I used to be an anti-vaxxer

In 2013, I got pregnant. A steady diet of baby books and advice from doctors and worried Internet mothers helped me develop a level of concern for my baby that went far beyond whether he’d be autistic or not. Late in my pregnancy my doctor offered me a whooping-cough booster shot that would vaccinate my baby against the disease. When I balked, she told me that a recent whooping-cough outbreak had killed 10 infants in California. I was still skeptical, and told her I needed to think about it. I went home and found heartbreaking news online about the babies that died of whooping cough in 2010. Nine of the 10 were less than eight weeks old—much too young to get vaccinated. Reading about these babies’ deaths made my unborn baby seem realer by the minute. He was a kicking, rib-grabbing, vibrant little guy. I didn’t want him to die at such a young age. I began to seriously question my anti-vaccine stance.

I had an honest, soul-bearing chat with my doctor about my family’s autism history, which by then included my second brother, who was diagnosed with autism in 2004. She’d answered all my other questions calmly, so I was surprised at how passionate she became when she told me that there was no link between vaccines and autism and that I should get the whooping cough booster shot and vaccinate my baby after he was born. I’d grown fond of my doctor after months of appointments and trusted her advice. And I couldn’t stop picturing those dead babies. I decided to get the whooping cough booster shot. And to vaccinate my child.