The stomach bug hit me first, then my wife, then my
six-year-old daughter, then, last and hardest, my seven-month-old son. We were
piled into the bed with blankets and ginger ale and buckets, feeling miserable
and delirious, when the baby started vomiting uncontrollably. He couldn’t keep
down formula or water or Pedialyte, and soon he became weak and lethargic. Despite
being too sick to safely drive, I rushed him to the E.R., where I my poor baby
became one of the 200,000 babies per year who needed emergency treatment for
complications of rotavirus. The pain of cramping and dry heaves were nothing
compared to the pain of seeing my baby in danger.
That’s what could have happened—and it didn’t.
Instead, this happened:
The stomach bug hit me first, then my wife, then my six-year-old daughter. We were piled into the bed with blankets and ginger ale and buckets, feeling miserable and delirious. The baby was fine, just a little sleepy and grumpy from a flu shot a few days prior. Bit by bit, we all recovered, eventually getting back into the swing of normal life, and counted our blessings that none of us got seriously ill. We felt particularly lucky to be blessed with a healthy and happy baby during a difficult week.
When we were all feeling better, my wife mentioned how curious it was that our youngest was untouched by whatever highly contagious stomach bug had swept through our family. I couldn’t think of why it might be. My son isn’t breastfed; he couldn’t have gotten antibodies from me. While I’d love to credit good hygiene, I know that wasn’t the case. It’s impossible to keep anything clean and sanitary when you’ve got three weak, stomach-sick people clamoring to use one bathroom, sleeping in one bed, and taking turns changing a baby’s diapers.
That’s what could have happened—and it didn’t.
Instead, this happened:
The stomach bug hit me first, then my wife, then my six-year-old daughter. We were piled into the bed with blankets and ginger ale and buckets, feeling miserable and delirious. The baby was fine, just a little sleepy and grumpy from a flu shot a few days prior. Bit by bit, we all recovered, eventually getting back into the swing of normal life, and counted our blessings that none of us got seriously ill. We felt particularly lucky to be blessed with a healthy and happy baby during a difficult week.
When we were all feeling better, my wife mentioned how curious it was that our youngest was untouched by whatever highly contagious stomach bug had swept through our family. I couldn’t think of why it might be. My son isn’t breastfed; he couldn’t have gotten antibodies from me. While I’d love to credit good hygiene, I know that wasn’t the case. It’s impossible to keep anything clean and sanitary when you’ve got three weak, stomach-sick people clamoring to use one bathroom, sleeping in one bed, and taking turns changing a baby’s diapers.
Then it hit me: the one difference between my son and the
other three members of our family. My son received the rotavirus vaccine at his
two-month checkup, his four-month checkup, and his six-month checkup, in
accordance with the recommendations of the CDC and AAP. The rotavirus vaccine,
given as an oral suspension, provides protection against five common strains of
this potentially deadly infection, and prevents countless hospitalizations and
deaths in infants, who are among the most likely to succumb to complications
from the disease.
So why did my older child get sick? That’s the part that stings. My daughter got sick because of a mistake I made with her that I didn’t make with my son. When she was born, I was ignorantly aboard the anti-vaccine bandwagon and thought of “childhood illnesses” as minor, and of immunizations as potentially deadly poisons. I learned my lesson (thanks in no small part to my daughter’s autism), but only just in time. She was “caught up” on all of her vaccines by age three, at which point her pediatrician considered the rotavirus vaccine to be unnecessary, since it is specifically made for infants.
My daughter got sick—endured days of pain and tears and hunger and thirst—because I didn’t have her vaccinated. And my son made it through my family’ ordeal without as much as a spit-up, because I did have him vaccinated. If I had repeated my mistakes with him, it’s entirely likely that I would be by my son’s side in a hospital right now, instead of joyfully recounting the story of what didn’t happen. The difference matters. Even if I didn’t have the solid science to back it, I can look at my own family and know that I made the right decisions with my son’s health.
Today, after a rough few days, I am grateful for many things. I’m grateful for ginger ale and popsicles and applesauce. I’m grateful for two dogs who stick by my side when I’m not well. I’m grateful a partner who holds me tight when I’m sick. I’m grateful for an unfortunate opportunity to learn that the combination of Phenergan and Ativan apparently makes me sing campfire songs at the top of my lungs. I’m grateful that my daughter caught this bug when she was old enough to handle it without complication. And more than anything? I’m grateful that I had my son vaccinated, and that he didn’t have to face hospitalization or worse because of my mistake.
My baby is safe and well because of vaccines.
So why did my older child get sick? That’s the part that stings. My daughter got sick because of a mistake I made with her that I didn’t make with my son. When she was born, I was ignorantly aboard the anti-vaccine bandwagon and thought of “childhood illnesses” as minor, and of immunizations as potentially deadly poisons. I learned my lesson (thanks in no small part to my daughter’s autism), but only just in time. She was “caught up” on all of her vaccines by age three, at which point her pediatrician considered the rotavirus vaccine to be unnecessary, since it is specifically made for infants.
My daughter got sick—endured days of pain and tears and hunger and thirst—because I didn’t have her vaccinated. And my son made it through my family’ ordeal without as much as a spit-up, because I did have him vaccinated. If I had repeated my mistakes with him, it’s entirely likely that I would be by my son’s side in a hospital right now, instead of joyfully recounting the story of what didn’t happen. The difference matters. Even if I didn’t have the solid science to back it, I can look at my own family and know that I made the right decisions with my son’s health.
Today, after a rough few days, I am grateful for many things. I’m grateful for ginger ale and popsicles and applesauce. I’m grateful for two dogs who stick by my side when I’m not well. I’m grateful a partner who holds me tight when I’m sick. I’m grateful for an unfortunate opportunity to learn that the combination of Phenergan and Ativan apparently makes me sing campfire songs at the top of my lungs. I’m grateful that my daughter caught this bug when she was old enough to handle it without complication. And more than anything? I’m grateful that I had my son vaccinated, and that he didn’t have to face hospitalization or worse because of my mistake.
My baby is safe and well because of vaccines.
My child was born at 36 weeks and barely 5 pounds. At two months old, he had grown to 10 pounds, was nursing, and had all of his vaccines. But when he was born, the rotavirus vaccine was not available. At two months hold, my healthy child came down sick with a high fever and diarrhea. We took him to the ER. The triage nurse made us wait because I had given him a fever reducer, and when we showed up, his fever was down to 101. So we waited. Eventually the ibuprofen wore off, and the temp spiked back to 105. We were sent back immediately. Then my 2 month old had a spinal tap to check for meningitis. Finally, they diagnosed rotavirus and we were admitted around 5am. We ended up in the hospital for a week. In that time, I had to stop nursing because my baby couldn't digest milk protein and it was aggravating the diarrhea. The fluid loss from the constant diarrhea resulted in his backside completely breaking down. He started hyperventilating because the messed up dehydration and electrolytes got severe enough that it was affecting the amount of carbon dioxide in his blood. Then he got heart issues from it. And this was all while being monitored and on IVs to replenish his lost nutrients. By the end of the week, he was down to 9 pounds. Losing a pound may not sound like much, but for him that was 10% of his body. Had I waited to take him in that first day, I probably would have lost my son. It took a month for him to gain it back.
ReplyDeleteVaccines aren't a joke. They save lives.