Connect with us

Science

'Show up and share': How one UCLA ICU helps patients and staff live with dying

Published

on

'Show up and share': How one UCLA ICU helps patients and staff live with dying

Extraordinary things happen in the cardiothoracic intensive care unit at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.

The sick rise from bed with new hearts and lungs. Machines valiantly take over for faltering kidneys, heart valves, bronchial tubes. All patients enter with grave health concerns, and the vast majority leave recovered, or at least on the road to healing.

The unit has 150 nurses, at least two dozen of whom are on the floor at any time. They are there for all of it: every intubation and needle stick, every setback, every odds-defying rebound. They bond with their patients and advocate hard for their best interests.

“Our business is living, surviving and getting whatever the patient needs to get there,” said Mojca Nemanic, a critical care registered nurse in the unit.

But sometimes, despite everyone’s best efforts, the most common thing in the world happens here, too. Heartbeats slow and then stop forever. Diaphragms release a final breath and do not contract again. People die.

Advertisement

And when there’s nothing left to fix, CCRN Lindsay Brant said, honoring a patient’s death can be life-affirming.

That’s the ethos behind Community, an initiative Brant proposed two years ago to support patients, their families and unit staff during the dying process.

1

2 Brant caresses the hands of a patient.

3 Two nurses light candles in the ICU.

1. Lindsay Brant rings a bell while meeting with fellow nurses before they tend to patients. 2. Brant caresses the hands of a patient. 3. Brant, left, and unit director Katrine Murray prepare candles. (Al Seib / For The Times )

Advertisement

Led by a 12-member committee of nurses, the initiative gives nurses the tools to care for a patient until, and even after, the moment of death. Community allows these caregivers to advocate as hard for the patient’s preferences at the end of life as they do during their treatment, and to process their own grief after a loss.

“Having somebody survive and recover is such a beautiful story,” said Brant, a 12-year veteran of the unit. “Why shouldn’t death and the transition also be just as momentous?”

The idea for Community began with Marbel, one of Brant’s first patients in her early years in the ICU.

The unit’s nurses speak of patients in broad outlines to preserve their privacy, but even the bare contours of Marbel’s story are haunting: a wound so grievous it nearly severed her body in two; grueling daily treatments that caused as much suffering as they relieved.

Advertisement

Marbel had had enough. Her surgeons wanted to press ahead. In frustration, Brant planted herself in front of the door to her hospital room, barring entry until doctors acknowledged what the patient wanted, which was palliative care and a peaceful death.

The experience sparked a realization, Brant said: A system set up with the noble goal of saving people could at times inadvertently overlook their humanity.

Brant took a course on care for the dying at Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, N.M. She became a certified death doula, a person who helps others prepare for life’s end and supports them during the process.

By 2023, she decided to approach her boss, unit director and CCRN Katrine Murray, with an idea for an initiative that would come to be called Community.

Molly Mayville, Allison Kirkegaard, and Tony Estrada of the Threshold Choir prepare to enter a patient's room to sing

Molly Mayville, Allison Kirkegaard and Tony Estrada, from left, of the Threshold Choir prepare to enter a patient’s room to sing at their bedside in the cardiothoracic ICU at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

Advertisement

Murray was immediately interested. The ICU was still reeling from the trauma of the COVID-19 crisis, in which staff cared for a seemingly endless wave of the pandemic’s sickest patients.

Studies have found critical care nurses to be at significant risk for anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and burnout since the pandemic, thanks to the toxic combination of unrelenting work and the moral distress of watching patients suffer, and often die, without their loved ones present.

“People dying alone — that was one of the things we’ll never get over,” Murray said.

Even before the pandemic, intensive care nurses reported dissatisfaction and frustration with hospital procedures that failed to honor patients’ preferences at the end of life.

Advertisement

A 2018 study of intensive care nurses found no physical procedure or patient diagnosis that correlated with nurse distress. Witnessing a patient’s death, respondents said, was not in itself upsetting.

A group of nurses sit at a table.

Brant, left, and Murray, right, discuss which patients the Threshold Choir will visit.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

But they were three times as likely to report severe emotional distress if they felt that their patient died what they perceived as a “bad” death: afraid, unheard, their wishes and dignity overridden by those around them.

“The dying process is part of humanity, and therefore the process itself needs to be respected, just like the patients themselves need to be respected,” Brant said.

Advertisement

Starting in June 2023, Brant started surveying colleagues about their comfort and experiences with caring for dying patients. She started small group trainings and circulated “cheat sheets” of advice for supporting patients and their families.

Community officially launched in summer 2024. It encompasses a swath of programs intended to comfort patients and make meaning from death.

In the Goals of Care component, nurses talk with patients about their hopes for treatment and comfort with extreme measures, conversations that are documented and used to communicate patients’ wishes to their medical team.

The unit became an early adopter of UCLA Health’s 3 Wishes program, which helps caregivers carry out final requests for patients and their families: a hospital room wedding, a plaster mold of the entwined hands of a patient and their spouse, a last trip outdoors (no small feat, considering the armada of medical equipment that has to come along).

Nurse Lindsay Brant attends to a patient

Brant cares for a patient in the unit.

(Al Seib / For The Times)

Advertisement

Brant connected with the Threshold Choir, a national network of volunteers who sing at the bedsides of the ill and dying. Members of the choir’s Westside chapter visit the unit every Thursday to sing soothing harmonies to patients in need of comfort, regardless of their prognosis.

There is the Moment of Silence, a ritual after a patient’s death in which nurses and doctors join the patient’s loved ones in the hospital room to honor their passing.

And for the staff, there is Show Up and Share, a quarterly session on Zoom and in person to debrief about challenging experiences on the unit. Some people vent. Some people cry. Some participants don’t say anything, but write in the chat how much it means to hear colleagues voice a similar emotion.

The hospital previously made social workers and counselors available to unit nurses, but uptake for their services was low, Murray said. In contrast, Show Up and Share “just works, because we’re doing it for each other as opposed to someone else,” she said.

Advertisement

In late 2024, CCRN Quentin Wetherholt was caring for a patient with a long-term illness when he sensed a subtle change in her demeanor. He initiated a Goals of Care conversation with the patient, her family and doctors that reviewed possible options for treatment, nearly all of which she had already tried. After hearing her choices, the patient spoke up: She no longer wanted life-prolonging measures.

From that point on, the patient’s attitude “was just nothing but joy, ironically. It caught me off guard. Normally, when people realize that they’re facing death, it’s a very sad environment to be in. But with her, it was freeing,” Wetherholt said.

“It was a very difficult road that she was on: lots of pain, lots of surgery. And so for her to have that just instantly be gone, and she could enjoy her time the way she wanted to enjoy it — it brought her back her sense of self.”

Nurse Lindsay Brant attends to a patient in UCLA's cardiothoracic intensive care unit.

“The dying process is part of humanity, and therefore the process itself needs to be respected, just like the patients themselves need to be respected,” Brant said.

(Al Seib / For The Times )

Advertisement

The patient asked relatives to fly in from overseas. She asked for a milkshake. She died peacefully about a week later, with family around her bed.

After the patient’s death, the unit held a Show Up and Share session to grieve for her and for others who had recently passed in the unit.

“Before, it was almost like a point of pride — you know, ‘Death doesn’t affect me, this is what I do for a living,’” Wetherholt said. “But now it’s become such a nice thing to go through with your co-workers, to be able to have this forum to really heal and to not have to bottle it up.”

Early data are promising: In a survey of nursing staff five months after the Moment of Silence began, 92% felt more connected to their patients and families, and 80% felt closer to their teammates. Brant has applied for a grant to share the Community program with the hospital’s six other intensive care units.

“We are a family here, and we treat patients like they’re an extension of our family,” Brant said. “Nursing is the best excuse in the world to love on strangers, to treat all humanity as if it was your closest friend and loved one. And it’s such a gift to be able to do that.”

Advertisement
Continue Reading
Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Science

F.D.A. Scientists Are Reinstated at Agency Food Safety Labs

Published

on

F.D.A. Scientists Are Reinstated at Agency Food Safety Labs

Federal health officials have reversed the decision to fire a few dozen scientists at the Food and Drug Administration’s food-safety labs, and say they are conducting a review to determine if other critical posts were cut.

A spokesman for the Department of Health and Human Services confirmed the rehirings and said that several employees would also be restored to the offices that deal with Freedom of Information requests, an area that was nearly wiped out.

In the last few months, roughly 3,500 F.D.A. jobs, about 20 percent, were eliminated, representing one of the largest work force reductions among all government agencies targeted by the Trump administration.

The H.H.S. spokesman said those employees called back had been inadvertently fired because of inaccurate job classification codes.

The decision to rehire specialists on outbreaks of food-related illnesses and those who study the safety of products like infant formula follows contradictory assertions made by Dr. Marty Makary, the F.D.A. commissioner, in media interviews this week.

Advertisement

“I can tell you there were no cuts to scientists or inspectors,” Dr. Makary said Wednesday on CNN.

In fact, scientists had been fired from several food and drug safety labs across the country, including in Puerto Rico, and from the veterinary division where bird flu safety work was underway. Scientists in the tobacco division who were dismissed in February — including some who studied the health effects of e-cigarettes — remain on paid leave and have not been tapped to return, according to employees who were put on leave.

How many fired employees will be permitted to return remained unclear.

About 40 employees at the Moffett Lab in Chicago and at a San Francisco-area lab are being offered their jobs back, the department spokesman said. Scientists in those labs studied a variety of aspects of food safety, from how chemicals and germs pass through food packaging to methods for keeping bacteria out of infant formula. Some scientists in Chicago reviewed the work and results of other labs to ensure that milk and seafood were safe.

Dr. Robert Califf, the F.D.A. commissioner under President Joseph R. Biden, said the terms “decapitated and eviscerated” seemed fitting to describe the steep loss of expertise at the agency. He said the F.D.A. was already falling behind on meetings meant to help companies develop safe products — and to design studies that give clear answers about their effectiveness.

Advertisement

“Most of it is really at this level of fundamental, day-to-day work that has a huge impact overall, but it’s not very controversial,” he said. “It’s just that it takes work, and they have to have people to do the work.”

Dr. Makary has also said the layoffs did not target product reviewers or inspectors. But their work has been hampered by voluntary departures, the elimination of support staff and the broader disruption at an agency where many are fleeing for the exits, according to former staff members.

Hundreds of drug and medical device reviewers, who make up about one-fourth of the agency work force, have recused themselves from key projects, Dr. Scott Gottlieb, a former agency commissioner, said on CNBC. Under F.D.A. ethics rules, staff members who are interviewing for jobs cannot do agency review work on products by companies where they are seeking employment — or for a competitor.

Dr. Gottlieb also said cuts to the office of generic drug policy wiped out employees with expertise in determining which brand-name drugs are eligible to be made as lower-cost generics, calling those job eliminations “profound.” Approving generic drugs can save consumers billions of dollars.

Support staff for inspectors investigating food and drug plants overseas were also cut, raising security concerns. Dozens of workers who lost their jobs attended to security monitoring to ensure that inspectors were safe, especially in hostile nations.

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Science

Can $1,000 a month help more students land nursing careers? An L.A. pilot effort says yes

Published

on

Can ,000 a month help more students land nursing careers? An L.A. pilot effort says yes

Community colleges play a critical role in addressing California’s persistent demand for healthcare workers, preparing students to become the state’s next generation of nurses, medical assistants and physical therapy aides.

But in the Los Angeles Community College District, where more than half of all students report incomes near or below the poverty line, many people struggle to complete their degrees while also holding down jobs to pay rent, buy groceries and cover child-care costs.

A pilot program at the L.A. district — the state’s largest, with nine colleges and 194,000 students — aims to address these seemingly intractable challenges with a targeted remedy: $1,000 a month in guaranteed income.

Late last year, the district launched an initiative that provides cash payments for 12 months to 251 students with a demonstrated financial need who are pursuing health careers. The funding is unrestricted, so participants can use the money however they see fit.

The goal of the effort, dubbed Building Outstanding Opportunities for Students to Thrive, or BOOST, is to eliminate financial insecurity so that students can focus on achieving their academic goals and the college system can deliver a diverse, multilingual healthcare workforce to serve L.A. in the process.

Advertisement

The Times followed one student through the first months of the new initiative to learn how a guaranteed basic income might influence the lives and choices of L.A. community college students.

“I want to give him opportunities, and in order to do that, I have to get ahead,” Adriana Orea, a single mom, says of her decision to pursue a career as a registered nurse.

Adriana Orea, 32, has known for years that she wanted to pursue a career in nursing. She had worked for a time as a licensed vocational nurse, and found the experience rewarding. But after giving birth to a son two years ago, she set her sights on a higher-paying position as a registered nurse, which generally requires a bachelor’s degree from an accredited nursing program.

“I want to give him opportunities, and in order to do that, I have to get ahead,” said Orea, a single mother. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s missing out on something because I’m not able to provide it for him.”

Advertisement

She had recently returned to school, enrolling at L.A. City College in the prerequisite courses she’ll need to get accepted into a nursing school, when she was selected for BOOST. She received her first cash payment on Thanksgiving.

“I feel very blessed to have been picked,” she told The Times a few days later. “At the same time, I feel like I want to be very responsible with this, because it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Orea lives with her parents and her curly-haired 2-year-old, Kevin, in a rent-controlled building near MacArthur Park. In early December, she was taking three classes and working eight hours a week at the front desk of the college counseling department — a position she got through the state’s welfare-to-work program.

A toddler with curly, dark hair works on a colorful letter puzzle.

Adriana Orea says her parents, both Mexican immigrants who work night shifts as janitors, are crucial partners in helping raise her son, Kevin.

She is quick to express gratitude for her parents, who are crucial partners in helping raise her son. Her parents, both Mexican immigrants who work night shifts as janitors, watch Kevin while Orea is on campus. She covers most of the family’s food expenses with her CalFresh benefits, spending between $500 and $600 a month on groceries, and also pitches in for rent.

Advertisement

“It’s just been living on a budget, which is definitely doable, because I have so much support,” she said.

Of the first $1,000 payment, she spent about $600 on outstanding bills for Kevin’s newborn check-ups that had resulted from a lapse in health insurance. She also used some of the money to buy Christmas gifts for her family and a holiday outfit for herself. She received the second payment in mid-December, and was determined to not dip into it.

“I’m just treating it like I’m not receiving it,” she said.

By January, she already felt more financially secure, having squirreled away $1,000 and knowing more would be coming.

“I might actually have something in the back pocket,” she said. “It’s not just a paycheck-to-paycheck thing.”

Advertisement
Adriana Orea finishes a study session in a library at Los Angeles City College.

Adriana Orea says the $1,000 a month she gets through BOOST has made a world of difference in her stress levels: “I can literally just concentrate on studying for my classes.”

More than 150 guaranteed income pilot programs have launched nationwide in recent years, but BOOST is one of the first focused on community college students.

Proponents tout unconditional cash as a way to provide greater stability to vulnerable community members. But as the concept has gained steam, it has also spurred backlash. Several Republican-led state legislatures are banning or trying to preempt cities and counties from launching direct cash initiatives, arguing publicly funded programs are a waste of taxpayer resources.

The BOOST program is privately funded with more than $3.1 million from the Eli and Edythe Broad Foundation, and $867,500 from the California Community Foundation’s Young Adults Forward Fund. It represents a rare philanthropic investment in California community college students, who number 2.1 million statewide. Typically, more than half of California high school graduates start at a community college.

There is a “massive mismatch of where private philanthropic dollars go and where students in California go to school, particularly if we think about low-income, first-generation and students of color,” said Kelly King, executive director of the Foundation for the Los Angeles Community Colleges. “This level of investment in community college students is very unusual, unfortunately, but it’s very much needed.”

Advertisement

To be eligible for BOOST, students must have selected a health-related major and express interest in pursuing a health career, as well as have a demonstrated financial need and be considered low-income for L.A. County. Participants in the pilot were selected by lottery, with 251 receiving the monthly payments and an additional 370 enrolled in a control group.

Of the total participants, 72% are female, 65% are Hispanic or Latino, and 29% report that the primary language in their household is Spanish, according to data provided by the community college district. The average annual household income is $31,853, and 47% report having children in the household.

Like other pilots, BOOST is designed as a research study. In this case, the Center for Guaranteed Income Research at the University of Pennsylvania is analyzing how the unrestricted payments effect the well-being of students and what role it might play in keeping them on track in completing their healthcare degrees.

“Lack of basic needs, food insecurity and unexpected financial shocks create barriers for students that often push them out of education,” said Amy Castro, the center’s co-founder and faculty director. “Dreaming about your future should be a feature of young adulthood that is open to all — not just the wealthy or those with the good fortune to have ironclad access to higher education.”

Adriana Orea nestles her son on the front stoop of their home.

Among other benefits, Adriana Orea says the money she is saving through BOOST has allowed her to start an emergency fund in case she or her son falls ill and she can’t work.

Advertisement

By mid-February, the guaranteed payments had made a big difference in Orea’s life.

Determined to take advantage of the financial support, she enrolled in four classes for the spring semester. She felt as if her momentum was snowballing, and realized that with better time management, she could also take on a few more hours at work and make a bit more money.

Despite having more on her plate, Orea seemed less stressed. Knowing she didn’t need to hold down a full-time job, or a second part-time gig, to support her son was in itself a huge relief.

“I can literally just concentrate on studying for my classes,” she said.

She had started amassing an emergency fund in case she or Kevin gets sick and she’s unable to work.

Advertisement

She was also feeling more comfortable spending the money. She bought her family a Valentine’s Day lunch at Sizzler, treating her mom to the buffet and her dad to his favorite steak and shrimp dish. She took Kevin to Big Bear to see snow. And if she ran out of time to pack a lunch from home, she didn’t stress about grabbing a sandwich at a doughnut shop near campus.

“I see my bank account going up — I feel like I’m saving,” she said. So, she’s able to tell herself: “This is not a big splurge, I can treat myself.”

By early April, Orea had received $5,000 through BOOST.

She opened a high-yield savings account, with the goal of using her money to make money. She purchased Disneyland tickets to celebrate her mom’s 60th birthday. She had recently received two parking tickets, and while she said she was disappointed to lose money, it wasn’t the crisis hit to her budget that it would have been in the past.

She said receiving the cash — and knowing it was temporary — has made her “laser-focused” on her goals: Finish her prerequisite courses this spring; work part-time as a licensed vocational nurse this summer while studying for her nursing school entrance exam; then apply to schools in the fall and start a nursing program next spring.

Advertisement

“Having this opportunity made me take a hard look at myself and be like, ‘This is what you want. How are you going to get there? Take advantage that you have this,’” she said.

At the same time, her horizons have expanded. Receiving the guaranteed income had freed her from the suffocating sensation of constantly worrying about money.

“Once you feel like there’s one less thing stressing you out, you just feel this relief,” she said. “It clears your mind a little more and you just feel less stressed about everything else.”

Orea said she expects the money she has saved through BOOST will smooth her transition to nursing school. She hopes to receive financial aid to attend a nursing program at L.A. City College or a Cal State university, but said she would take out loans if needed to attend a more expensive private school. She plans to live at home and pick up a couple of shifts each week as a licensed vocational nurse while in school, but said her savings from this year should help ensure she isn’t stretched thin during the two-year program.

She will likely remain in L.A. County after nursing school, she said. She worked in geriatrics previously, but is interested in exploring work in a birthing or neonatal unit. No matter where she works, she will use her Spanish fluency to communicate with patients and their families.

Advertisement

This article is part of The Times’ equity reporting initiative, funded by the James Irvine Foundation, exploring the challenges facing low-income workers and the efforts being made to address California’s economic divide.

Continue Reading

Science

The Trump Administration Wants Seafloor Mining. What Does That Mean?

Published

on

The Trump Administration Wants Seafloor Mining. What Does That Mean?

Life at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean is slow, dark and quiet. Strange creatures glitter and glow. Oxygen seeps mysteriously from lumpy, metallic rocks. There is little to disturb these deep-ocean denizens.

“There’s weird life down here,” said Bethany Orcutt, a geomicrobiologist at Bigelow Laboratory for Ocean Sciences.

Research in the deep sea is incredibly difficult given the extreme conditions, and rare given the price tag.

On Thursday, President Trump signed an executive order that aims to permit, for the first time, industrial mining of the seabed for minerals. Scientists have expressed deep reservations that mining could irreversibly harm these deep-sea ecosystems before their value and workings are fully understood.

Seafloor mining could target three kinds of metal-rich deposits: nodules, crusts and mounds. But right now, it’s all about the nodules. Nodules are of particular value because they contain metals used in the making of electronics, sophisticated weaponry, electric-vehicle batteries and other technologies needed for human development. Nodules are also the easiest seafloor mineral deposit to collect.

Advertisement

Economically viable nodules take millions of years to form, sitting on the seafloor the whole time. A nodule is born when a resilient bit of matter, such as a shark tooth, winds up on the ocean floor. Minerals with iron, manganese and other metals slowly accumulate like a snowball. The largest are the size of a grapefruit.

Life accumulates on the nodules, too. Microbial organisms, invertebrates, corals and sponges all live on the nodules, and sea stars, crustaceans, worms and other life-forms scuttle around them.

About half of the known life in flat, vast expanses of seafloor called the abyssal plain live on these nodules, said Lisa Levin, an oceanographer at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. But “we don’t know how widespread species are, or whether if you mine one area, there would be individuals that could recolonize another place,” she said. “That’s a big unknown.”

Two main approaches to nodule mining are being developed. One is basically a claw, scraping along the seabed and collecting nodules as it goes. Another is essentially an industrial vacuum for the sea.

In both, the nodules would be brought up to ships on the surface, miles above the ocean floor. Leftover water, rock and other debris would be dropped back into the ocean.

Advertisement

Both dredging and vacuuming would greatly disturb, if not destroy, the seafloor habitat itself. Removing the nodules also means removing what scientists think is the main habitat for organisms on the abyssal plain.

Mining activities would also introduce light and noise pollution not only to the seafloor, but also to the ocean surface where the ship would be.

Of central concern are the plumes of sediment that mining would create, both at the seafloor and at depths around 1,000 meters, which have “some of the clearest ocean waters,” said Jeffrey Drazen, an oceanographer at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Sediment plumes, which could travel vast distances, could throw life off in unpredictable ways.

Sediment could choke fish and smother filter-feeders like shrimp and sponges. It could block what little light gets transmitted in the ocean, preventing lanternfish from finding mates and anglerfish from luring prey. And laden with discarded metals, there’s also a chance it could pollute the seafood that people eat.

“How likely is it that we would contaminate our food supply?” Dr. Drazen said. Before mining begins, “I really would like an answer to that question. And we don’t have one now.”

Advertisement

Mining companies say that they are developing sustainable, environmentally friendly deep-sea mining approaches through research and engagement with the scientific community.

Their research has included basic studies of seafloor geology, biology and chemistry, documenting thousands of species and providing valuable deep-sea photos and video. Interest in seafloor mining has supported research that might have been challenging to fund otherwise, Dr. Drazen said.

Preliminary tests of recovery equipment have provided some insights into foreseeable effects of their practices like sediment plumes, although modeling can only go so far in predicting what would happen once mining reached a commercial scale.

Impossible Metals, a seafloor mining company based in California, is developing an underwater robot the size of a shipping container that uses artificial intelligence to hand pick nodules without larger organisms, an approach it claims minimizes sediment plumes and biological disturbance. The Metals Company, a Canadian deep-sea mining company, in 2022 successfully recovered roughly 3,000 tons of nodules from the seafloor, collecting data on the plume and other effects in the process.

The Metals Company in March announced that it would seek a permit for seafloor mining through NOAA, circumventing the International Seabed Authority, the United Nations-affiliated organization set up to regulate seafloor mining.

Advertisement

Gerard Barron, the company’s chief executive, said in an interview on Thursday that the executive order was “not a shortcut” past environmental reviews and that the company had “completed more than a decade of environmental research.”

Anna Kelly, a White House spokeswoman, said the United States would abide by two American laws that govern deep-sea exploration and commercial activities in U.S. waters and beyond. “Both of these laws require comprehensive environmental impact assessments and compliance with strong environmental protection standards,” she said.

Many scientists remain skeptical that enough is known about seafloor mining’s environmental effects to move forward. They can only hypothesize about the long-term consequences.

Disrupting the bottom of the food chain could have ripple effects throughout the ocean environment. An extreme example, Dr. Drazen said, would be if sediment diluted the food supply of plankton. In that case they could starve, unable to scavenge enough organic matter from a cloud of sea dust.

Tiny plankton are a fundamental food source, directly or indirectly, for almost every creature in the ocean, up to and including whales.

Advertisement

Part of the challenge in understanding potential effects is that the pace of life is slow on the seafloor. Deep-sea fish can live hundreds of years. Corals can live thousands.

“It’s a different time scale of life,” Dr. Levin said. “That underpins some of the unknowns about responses to disturbances.” It’s hard for humans to do 500-year-long experiments to understand if or when ecosystems like these can bounce back or adapt.

And there are no guarantees of restoring destroyed habitats or mitigating damage on the seafloor. Unlike mining on land, “we don’t have those strategies for the deep sea,” Dr. Orcutt said. “There’s not currently scientific evidence that we can restore the ecosystem after we’ve damaged it.”

Some scientists question the need for seafloor mining at all, saying that mines on land could meet growing demand for metals.

Proponents of deep-sea mining have claimed that its environmental or carbon footprint would be smaller than traditional mining for those same minerals.

Advertisement

“There has been no actual recovery of minerals to date,” said Amy Gartman, an ocean researcher who leads the United States Geological Survey seabed minerals team, referring to commercial-scale mining. “We’re comparing theoretical versus actual, land-based mining practices. If and when someone actually breaks ground on one of these projects, we’ll get a better idea.”

Eric Lipton contributed reporting.

Continue Reading

Trending