Anti-Vaccination

I don't believe in vaccinations.

I never have, never will. Governments put all sorts of stuff in vaccinations, like mercury, mouse brains, and stuff Frankenstein would careen over and die from. They try to tell us that they're meant to save us, keep our kids healthy, and so on and so forth. But it's just not me.

The "pro" vaccination people tell us that there's just not enough mercury to do any damage to a baby's brain, much less a child. There's more mercury in fish, they proclaim! And everything else? Well, air is more polluted and you don't see babies dying by the dozen.

Oh, and the go to phrase "It doesn't cause autism".

Autism isn't my concern.

See, I got married young. In high school, I met this wonderful guy named Walter who played on the football and track team. He was physically gifted and handsome with the best jokes and the best smile. He could flex a muscle and I wouldn't even be able to span it with my two hands. He was my kind of guy.

After prom, I got pregnant. So we married about six months later in a big, country church and had the reception in a huge barnyard. I wore a Vera Wang wedding dress and he wore a tuxedo made from some Italian designer.

It was picturesque. I was convinced we would live together.

Our pediatrician told us to vaccinate our baby around the third trimester. He warned us of childhood diseases, like polio or measles or whooping cough that could potentially kill our unborn child.

At first, I was terrified of those diseases. But now I'm not.

Our baby came and I named him George, after my father, like we're supposed to. George was a cute little baby, I'll admit, and before the doctor left, he left us a vaccination pamphlet of our newborn's "scheduled vaccinations". It had a picture of a smiling baby and some ClipArt smiley face with a doctor's coat.

We made George's nursery like one I found on Etsy: cute, perfect, and themed like woodland creatures. I was only nineteen now and I hadn't even started college because I was so focused on getting George's nursery perfect.

Shortly after though, bills started coming and we were still paying off the wedding. Bills for the hospital. Bills for the nursery. Bills for the apartment. Health insurance bills.

After six months, another pamphlet comes in: "Make sure your baby is vaccinated!"

Walter worked construction and he became stressed. Angry. Alcoholic. He drank away savings he stashed so I wouldn't know. His weight was no longer Herculean but instead, doughy and loose. He started having bad skin problems from the dirt and grease. He wasn't even physically fit anymore--his arm muscles resembled mine after a year. Suddenly, his jokes were stupid and sexist and demeaning.

He wasn't the Walter I knew. He was the Walter that I resented entirely, because he was so boring and ignorant and rampant alcoholism. I never noticed before in high school but I yearned for better.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">The nursery George slept in quickly lost appeal. It was harder to clean, harder to maintain, and stuff kept falling off the walls which made him wake up and cry.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Another pamphlet after a year and a half said "Schedule your vaccinations!" I knew George hadn't had any yet so I decided to research it.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Vaccinations save people. Allegedly.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">When I finally caved after my pediatrician threatened to pull George as a client, I scheduled his first one.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Then Walter drove home drunk that day at 3 P.M. Lost control of his car. Ran flat into a railing and fell off the overpass. He died instantly, I was told.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">In the hospital, with George crying in my lap, all I could feel was...relief. Relief from the life of an alcoholic husband. Relief that he wasn't part of my picture perfect fantasy life that I wanted. Relief that I could be free from this forever. Relief that I could go on and meet the actual, perfect man and have perfect babies in a perfect little house.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">I was twenty by that time. George threw up on me in the waiting room while my dead husband was wheeled out to a coroner.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Vaccinations save babies.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">And I realized right then and there, I didn't want to save my baby. I wanted George to die from a disease so I couldn't be blamed. I ran all the plans and all of them would involve me getting caught. I couldn't let that happen--I had a perfect, happy life waiting for me out there in the big, wide, world. And George was keeping me from it.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0.357142857142857em;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Measles, mumps, whooping cough, polio...where are you? Take care of this little problem for me. There's no vaccinations here. Vaccinations don't have enough deadly stuff in there to kill my baby, like mercury, and I can't force him to eat fish right out of the Pacific Ocean.

<p style="margin-top:0.357142857142857em;margin-bottom:0px;line-height:1.42857142857143em;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-family:verdana,arial,helvetica,sans-serif;">Kill my baby, natural disease. Nobody ever has to know.