The Globe and Mail - 22.02.2020

O6 VACCINES O THEGLOBEANDMAIL | SATURDAY,FEBRUARY22,2020

Although I had doubts about my
parents’ beliefs as early as high
school, fear of being shamed and
stigmatized prevented me from
getting vaccinated for more than
a decade. I don’t think it had to be
that way. Had I felt safe to speak
openly about my upbringing – to
ask about vaccination myths
without facing judgment and rid-
icule – I might have done so soon-
er. Were our society just a little
more open, a little less polarized,
it wouldn’t be so difficult for
someone like me to question – let
alone change – what I long be-
lieved to be true.

Growing up in Vancouver, life was
good: I was healthy and happy,
my parents protective and loving.
They were open with me and my
sisters about their decision not to
vaccinate us and, for the most
part, we accepted it.
By the time I started university,
I’d seen many of my friends re-
ceive their vaccines. None of
them had experienced the horri-
fying side effects my parents were
so worried about. But although I
no longer believed immunization
was dangerous, I didn’t see any
reason to change the way things
were, either. Rather than ques-
tioning my parents’ views, I went
along with them, nodding my
head at any mentions of “risks” or
“complications.” For more than
two decades, my missing vaccines
remained little more than an oc-
casional complication at the doc-
tor’s office.
All of that changed in 2018, just
before I turned 27. I was checking
my e-mails one morning when I
saw the headline in one of my
newsletters: Measles Resurgence
‘Due To Vaccine Hesitancy,’ WHO
Warns.
I had heard a few things about
the outbreaks by then, but I guess
some part of me had been avoid-
ing reading into the issue any fur-
ther. This time, I put down my
coffee and clicked through to the
story. I discovered that cases of
measles were increasing all over
the world, largely owing to what

the article called “anti-vaccine

myths.”

My heart started racing. Mea-

sles outbreaks had increased by

as much as 30 per cent in the past

year alone.

Horrified, I dug deeper, scroll-

ing through dozens of other sto-

ries about the crisis. Measles

Cases Hit Record High In Europe,

blared one headline. No Vaccines,

No Public School: Is It Time For

Canada To Emulate France? asked

another. A breath caught in my

throat as I read a third: Measles

Outbreaks Now A Global Problem

Thanks To Anti-Vaxxers.

I read on and learned that mea-

sles cases had cropped up in 42 of

53 countries in the World Health

Organization’s European region.

As many as 45,000 people had

fallen ill in Ukraine alone. Even in

the United States, more than 100

cases had been reported in the

first half of that year.

Each headline elicited a new

pang of guilt; each statistic filled

me with more shame about my

upbringing. Everywhere, experts

seemed to agree: anti-vaxxer par-

ents, such as mine, were largely to

blame.

My heart sank as I read the line

“110,000 measles-related deaths.”

So many lives lost – and here I

was. Unvaccinated. A part of the

problem.

I pictured my mother reading

meHarry Potteras a child, my dad

staying up late so many nights to

help me finish last-minute social

studies projects. These were the

parents I knew and loved: the car-

ing people who always put me

and my sisters first.

But now I was seeing them

with fresh eyes. Suddenly, my par-

ents became “egocentric, entit-

led, misguided, selfish” anti-

vaxxers – the “ridiculous,” “full-

goose bozo[s]” behind this pub-

lic-health crisis. How could they

have been so misguided? I won-

dered. What had my family done?

The overwhelming guilt I was

experiencing was only made

worse by the fact that I was work-

ing on my PhD application at the

time. The research project I was

proposing was about how contro-

versial science is communicated

online. I was learning a lot about

how misinformation – such as the

long-disproved link between the

measles, mumps, rubella (MMR)

vaccine and autism – can spread

through society.

Every journal article I read was

another confrontation with my

past, every mention of “false be-

lief” another reminder of my own

hypocrisy. I was a living, breath-

ing example of the very anti-sci-

ence sentiment I hoped my re-

search would help overcome. I

was ashamed and I was incredibly

alone.

For the first time in my life, I

found myself truly questioning

my own immunization status.

Had I received the MMR vaccine?

I wondered, trying to remember

when my mom had stopped let-

ting me get shots at school. Could

I infect someone else? Even

worse, what if I already had?

Unfortunately, answers were

surprisingly difficult to find.

When I asked my doctor for my

vaccination history, she came up

blank. (My family, it turned out,

had seen a different GP when I

was young.) My early medical re-

cords, created before digital ar-

chiving was standard practice,

were also impossible to track

down. The only option, I was told,

was to check with a local travel

clinic – which didn’t prove partic-

ularly fruitful, as I had never vis-

ited one in my life.

My parents were never what you

might call “pure” anti-vaxxers.

Instead, they were among the

millions of Canadians who, for

whatever reason, are skeptical

about the safety or effectiveness

of vaccination. Many of these vac-

cine-hesitant people choose, like

my parents, to only partly vacci-

nate their children. Some simply

go off schedule, delaying vaccina-

tion until later in their child’s de-

velopment. Others – as many as

50 per cent of Canadians – follow

the recommended plan, but fear

there may be dangerous side ef-

fects to doing so.

For me, my partly vaccinated

status only added to the confu-

sion and anxiety I was already ex-

periencing. I’d always known I

was missing at least one or two.

But I had no idea how many, not

to mention which ones. If I want-

ed to become immunized, I

would need some answers.

I thought that, by making the

decision to become vaccinated, I

had overcome the hardest part of

the journey. I had expected the

medical system to welcome me

with open arms, ready to answer

all of my questions. But instead, I

was bounced from medical prac-

titioner to medical practitioner,

each of whom seemed less sure of

what I should do than the last. No

one seemed to know how to help

a partly vaccinated adult. Was

there no protocol for dealing with

someone like me?

Had there been someone to

walk me through the process, to

tell me what to expect, this expe-

rience would have been so much

less painful, so much less isolat-

ing.

I was left with one option: to

ask my parents. Even the thought

of doing so filled me with dread. I

was never a rebellious teenager. I

respected them deeply and had

never challenged them about

their decisions.

My family is very close and my

parents have always been two of

the most important people in my

life. For as long as I can remem-

ber, I’ve asked them for advice on

everything from boyfriend issues

to research projects. They are

both brilliant, insightful and in-

credibly well-read. To this day, I

trust them almost unconditional-

ly.

Yet, I kept thinking about the

headlines, kept hearing the fu-

rious outcries against the anti-

vaxxers echoing in my head:

“egocentric, entitled, misguided,

selfish.” Was this another side to

my gentle parents? I had to con-

front them.

Dec. 5, 2018, I called my mother.

She answered after the first ring.

“Oh hi, Alice,” she said. “So nice to

hear from you.”

“You, too.” My heart was

pounding furiously, yet I was in-

stantly soothed by the sound of

her voice.

“This is a bit out of the blue.” I

attempted to sound casual. “But

would you mind sending me a list

of all the key medical issues I

should know about? You know,

which great aunt died of what dis-

ease, any drug allergies I might

have, which vaccines I’ve re-

ceived – that sort of thing.” I

didn’t want to sound suspicious,

so I added: “My doctor wants to

know.”

“Oh, vaccines?” she responded.

“Well, I can tell you that right

away. You haven’t been vaccinat-

ed since you were 3.” (I found out

later that I had in fact received all

my vaccines required before kin-

dergarten.)

This took a second to sink in.

This was a lot younger than I’d ex-

pected.

“What about MMR?”

“Oh, that one we gave you,” she

said.

I let out a breath I hadn’t real-

ized I’d been holding. Thank

goodness.

“At first we let you get all of

them,” she continued. “But, you

know, after what happened to Eri-

ka, we decided to stop.”

I could almost feel my mom’s

Immunized: Answersweresurprisinglydifficulttofind

FROMO1

Ihadexpected

themedicalsystem

towelcomeme

withopenarms,

readytoanswerall

ofmyquestions.

Butinstead,Iwas

bouncedfrommedical

practitionertomedical

practitioner,each

ofwhomseemed

lesssureofwhatI

shoulddothanthelast.

AliceFleerackersisseenasababy,top,andwithherfriendSarah,above,aroundGrade3.RAFALGERSZAK/RAFALGERSZAK Afterspendingmostofherlifelackingimmuni