“You were in a coma for two days, Deborah. I was so scared.”
Whenever my mom said these words, she spoke with such calm that I couldn’t really imagine her then-terror. Besides, I’d lived, hadn’t I? Wasn’t my surviving always inevitable?
It was only when it came time to vaccinate my own son that I began comprehending the gravity of my mom’s words. That I began to understand how absolutely terrifying it must have been for her, in those moments when she held my tiny, non-responsive body and prayed, with no guarantee whatsoever that I would survive.
When it came time for my Li’l D to receive his DTaP vaccination, fear flooded me; my son’s doctor, immediately noting that something in my demeanor had changed, asked me what was up. I told her that I’d had a serious adverse reaction to the DTP vaccine when I was a child. I told her that I knew it had since been reworked to be much more safe, but that the knowing didn’t feel very comforting to me just then. Continue reading “could have been saved”