The relief of finally vaccinating my child
My daughter turned 1 last week. Between smooshing hot pink frosting all over her face, shouting “Dog!” at our 11-year-old rescue hound (and anything else with fur) and moving up to the walkers classroom at day care, she is flying through milestones.
But getting her 12-month vaccinations was a milestone my husband and I were especially looking forward to. The morning of her well-child checkup, I was nursing her and scrolling through my phone. I was distressed to see reports of three confirmed cases of measles in Harris County, including two young children under 2.
I texted my sister — as I’ve done from this very rocking chair countless times, often in the middle of the night, as we were simultaneously breastfeeding our little ones two time zones apart — to commiserate. She lives with her husband and 14-month-old son in Vancouver, Wash., which is at the center of a measles outbreak. Washington State declared a public health emergency last month: There are now more than 50 confirmed cases of measles, including 35 children under 10.
With my sister’s family living in an area with dangerously high rates of vaccine exemption, and now the news of measles cases in my own backyard, the risks of a preventable disease spreading were inching too close to home. For some, vaccinations are controversial. But for my husband and me, they couldn’t happen soon enough. Wasn’t measles eliminated from the U.S. nearly 20 years ago? Why would anyone give that up?
As I sat breastfeeding and texting, I looked around my daughter’s nursery. Every electrical outlet is covered. The bookcase full of enriching books and stimulating toys is tethered securely to the wall. The closet is filled with organic cotton onesies. We run a cool-mist humidifier every night to prevent congestion and an air purifier to ensure only the cleanest molecules make it to her little lungs. No pillow or blanket would dare find its way anywhere near her crib. (We’re first-time parents, if that wasn’t obvious enough). Within the walls of our house, we put into place any and every possible protection for our daughter’s well-being.
When we leave our house, though, we know there are risks we cannot control. For the past year, because our daughter wasn’t old enough to be vaccinated, she’s been vulnerable to viruses, bacteria and infectious diseases whenever we take her to the grocery store, board an airplane or drop her off at day care.
We were especially worried about measles , because it’s so highly contagious and mostly affects infants like my daughter who are not old enough to be vaccinated. Infants who contract measles are at a high risk for life-threatening pneumonia, deafness or swelling of the brain. We’ve had to rely on our community to keep up their end of the social contract, to take actions to maintain a safe and healthy environment. We’ve had to hope our community would maintain a vaccination rate high enough to create herd immunity to protect our daughter.
As a pediatric psychologist at Texas Children’s Hospital, I work with children and teens with Type 1 diabetes and their families. For people with autoimmune conditions like diabetes, vaccinations are especially important to reduce the risk of catching contagious viruses. My colleagues work with children with cancers and blood disorders who are also at a greatly increased risk for contracting contagious diseases, but who cannot get vaccines while on treatment. I work down the hall from world-renowned experts researching vaccines to prevent the spread of infectious diseases.
My own research in behavioral science focuses on the fact that the best, most effective medical treatments only work when we take them. Likewise, the lifesaving vaccinations my colleagues are developing can only work to protect our children and our community if we use them. Sitting in my office at the largest children’s hospital in the country, I am just as passionate about protecting children’s health on a large scale as I am when I am sitting in my daughter’s nursery at home, on the smallest and most personal scale.
When Houstonians delay or opt out of vaccinating their children, they endanger the most vulnerable in our families and our communities: children with chronic and serious medical conditions, the elderly and infants too young to be protected. For the past year, my daughter was among that group, and I couldn’t wait to get her out of it. Not everyone has that luxury — so we must vaccinate for them.
Later that morning at my daughter’s well-child checkup, I practically ran into the pediatrician’s exam room, ready for her to be protected against a disease that shouldn’t even be a consideration today. The shots were quick. She screamed bloody murder for all of 30 seconds, then started to giggle and play with the colorful Band-Aids the nurse expertly applied to her sweet baby thighs. The mom in me was glad she got the barrier she needed, and the health care professional in me was confident in her safety. I hugged our tiny citizen and thanked her for doing her part.