’s a dangerous business Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road and if you don’t keep your feet there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.” Circular logic coming around here.

When I told my story of the event that gave me PTSD to my PTSD specialist counsellor her words were, “That’s Horrible. Why haven’t you killed yourself. I have met many people like you before. They are all junkies. Why aren’t you a junkie?” I guess I had peeked her curiosity.

PTSD wasn’t some Rambo shit. It didn’t give me enviable super powers. It wasn’t a sign of proof that I had served my country. It was just one tragic but ordinary event that I had experienced many times before. But this time, for whatever reasons, my mind could not process it. So I had the pleasure of reliving the experience as if it had just happened the first time as many as a 100 times a day and then nightmares going on into the nights. The body can only handle so much stress. It was like trying to run a Datsun on high octane jet fuel. It was worse than a living death. After talking with her for over a year, the memory finally dislodged from where it had been stuck and finally went into the long term memory file. Halle-Fucking-lluya. I have no intention to every revisit those memories. I’ve lived there long enough. I no longer really have PTSD. I am a survivor of it. I do still have to live with the consequences of it.  A completely rewired brain. It sucks but I can live with that. Having a form of long term brain damage is way, way better than what I have lived through, Day in and Day out, for over half a decade.


So why am I telling you this? How can me exposing this about myself, to you, possibly help me in the slightest?


It is because, as these inevitable disasters that I have been talking about come to pass, someone you know, a family member, maybe even you, will have to live with this. Just as many people here do. You will not be able to escape this touching your life. PTSD will just be normal. So we need to humanize this subject now.

This gives me an idea for a future post when I get back to Canada. I’ll try seeing if my ex counsellor is willing to give an interview for you all on PTSD prevention strategies and disaster treatment under non-ideal circumstances. Maybe some management skills.

And by the way, she told me that my future world view is indeed correct. It really is as bad as I have been saying. This is not hyper vigilance which is a form of the disease. And that it is the general population that has these powerful mental blocks to not acknowledge it.

So back to cult infiltration. Though it was a weird phase of my life, this personal training allowed me to, eventually, visit all sorts of sub-cultures within our own culture. I’ve spend quality time with bikers, drag queens and plenty of naked backpacking hippie chicks. I’ve hung out in dingy punk bars, visited Black Block squatters encampments, and even west coast gutter punks which are absolutely fascinating. They are a totally self-destructive group… and yet somehow totally adapted to the collapse of western civilization. I remember having a conversation with someone about Y2K. He said, “If it happens I’m going to be sitting on a corner, right in the middle of downtown, with a couple of bottles of rum in my backpack, laughing at all the spoiled yuppies that have absolutely no clue how to survive. It will be just one more day for us. We are like cockroaches. You just can’t kill us.” I’m also quite comfortable hanging out in gay clubs. I came to appreciate the early UFC star Tank Abbott because he got this. He said he usually drank in gay clubs because it was the only place he could just relax. It was the only place no one tried to start a fight with him. Because he was comfortable amongst them he could use it in his fighting to psyche out opponents by playing on their homophobic fears. He would tell opponents, the thought of fighting them gave him an erection. Speaking of erections, one time I walked into a gay club and my first view was a naked man dancing in a glass shower with hard woody bobbing around. I am never going to be able to scrub that image from my poor brain. Strangely, gay clubs are a great place to pick up women. Personally, when a gay man hits on me I’m not threatened in the slightest. I am horribly flattered. It means I’ve got this whole manly man vibe going on that’s attractive to men who really like MEN.

I’ve spent a lot of time with first and second generation Goths in their nightclubs. The fourth gen ones, post-Marilyn Manson, don’t interest me in the slightest as they are just nerds playing dressup. But older Regulars enriched my life by introducing me to my favorite hardcore industrial music. Ministry. Nine Inch Nails. Rob Zombie. Sisters of Mercy. Skinny Puppy. And the band that launched modern music, Joy Division. I am amazed at how many people down in South America wear Joy Division t-shirts. They get it.

In fact if I were to have a theme song, if there was a song that represented this blog, it would be this. Each time you hear KMFDM, think C5…

I remember chatting with a bouncer at a Goth club. He said it was like his vacation. Shit still happened but he had never had a Goth walk up to him and punch him in the head. No one would even think of doing that. Now don’t be thinking to yourself that these folks in makeup, leather and lace are fem or weak. You have got to be tough to be everyone’s target.

I remember one time the wrong puffed up rough neck walked into the club. My instincts instantly picked him up. He was immediately out of place. I can just imagine some “fag” comment he must have made to this little, make upped, Smashing Pumpkins looking, tightly wound bundle of rage. The little pole cat instantly layed in to him with a dozen lighting punches that brought the Big Rig Pig to the floor, then laid the doc martens to his head, half a dozen times. Then he casually tossed his leather jacket over his shoulder and escorted himself out of the bar before the bouncers even noticed what happened. I was not inclined to give first aid as I figured he got what he deserved. An ambulance brought him out on a stretcher, still unconscious. The lesson here is anyone from a hardcore dance culture where they dance at least three times a week has fantastic cardio and years around a mosh pit will train you to stay on your feet in a mob. Boots are weapons. Goths often carry knives. Studded leather is armour. I have actually added plastic plate inserts into my biker vest to turn knife attacks or lessen road rash.

death on paper c

Speaking of places you will find the world’s sexist women … dancing topless, I’ve also spent quality time in fetish clubs. I’ve seen more people spanked than an authoritarian head master in a Catholic boarding school. If I haven’t shocked you enough and scared off the timid, I got a very close up view of a woman publicly inserting a full beer can into her vagina because she enjoyed such activities.


There. That should have cleared out a certain type of prepper reader Im comfortable not sharing survival advice with. I’m working my way around to the reason I’m telling you all this stuff.

Just one more. I can only share this because I have no idea where the event took place and I never ask people’s names. I was taken to a series of truly epic bush parties. Wearing two battle blades in a homemade shoulder rig, one on each shoulder, they took one look at me and commented to each other, “Ya. He is one of us.” It was a very odd collection of ex-skin heads that had seen the light and turned militant anti-fascist, some sketchy drug dealers, survivalists, idealistic socialist revolutionaries and a handful well fucking armed hippies in tie-dye. Think fast, logger. I could do a full post of  the over the top stories that happened here. Each time the event ended, the general consensus was “That was awesome! Thank god nobody died!” which was a real possibility considering the level of drug use, hard drinking, semi-automatic weapons, chain saws and car chases. It would be my second near miss of having to deal with CSIS, Canada’s version of the CIA/FBI, as they had raced into the area. It might have had something to do with the explosions.

CSIS was hunting for terrorists. Boots on the ground, told a different story. It was just some crazy Good’ol Boys blowing off steam by throwing off the shackles of civilization for a few weekends a year

I could keep this up all day. These stories of different cultures. My point being, I first went to all these events, all these subcultures, because either I was a bit afraid of the group or I saw them as somehow morally comprised. I risked my very soul to know these people. But once I got to know all these people and places, the fear disappeared. These were just people like everyone else. More importantly, over time, these tribes became my own. They enhanced my personality. People I once feared on some level… I was now emotionally invested in. All these groups, friendly Muslims, crime reporters, lesbian granola types, generous Sikhs, circus side show freaks, underground artists, voodoo practitioners, illegal booze can operators, Ninjitsu practitiones, junkies and crack whores, wilderness rave goers, witches, forest pot growers, and urban anarchists have all become my neighbours, my lovers, and my friends. Simply because I would not be ruled by my fears and pushed myself outside of my comfort zone.


I was pretty sure Flightmedic was a cop when we first started communicating with each other.


It was his way of writing. His communication style. I figured I had finally gotten on the radar of some alphabet soup agency for trying to organize a group of preppers. They would have gotten really bored listening in about raising chickens, permaculture gardening and food shopping sales. Covert, online grocery store sales announcements. It must be code for something.

When I finally got together with him… I was even more convinced he was an agent. It was his posture. His disposition. The mustache didn’t help. Remember my semi-serious C5 rule, “never trust anyone with a mustache” (he has since cut it off)

But the Giant Red Flag for me was when he told me he had PTSD. I was sure it was a set up, he was just trying to win my trust and someone had been reading my emails.


C5 rule of survival – never trust anyone that tells you what you want to hear. That person is a cop, a con man, a killer or they just want to sleep with you wife.


It’s all funny in retrospect. He is now one of the very few people on the planet that, even if I hadn’t heard from him for a couple of years, if I got a call a 3 a.m. asking for my help to get rid of a body, I’d curse a few times, stick a hacksaw and some garbage bags in my pack, strap a shovel on the motorcycle and head off for the 4 hour cold and miserable motorcycle ride.

Though our histories, social classes and life experiences are completely different, he is one of the very few people I have met that I would consider an equal. I can’t really say what that rare “equal” commodity is. The cop vibe I was picking up is because he has been around plenty of them and other government agencies.

Flightmedic is a Best of the Best guy. Let me not understate that. Other Best of the Best guys I have known, their jaws would hang open if he told them the places he had been and the people he had been responsible for.

Flightmedic has since gone on to be the public face of a fight with the government over First Responders with PTSD getting the help they need and compensation. And by the way, he won that fight. First responders are in a far safer place because of him.

The eye opening moment for him becoming a prepper, was when the power went out in the very northern city he was living and working in. Because of his insider position, he knew they were two hours away from having to evacuate the entire city by airlift. The temperatures would destroy the entire infrastructure of the city and homes. There would be no return. That city would have been over. Unlivable. That was his wake up call to the vulnerabilities of our culture. So he decided to move south.



What he is sharing with you is based on a few brief messages. At least one of these, he has provided, should be printed onto solid paper and put into your medical supplies, as I have done with mine.

Here is Flightmedic



Tuck this information away, and share it with other medical folks you know in the prepping movement. The attached info is VERY hard to find anywhere, and shows how long most important drugs are actually good for. The big drug companies place very conservative dates on lots, in an effort to encourage turn over and buying additional drugs. A current practice that was brought in by North American pharmacists 20 years ago is to date whatever med is dispensed into a bottle to the consumer for expiry of one year from dispensing, regardless of the expiry date of the lot. The actual shelf life of drugs has been determined in a study by the US Army, contracting to the FDA, called the SLEP or Shelf Life Extension Project for wartime pharmaceuticals. Data from the SLEP is NOT available to the general public from the FDA or the US Military, but the Journal of Pharmaceutical Sciences published a study of the SLEP data, which is what I attached. Again, very hard to find, most medical professionals are unaware of the true shelf life potential of drugs.


The five Antibiotics I would choose for storage are-

Zithromax-   UTI, septic, upper resp., gonorrhoea 500 mg, max 6 day course = 3 grams per course. Extended storage date not available, estimated to be 4 years from date of manufacture.

ampicillin- Sepsis, gonorrhoea, ear infection, UTI, skin infections, broad spectrum. 500 mg Q6h (2 grams daily), 14 days max course= 28grams per course. Stable for 6 years from date of manufacture.

Cipro- Anthrax, UTIs, infectious diarrhea, gonorrhoea.  750 mg BID, max 14 day course = 21 grams per course. Stable for 10 years from date of manufacture if stored properly.

amoxicillin- Ear, nose, throat, resp. infections, UTIs, tooth abscess. 500 mg QID, max 10 day course= 5 grams per course(15 grams if there is a threat of lyme disease). Stable for three years from date of manufacture.

doxycycline (Tetracycline an acceptable alternative)- Malaria, lyme disease, diarrhea, E coli, staph infections, UTIs, STDs, gram positive and negative bacteria. 100 mg BID, 14 day course = 7 grams per course (average). Stable for 5 years from date of manufacture if stored properly (tetracycline good for 3 years from date of manufacture).


In my opinion, based on my research into disaster medicine, analysis of disease patterns post- disaster (Katrina, Tsunamis, etc.), here are the Most likely diseases, SHTF-

* E Coli (treatable with Cipro, doxycycline)

* Tuberculosis (Treatable with Cipro, although a two month course is minimum)

* Hep A (Vaccine, Twinrix)

* Measles (Vaccine)

* Dysentary (treatable with Cipro)

* Upper respiratory infections

* Cholera (treatable with doxycycline, can possible be prevented with oral vaccine Dukoral as well as treating potable water)

* Typhoid (Treatable with Cipro, ampicillin, amoxicillin).

* STDs (doxycycline)


I can offer two things; one is the handout that I gave everyone at the Nova Scotia preppers meet, and the other is the ds-stability profile sheet.


ds-Stability_Profiles   PDF file

Abx hand-out   PDF file


The Drug stability pdf is very interesting… This is HIGHLY sought after information, and often misunderstood among preppers; This study was launched by the US DoD, performed by the FDA using actual stock from the DoD stored in less than ideal real world conditions (high temp, lots of variations). Bottom line is most stuff stores a LOT longer than what the expiry date suggests. For example, Ciprofloxin (fyi, effective for lyme disease and anthrax) is good almost forever. A few things were either not tested or the DoD imposes shelf life rules due to the nature of the drug (i.e.- Nitro for heart attack, they will not take a chance on using outdated stock). This information was protected and kept from the public (not secret squirrel, just that the DoD wanted to keep it to themselves and told the FDA that their work product was copyrighted by the DoD). This particular chunk of info was eventually released in a pharmaceutical journal that is peer reviewed, and is obscure enough that it is difficult to find, but here it is!


( C5 here again. I had to ask Flight medic one more question, “How about old antibiotics causing liver failure. Is it just some. Is it, sort of, you choose between the infection and losing a liver or is it more like the liver damage I do by drinking hard. Any thoughts on the antibiotic apocalypse or antibiotic resistance”.)

It’s a good question; Most cases of liver failure secondary to taking a medication normally involves someone with a compromised liver (think- hepatitis). Tylenol is the most frequent culprit (long duration, high dose), antibiotics RARELY cause it… most often Amoxicillin with clavulan. Long term Cipro use (for lyme disease reversal) can cause joint problems and muscle weakness, but we are talking about long courses of it here… I was on high dose Cipro following my cancer surgery for 3 months, and I noticed muscle weakness and pain, never had a tendon rupture because I took it easy until I recovered. Either way, there is ALWAYS a risk- benefit conversation one should engage in when you are considering medication usage.

In the context of prepping, if someone is digging into their stash, they are likely already comprised, health wise, and the risks associated with antibiotics are not nearly as important as what is going on with their health.

Antibiotic resistent cooties are becoming more common because people do not take their meds as prescribed (Hey, I felt better, so I stopped the antibiotics, but the cooties were not completely gone and came back stronger than ever). This is the reason why it is imperative to have additional options, including raw honey for topical stuff


(Thanks Again Flight Medic. You are a Rock Star! Let’s get together again soon.)

Stay tuned for Survival Acres, The Fallacy of Bugging Out.