Authors: Kathryn Cushman
A few silent hours passed and I put Dylan to bed for the night. His fever hadn’t worsened, but his rash still looked awful. As soon as he was tucked into bed, my father’s home phone started ringing. I ran into the kitchen to snatch it up before it woke up Dylan. “Hello?”
“Grace?”
“Yes.” I didn’t recognize the female voice on the other end of the line.
“This is Patti Fox.”
“Hi, Patti.” She was the last person I wanted to talk to right now. “I’m sorry, but this is a really bad time, I can’t really talk now.”
“I know it is, and I’m so sorry. Unfortunately, that’s also the reason I’m calling.”
“What do you mean?”
“The paper is running a story tomorrow about the potential measles outbreak. I’d really like to be fair in our coverage. Would you like to tell your side of the story?”
I couldn’t keep in my surprise. “How did you find out so quickly?”
“Once parents started getting calls from the health department and hospital employees started getting notified by their supervisors, my phone started ringing. Quite a bit, actually.” The tone of her voice showed absolutely no hint of condescension, but I knew what she was thinking.
“Yes, I suppose it would.” Of all the people to have this kind of power over me, Patti Fox was not the person I would have chosen. I pictured her gloating, thinking how my predicament would increase her circulation. The same hate I’d felt toward her in high school surged anew through my veins. “My side of the story? You want my side of the story? Well, my side of the story is that I’ve got a sick little boy.”
“I know that your son has been quite ill. What I’m asking is, do you have anything that you would like any of the parents whose children may have been exposed to know? About your choice not to vaccinate?”
“I . . .” I considered telling her what she could do with her newspaper. I could slam down the phone right now and be done with this. But, somewhere deep inside me, a small voice whispered that this might be my only chance to tell my side of this story. Collin’s side. I figured I owed Jasmine at least that much, and I wanted the truth to be known. I began to consider what I might say, what might make a difference. “I did a lot of research before Dylan was born. Those vaccines aren’t safe, and since most of those diseases are rare now, it was a risk I was not willing to take with my son.”
“So your decision was based on scientific research?”
“Yes. And . . . my boss is a member of a group that I’ve gotten to know. Parents whose children have been vaccine-injured—my boss’s son is autistic. I’ve seen videos of him as a bright one-year-old, saying dozens of words, walking early, bright-eyed and friendly. After he got his MMR shot he developed a fever. A few days later, he quit speaking. Even as a seven-year-old he speaks little. His mother has never heard him say ‘I love you,’ but she has heard him scream for hours; she’s seen him hit himself in the head over and over again.”
“So, you decided you’d rather risk the virus than the vaccine?”
“Yes, I guess that’s it in a nutshell.”
“Just one more question.” She paused for just a moment and then said, “The measles and autism link was widely noted after an article in the medical journal
The Lancet
back in 1998, where Dr. Andrew Wakefield found measles in the guts of several autistic children. This led him to the conclusion that the measles themselves perhaps played a role in the development of autism. Were you aware of that article when you made your decision not to vaccinate?”
“Yes.” The vaguest sense of relief began to surround me. She had done her homework; she would understand the truth for what it was.
“Are you aware that since then,
The Lancet
has retracted the article? And, in fact, Dr. Wakefield has lost his license to practice medicine in Britain at this time?”
Or not. I could barely form the words to a response. “I’ve heard about the article retraction, but not the second part.”
“Well, knowing that, does it make you wish you’d chosen differently?”
I pictured Collin, on the floor banging his head and screaming over the tiniest deviation from his normal routine. I thought of Jasmine’s story of exactly how and when that started, and the story of every other mother in her support group was similar. And there were hundreds and thousands more who told the same story—online, and in the magazines Jasmine read. I realized I didn’t care what the popular scientific theory was at the moment; I cared about what I could see with my own eyes. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“I have to say, that answer surprises me a little.”
I knew that tomorrow’s article was going to be a bloodbath as far as I was concerned, but having come to my previous conclusion, I was not going to beg otherwise. I was in the right, no matter what Patti said about me. “If you spent some time with my boss’s son, it probably wouldn’t.”
“Thanks for answering my questions, Grace. Please feel free to contact me with anything else you want to add at any time.”
Fair treatment. Right. In the clarity of hindsight, I regretted that I’d talked to her. I should have said, “No comment,” hung up the phone, and let her make what she would of that. Well, it was too late to change it now. It was too late to change a lot of things.
My father looked up when I walked into the den, where he sat watching the ESPN nightly recap. “Who was that on the phone?”
“You don’t want to know.” I shook my head, wishing for some relief from the myriad of thoughts and fears and hopes that were circling around in there. “Dad, I’m going to Krystal again really quick. I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.”
I parked beside the entrance and, on a whim, pulled out my laptop while I was still in the car. I opened it and searched for available connections. I was happy to see that I had a signal—weak, but still useful—right here in the car. I rolled the driver’s-side window about a quarter of the way down, hoping to combat the heat and humidity with at least a bit of a breeze.
I opened Google and typed in the words
baby
and
measles
and
symptoms
. I knew what to expect from a four-year-old, but I wasn’t clear on exactly what could happen in the babies we might have exposed. The first site I went to started with the words, “Measles is one of the most dangerous diseases for babies.” The car’s interior was suffocating. I couldn’t get a deep breath no matter how hard I tried; the oxygen just seemed pressed out of me. I skimmed on down until I saw the words, “Before vaccinations, measles used to kill millions of children around the world.”
Oh no. Oh no. Please, God, please don’t let those babies have measles
. I took a deep breath and looked farther down the page, wondering just how bad it could be. I stopped at the line that said, “Measles is caused by a combination of two different body humors.”
Body humors?
I almost wept with relief. Obviously this was not a legitimate medical Web site.
I went back to Google and tried again. The next site detailed how the droplets of measles stay active for a couple of hours outside the body. Dr. Welton had said the same thing. “A non-immunized person with a close exposure has a very high likelihood of contracting the disease, upwards of ninety percent.” Very high likelihood? Ninety percent? I pictured the babies from Sunday school—there had been six, counting Hannah. If Dylan was contagious that day, and if this Web site was correct, than at least five of them would soon be sick, maybe all six.
I skimmed on down to read the information under the heading “Possible Complications.” I loved the opening line. “A complete and uncomplicated recovery is expected for most otherwise healthy children.” I liked that a lot. It did go on to list a few of the more serious side effects that could happen—pneumonia, meningitis, and inflammation of the brain. Awful, terrible complications. But if these only happened rarely, the odds were in our favor, right?
The final sentence in the section took my breath away. “Children under the age of five are most at risk for serious complications.” Each child exposed at the church was well under five years old.
Still, these complications were rare. I was going to have to depend on that.
One last thing before I turned off the computer. I typed in the words
Oregon measles
. Since the doctor had asked if we’d been there, I assumed there must be a reason.
The page was filled with links. I chose one from a local news station.
“Ninety families affected so far by local quarantine, authorities say more will follow.”
I clicked on the article.
Ashland, Oregon, home to the Shakespeare Festival and a well-off and highly educated majority, has one of the lowest vaccination rates in the country. Parents here opt for organic food and a natural lifestyle.
Well, hooray for the parents in Ashland. I couldn’t have agreed with their priorities more. But how did they go from healthy lifestyle to ninety families in quarantine?
Ninety?
Just the thought of it was staggering. I scanned farther down the article.
For many, that healthy lifestyle includes the absence of what they feel are toxins in vaccines. Physicians say it was just a matter of time before this outbreak happened.
Health officials are now telling us that the outbreak started when a family from Switzerland paid a visit to Ashland. The family took in a rendition of
Hamlet
, a couple of nice dinners, and a trip to a local park. They left town before their own child showed signs of the disease, and when children here first started getting sick, due to the rarity of measles, it took the doctors several days to determine what was wrong. Since several of the exposed children had not been vaccinated, nor had their friends or siblings, the spread was rapid and unabated.
So far, one of the infected children, an infant too young to have received the vaccine, has been hospitalized due to high fever and extreme dehydration. Doctors here say they expect more to follow.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no
. Surely not. Surely this was not going to happen here. Surely I hadn’t brought this on the families of Shoal Creek.
I started the car, but instead of heading straight home, I pulled into the drive-through line. “I need six cheeseburgers and two large fries.”
On the drive to my father’s house, I ate three of the burgers and at least half of one of the fries, never tasting a bite. I pulled into the driveway and ran to the bushes, feeling my stomach preparing to heave. Whether from the unaccustomed greasy food or the guilt, I couldn’t say.
I schlepped out the front door, down the porch steps, and across the path on the lawn to the sidewalk.
The Shoal Creek Advocate
lay in an innocent-looking loose roll, held together by a thin rubber band. I picked it up and hurried back inside, waiting until the door was closed behind me before I slid the elastic off the end.
Will Shoal Creek Become the Next Ashland?
There has been an apparent case of measles reported by local health officials. Although the case is not yet confirmed, it shows all the hallmarks of the disease. Authorities are expecting confirmation by late this week. Until that time, several families in town have been notified that their child has likely been exposed and should be considered contagious and under quarantine.
This disease entered our community when a former resident came to visit her family in the Shoal Creek area. . . .
I skimmed down to the next paragraph, looking for something I didn’t already know.
Anyone who was in Shoal Creek General Hospital on Monday, May 2, may also have been exposed. If you fall into that category, please contact your physician immediately for further instructions.
In Ashland, Oregon, more than two dozen children have been infected with the virus in the last few weeks. Many of these cases are school-aged children whose parents chose not to vaccinate.
I knew more than I cared to know about what was happening in Ashland, so I skimmed down the article to see what else it said. To see how bad Patti was planning to make me look.
Quick measles facts: Measles is one of the most highly contagious viruses known to man. . . .
I started skimming again. The list was matter-of-fact, telling the reader what to look for, the dangerous complications, and so on. Not one word of condemnation voiced. But I knew the readers would supply plenty of that.
I thought about the TalkBack blog that Patti had told me about, and wondered what kind of response this article would ignite there. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know.
I called Jana. “Hey, it’s me. How are things?”
“So far, so good. Hannah’s still feeling fine; her temp is normal. I talked to a couple of the other mothers this morning; they all say the same.”
“That is great news.” And it was great news. It was also way too early for celebrating yet. We all knew that.
“Jana, I’m really sorry about all this. I would never have brought this to you if I’d had any idea at all.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” Her voice was kind, back to herself. “Serves me right for bullying you into coming out here in the first place. I don’t know why I’ve been so insistent that you remain a part of this family when you’ve so obviously wanted otherwise for a long time now.”
This is the conversation I’d hoped we could have over coffee sometime during my visit here. Not now. Not in the middle of all this. But this was all we were likely to have this visit. I needed to move forward. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Her voice got quiet.
“Well, maybe I thought I didn’t for a while, but I know better now. I was hurt, and . . .”
“We all were, honey. The difference is, we stayed put and you ran off.”
“I didn’t run off; I went to college.”
“Until the day you up and told us you were going to Santa Barbara City College, I don’t think I’d ever heard anything come out of your mouth other than the fact that you were going to the University of Tennessee to study Creative Writing and Literature.”
“Well, you weren’t listening so much my senior year then, because Mom and I had been talking about UCSB and film studies.”
“Yeah, but you were just saying that to tick off Dad, and I know it. I knew what you two were up to. Dad didn’t think Creative Writing and Literature would get you a real job, so you and Mom concocted that whole scheme just to show him it could be worse. Even Dad would have to agree that Tennessee and writing were better than California and films.”
“He bought it hook, line, and sinker, too.” I could still remember watching my father’s face turn a bright red when I showed him the brochure. “It never really had the desired effect, though. I think it just made him that much more determined to make me pick a real major that would get me a real job.” I thought about my life. “I guess he won that battle, didn’t he? Here I am, an office manager at a small inn.”
“Who rarely comes home to see her family.”
“You were already out of the house and engaged by the time Mama died. You weren’t stuck here, living with the person who killed her. I was so angry with him I just couldn’t stay here and look at him. And I did come home, a couple of Christmases ago.”
“Because Rob wanted to see you and Dylan enough that he bought your tickets with his frequent flyer miles.”
“He volunteered. I didn’t ask for that.”
“Because you didn’t even want to come and see your family.”
“Because I couldn’t afford it. Honestly, Jana, that’s all I need, an amateur shrink for a sister.”
She got quiet for a minute, and I thought she might have hung up. Then she said, “Honey, he lost her, too.”
That argument had never held weight for me. It wasn’t going to start now. “He lost her—we all did—because of
his
bad decisions. No one had to lose her.”
“I’m not sure you’re the right person to be making that argument anymore. Maybe you should think about that.”
And I did think about it. I could think of nothing else. Still, I knew I had made the right decision for my son. The question was, at what price?