I Was Infected with a Virus to Pay Off My Student Overdraft

No-interest student overdrafts are a lifeline. I lived in and out of mine for the best part of my university years, splurging my student loan as soon as I could, and then scraping by until the next instalment. But an overdraft also hangs over you, especially when it’s for a considerable sum of money.

I wouldn’t say I’m a particularly big spender – however, a mix of the absurd cost of being a student in London, too many pints down the local and the occasional gamble on Bet365 meant that last year, I had once again maxed out my £1,500 Santander student overdraft. 

I knew that, soon, the UK would be opening up from lockdown restrictions and my social life would be busier. I also only had one instalment left of my student loan. Just as I was contemplating hopping back on the bike for Deliveroo, I saw a dodgy looking advert while scrolling through Facebook. It was for something called FluCamp, and it said you could be paid £4,000 to take part in clinical research trials for a new vaccine. Although everyone was tagging their mates in the comments as a joke, the money drew me in: it sounded like the quick fix I needed. 

I called the company straight away, and the next day I had an appointment to get my blood taken at a hospital in Whitechapel, east London. I was paid £25 and told that there was only a slim chance I would be selected for the study, since I’d have to get through various more paid tests. I didn’t get my hopes up and was careful not to spend too much money that I didn't have.

But fast forward three months - plus two blood tests, an ECG and a vaccine injection later (as well as three pay-outs of £150 and an extra one of £50) - I found myself packing my bag to spend two weeks in hospital quarantine. I’d had no side effects from the injection, but my friends thought I was crazy: I was a real-life vaccine guinea pig.

The study was a randomised, double-blind, placebo-controlled trial to test a new vaccine for a respiratory syncytial virus – a common virus with mild, cold-like symptoms. It crossed my mind that it could be risky taking something experimental, but I knew I was healthy. It was approved by the Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency, and after filling out mountains of paperwork I was pretty reassured that it was ethical and safe. 

I was given a big document of “dos” and “don’ts” for the weeks leading up to the quarantine. I had to grapple with my nicotine addiction and give up smoking – as well as drink, weed, recreational drugs and caffeine. Although it was a struggle, it was more manageable thanks to lockdown limiting my social activities. 

The day before the trial, I treated myself to my favourite budget lunch, a BLT poppy seed baguette from Sainsbury’s. An hour after eating, I read over the document again to find a glaring footnote that I had missed: foods containing poppy seeds were forbidden in the run up to the trial because they could lead to a false-positive drug screening. In a flurry of stress, knowing the amount of money at stake, I stuck two fingers down my throat to spew it back up. 

The hospital quarantine finally took place on a Monday in mid-March, when the UK was still in national lockdown. With much relief, my BLT hadn’t had any effects, so I was shown my room and the nurse locked the door. It was clean, clinical, reasonably sized and had Wi-Fi and an en suite, but my heart sank. I had been told there would be a very small chance I wouldn't get a window, but it looked like I was one of the unlucky ones. Two weeks without natural light. 

Every day during the quarantine I was woken up at around 6.30AM by a knock on the door from a nurse. I had a few vials of blood taken before breakfast and various checks in the afternoon. Some days it was more exciting and I’d get an ECG or a spirometer test. I always tried to chat to the nurses because I was craving human contact, but they were all fully kitted out in PPE and you couldn’t even see their faces. Although they always treated me well, it felt really quite apocalyptic.

On the third day, I was infected with the virus. The doctor brought out a large white box with cold steam pouring out of it, like something from a science fiction movie, before pinning me to the bed and shoving the virus up my nostrils with a huge dropper. I broke out in cold sweats and it almost went in my mouth. The whole time, I was on a Zoom call for my International Political Economy Theories class – just as well I had the camera off. 

As the days went on, I got increasingly bored. Although I didn’t really show any symptoms from the virus, I was fatigued and my arm was bruised from having so much blood taken each day. I would sleep and try to write essays, but by the time Friday night came around, the FOMO kicked in as I watched Instagram stories of my flatmates drinking homemade cocktails. I spent my weekend washing my underwear in the sink.

The food was the only thing to look forward to each day, but it still wasn’t great. It was all microwaved, and some dinners were particularly shocking – like the mystery white fish in a watery parsley sauce that smelt like something you would feed your cat. I caught on early to the trick of never throwing away snacks or condiments, and I would always hold on to rolls from breakfast to make emergency crisp butties. 

By the end of the two weeks, I looked awful: my hair had a mind of its own and I had lost two kilos. When I was finally let out, I was expecting some sort of revelation. But the first slither of sunlight was sore on my eyes, and the noise of traffic was overwhelming – for a second I almost missed the simplicity of my windowless room. This was soon erased by my first taste of freedom: a juicy kebab and a tinny of lager.

A few days after leaving, I was paid a lump sum of £1,750. It was a huge relief to see my bank account jump from the negatives to the thousands. A month later, I had a follow up appointment and was paid another £1,000. I treated myself to some new clothes and a couple of PS4 games, but saved the rest for pubs reopening after lockdown. The money came at a brilliant time. 

In August (155 days after the trial), I will be paid my final £1,000, making the total money earned £4,275. I’ll also find out then if I was given a placebo vaccine, and the results of the trial. Although the experience itself was pretty grim, it’s nice knowing that I managed to help somewhat with scientific advancements.

Would I recommend the experience to a friend? You get a bed and food for two weeks, so being a human guinea pig isn’t as bad as you might think – if you’re as desperate for cash as I was, that is. 

As told to @chiarawilkinson.