September 17, 2018
To the Doctor that Injured My Child:
I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I will never be able to forget you.
I vividly remember your kind eyes and gentle touch, your sense of humor and calm energy.
I remember the tiny toy duck that you always had with you. The one you would slather with hand sanitizer every time you walked into our room.
I connected with you as a fellow mother and felt like you had my child’s best interest at heart. I knew I had made the right decision by choosing you as our pediatrician, and I felt lucky since you were in high demand at one of the nation’s top hospitals.
I figured that I had won the Doctor Lottery and eagerly scheduled our well-baby checkups anticipating our conversation. You were always so nice.
And then I started to question vaccines.
I told you my worries, my concerns, the stories I had read, and how something wasn’t sitting right with me. I talked to you about a delayed schedule and how I wanted to space them out. I asked you to make sure we only did the “absolutely necessary” ones.
I listened intently as you reassured me that nothing would happen to my baby. I nodded in agreement when you told me that if I was an immigrant then I would feel differently because mothers in underdeveloped countries have seen the ravages of disease. I felt ashamed that my white privilege was suddenly so apparent, and I finally agreed that at my son’s 6-month appointment he would have his second round. I walked out of your office feeling safer and more confident that I was making the right decision to vaccinate my child. You handed me a neon-colored VIS [vaccine information sheet] on the way out and assured me that in your 20 years of practicing medicine, you had never seen a single serious vaccine reaction.
And then his 6-month appointment came.
He received the DTaP, the rotavirus, and the Hib.
I have never told you this outright, so I will say it here, in the bizarre safety of social media: Those vaccines (the ones you told me were safe) injured my son.
He screamed for weeks and arched his back, refusing to be touched during his “episodes.” The chronic diarrhea started and so did the double consecutive ear infections. His skin was inflamed, he stopped sleeping, he was always sick, and then he started to regress.
You told me that he just ate too many vegetables. You told me that lots of kids go through this. You told me that half a year of continuous ear infections and numerous rounds of antibiotics were “normal.” You told me there was nothing I could have done. You told me that I just had bad luck. You told me it was his genes. You told me that this is what babies are like.
And then I stopped believing you.
I started to research. Every single day. I looked up the vaccines, their ingredients and their known side effects. I read peer-reviewed studies and books written by doctors. I found thousands of stories that mirrored mine exactly. I discovered the term vaccine injury. I unearthed the corruption behind the vaccine industry, and most importantly I realized that I could heal him. I began our family’s journey into holistic medicine and gathered a tribe of Crazymothers who echoed my experience.
I began to feel strong.
I had always known that my son had a bad “reaction” to the vaccines, but when I came home one day from getting groceries and saw him standing by the window staring, rocking back and forth, ignoring my loud calls to him, I knew.
I knew that if he ever had another vaccine, that I would lose him into the world of autism.
I never went back to your office after that day. We moved and I looked for a holistic doctor and found an amazing naturopath and chiropractor who helped me bring my son back to this world. We did years of diet, vitamins, toxic elimination and treated everything without pharmaceuticals.
So, Doctor, I am writing this to tell you that . . .
You. Were. Wrong.
You were wrong about so much I could never put it all in writing. You were wrong about vaccine injury being rare. You were wrong about my son being fine. You were wrong about his health problems being normal. You were wrong in telling me to give him Tylenol. You were wrong when you told me only antibiotics heal ear infections. You were wrong about vaccines not causing regressive autism, and you were wrong to scare me into getting vaccines for my child.
You were wrong.
And you were also wrong about me. You were wrong to think that I wouldn’t spend every waking second to try and heal him. You were wrong to think that I wouldn’t catch on. You were wrong to think that I wasn’t educated enough to read. You were wrong to think I wouldn’t be appalled at the corruption of Big Pharma. You were wrong in thinking I wouldn’t find millions of mothers saying “Me too.” You were wrong in believing that I would stay silent. You were wrong to think that I would eventually give up. You were wrong to think that I would forget what you did, and you were wrong if you ever thought I would forgive you.
We injured my child.
I healed him.
And because of that I will never stop telling the world just how wrong you were.