How Sane Parents Got Paranoid About Vaccines
A review of Seth Mnookin's The Panic Virus: A True Story of Medicine, Science and Fear.
When my son was a toddler, an ophthalmologist diagnosed him with a form of amblyopia (lazy eye) and recommended an eye patch to improve his overall vision. But, he added, he couldn't promise that my son would ever have normal depth perception. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut. I threw a few search terms into Google, came upon an offbeat treatment for eye disorders called vision therapy, and soon found a local practitioner, a middle-aged Chinese-American woman with short hair and half-moon glasses whose messy office was filled with eye charts and board games and had tennis balls hanging from the ceiling and who promptly engaged my son in games and eye exercises. Immediately, I knew we were doing the right thing. But when I told the ophthalmologist about the vision therapy, he told me flatly that, at least in my son's case, it was mumbo-jumbo and not to waste my money. Although I'm a physician, the concept of vision therapy made intuitive sense. It was low-risk: Even if it didn't work, we had nothing to lose, other than co-pays and time. If you're the parent of a child with a problem and you have the means to look for answers outside of the box, this is what you do.
In his engaging, provocative, and angry new book, The Panic Virus: A True Story of Medicine, Science and Fear, Seth Mnookin traces the history of the myth that vaccines cause developmental disorders like autism. In the process, he profiles a number of mothers with autistic children who followed their gut instinct away from conventional medicine and ended up on the front lines of vaccine paranoia. In the late 1990s, Vicky Debold, a nurse in Pennsylvania, grew concerned when her young son Sam stopped trying to walk, developed severe diarrhea, and lost his curiosity about people. Devastated when a doctor told her Sam was autistic and further dismayed by local support groups where she found parents who "seemed resigned to their fates," Debold got busy. An Internet search introduced her to Andrew Wakefield, whose theories linking the MMR vaccine to intestinaldisorders and autism were gaining currency among many parents of autistic children. When she subsequently met Wakefield at a conference, she was gratified that he took her concerns seriously and suggested some next steps: an X-ray, maybe a colonoscopy, a visit with a gastroenterologist. Unlike other doctors, who had no answers, Wakefield offered hope. Even if this hope came via costly, invasive tests and even if he was scapegoating the MMR vaccine, can you really blame parents for listening?
Andrew Wakefield's name is now infamous, of course: Just last month, a British Medical Journal investigative series by journalist Brian Deer accused him of being not only wrong about MMR and autism, but a fraud to boot. Mnookin, who completed his book well before these latest BMJ revelations, is determined to convince readers of Wakefield's dangerous flakiness, and to this end he provides a few cringeworthy examples of Wakefield's character. Such as the fact that, in the name of his research, Wakefield drew blood from young children at his son's birthday party and—as though this somehow made it legit—paid them for it. Or the decidedly strange moment when Wakefield asks Mnookin about getting his new book (Callous Disregard, with a foreword by Jenny McCarthy) translated into Hebrew.
Mnookin doesn't fault parents for searching for answers through listservs and autism conferences and talking to other parents, and he's angry at sharks like Wakefield and others who take advantage of their desperation. But he has little patience for people who refuse to acknowledge scientific evidence and who, by sticking to the anti-vaccine party line, put everyone's children at risk. Nobody else will suffer if my kid's depth perception isn't quite normal, but children who don't get vaccinated can die, or can be the reason that other kids die. The book lingerson the case of Brie Romaguera, whowas just over four weeks old when she died from pertussis (whooping cough) in 2003. Too young for the DPT vaccine, she would never have caught pertussis if more of the children in her Louisiana community had been vaccinated.
Anna Reisman is a physician in Connecticut. You can follow her on Twitter: @annareisman.