SATURDAY,FEBRUARY22,2020 | THEGLOBEANDMAIL O OPINION | O 7smile disappear on the other end
of the line. Even all these years lat-
er, my parents still get upset
whenever anyone brings up Eri-
ka’s diagnosis. She was the
daughter of a family friend who’d
been diagnosed with autoim-
mune diabetes immediately after
a vaccine for hepatitis B. Her
mother, a medical doctor, as-
sumed there was a link between
the vaccination and the onset of
the disease shortly after. When
my parents found out, they were
horrified.
My mom said that they’d heard
a lot of bad stories about vaccines
at the time – especially about the
hepatitis B shot. It had been
shown to cause autoimmune is-
sues, she said. Apparently, it was
so dangerous that France had de-
cided to ban its use entirely.
Taking the risk, she explained,
just wasn’t worth it. From that
point on, my parents stopped
vaccinating me and my sisters. Al-
though they didn’t have a record
of exactly which vaccines I’d re-
ceived, my mom was certain I was
missing hepatitis B and HPV, not
to mention most of my booster
shots.By the time we hung up the
phone, I was shaking all over. Al-
though I was furious, I was also
very confused. I knew that the
vaccine-autism link had been dis-
proved, but I’d never heard of a
French vaccine crisis. I wasn’t
sure what to believe.
Eventually, I did find the story
my mom had been so worried
about. I learned that the French
Ministry of Health had tempora-
rily suspended the hepatitis B
vaccine program in schools. Yet,
this decision was made in re-
sponse to public concerns about
the vaccine, not because of any
scientific evidence supporting
those concerns. Unfortunately,
just as with the MMR vaccine and
autism, a seed of doubt had been
planted. Today, even after multi-
ple research studies have shown
the opposite, many people con-
tinue to believe the vaccine can
spark multiple sclerosis, as well as
a long list of other conditions.The academic in me knew I
should trust the science, but the
five-year-old who had been raised
to fear vaccines wasn’t so sure. In-
stead, my mother’s warning – “It’s
very dangerous, Alice” – bore its
way deep down into my core, in
that special way that only a moth-
er’s words can. Slowly, doubt
started to creep in again. A small
part of me found itself wonder-
ing: Could my mother be right?
I kept my doubt to myself. Ask-
ing for help would be too shame-
ful to bear. It would mean admit-
ting that I was questioning the ri-
gour of the science behind vac-
cines, something that, as
someone who hoped to pursue a
career in research, I simply wasn’t
prepared to do.
Instead, I became obsessed
with immunization research.
Over the next few months, I
worked with a frenzy I’d seldom
experienced before, determined
to understand what, exactly, had
happened in France. Suddenly,
my PhD topic became deeply per-
sonal, a battle between the par-
ents who had raised me and the
science to which I’d decided to
dedicate my life. I read voracious-
ly, making my way through alter-
native “health news” sites, World
Health Organization press releas-
es, scientific research articles and
more. I needed truths – not just
for my own sake, but also for my
mom’s.
I had expected my search to
answer all of my questions – that
science would provide irrefutable
“evidence” that my mom was
wrong. Yet, where I had expected
to find clarity and certainty, I
found only more confusion, more
doubt.
Yes, the vast majority of scien-
tists agree that vaccines are safe.
But, as with all science, there re-
main unresolved questions, con-
flicting results and differing inter-
pretations within that consensus.
To those within the scientific
community, these uncertainties
are seen as normal and even de-
sirable – a core component of the
scientific process – but to outside-
rs, they can be disorienting and
disconcerting. They can, effec-
tively, become the seeds of doubt.As I tried to parse dense aca-
demic paper after dense academ-
ic paper, I became keenly aware
that I, too, am an outsider to this
science. Yes, I have a master’s de-
gree, multiple years of research
experience and a solid under-
standing of scientific methodolo-
gy. But, like my mom (and many
other vaccine-hesitant parents), I
do not have a background in im-
munology. I am not specialized in
the methods and terminology of
vaccine science, nor did I have the
expertise to evaluate every im-
munology study I encountered,
to fact-check every suspicious
claim.
For all my academic training, I,
too, struggled to separate scientif-
ic fact from fiction. I, too, was of-
ten led astray.
When I shared my findings
with my mom, she took me by
surprise. She conceded.
“I must have been wrong about
the hepatitis B vaccine,” she ac-
knowledged, nodding as she tried
to take it all in.
As I watched, her expression
shifted from deep thought to re-
gret. I saw a sadness I hadn’t ex-
pected.
“But you have to understandthat I did the best I could with the
information I had,” she said.
“Things would be different now.”
She had been so busy at that
time, she explained, working and
trying to care for three young chil-
dren. What had happened to Eri-
ka had been so alarming, so per-
sonal. She simply didn’t have the
time to look into it further. She
did what she thought was best for
all of us. She took the story as
truth.
As I tried to wrap my head
around my mom’s words, I found
myself thinking back on my par-
ents – on what it must have been
like for them to go through this
process back in the nineties,
when they were deciding wheth-
er to vaccinate me and my sisters.
Were they equally confused by
the conflicting reports? By the jar-
gon and the uncertainties, the
stories and press releases?
Above all, I was struck by the
unbelievable wealth of informa-
tion – both good and bad – that
was available to me now. At this
point, I’d been accepted into my
doctoral program, so I had access
to almost every academic article
ever published, including those
in paid subscription journals. I al-
so had the privilege of a high-
speed internet connection, while
my parents had barely had access
to dial-up back when the early
vaccine-related rumours first
started cropping up. If trying to
make sense of this information
was hard for me now, what would
it have been like for my parents –
with less access, less tools, less
time at their disposal?
But I also realized that infor-
mation alone, no matter how
credible, would never have been
enough. Yes, science is one of the
most powerful sense-making
tools we have available to us. It
can help us distinguish between
evidence and superstition, causal
relationship and surprising co-
incidence. Yet, no matter how
large the sample size, how rigor-
ous the methods, or how narrow
the confidence intervals, trusting
in science is exactly that – an act
of trust. And if this experience
taught me anything, it’s that trust
is not a fact-based reaction. It’s adeeply, deeply emotional one.
If we truly want to increase vac-
cination rates, we cannot contin-
ue to see things so starkly in
terms of “us” and “them.” Putting
the facts out there and hoping
people will find them is not
enough – nor is calling out misin-
formation and fake news, point-
ing fingers, assigning blame. To
create real change, we need to be
ready to listen – deeply and fully–
to those who think differently,
and support them with empathy
and care. For everyone’s sake, we
need to start building bridges
across the divides in our society,
so that those who want to discov-
er what’s on the other side are not
left to do so alone.
My parents and I still don’t see
eye to eye on everything. But we
do respect each other. Of course,
they’ve made some choices over
the years that I don’t agree with,
but they certainly weren’t irre-
sponsible. They made every deci-
sion – even the wrong ones – for
our benefit. They did the best
they could with the information
they had. They were human.Last October, I walked into the
public-health clinic to finish my
last round of shots.
I greeted the nurse, sat down
and started to roll up my sleeve.
About halfway through, I had to
stop.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked
the nurse.
I took a deep breath, reminded
myself of all my research and
about the two other rounds of
vaccines that went just fine.
Despite these reassurances,I
was still scared. I could hear my
mother’s warnings. I could feel
her fear and doubt – but also her
love and fierce desire to protect
me and my sisters.
I took another breath and fin-
ished rolling up my sleeve. “Go
ahead,” I said to the nurse. “I’m
ready.”
When the needle went in,I
cried like a baby.
“There, there,” said the nurse.
“I know this can hurt.”
It did. But not quite in the way
that she meant it.MyparentsandIstill
don’tseeeyetoeye
oneverything.Butwe
dorespecteachother.
Ofcourse,they’vemade
somechoicesoverthe
yearsthatIdon’tagree
with,buttheycertainly
weren’tirresponsible.
Theymadeevery
decision–even
thewrongones–
forourbenefit.izationfromdiseases,Ms.Fleerackersbegantogetvaccinatedlastyear.RAFALGERSZAK/RAFALGERSZAK