Lost Immunity Daniel Kalla (reading women TXT) 📖

“We don’t know for certain,” Lisa says. “But it is likely.”

“And that’s why you’re launching this vaccination campaign?” the same man demands.

“One of the reasons, yes.”

“Isn’t it premature, Dr. Dyer?” a woman with short-cropped hair and square-framed, red glasses asks from the back row. “To expose so many people—mainly kids—to a new vaccine based on little more than handful of cases?”

“Twenty-four is more than a handful,” Lisa says. “And each one of the eleven deaths is a tragedy. Seattle Public Health is committed to doing everything to prevent more loss of life. It is standard public-health practice to vaccinate the highest-risk groups—in this case, high school and college-age youths—during a meningococcal outbreak once it has spread into the community.”

“But isn’t this particular vaccine untested and unproven?” the woman persists.

“It’s not untested,” Lisa says, feeling doubt worm its way back into her consciousness. “In fact, it has been proven safe and effective in three significant clinical trials. This is our best option since the only commercially available vaccines do not prevent infections with this particular strain of bacteria.”

“So you’re going to use thousands of kids as guinea pigs?” another male reporter blurts from the middle of the audience.

“Not at all. We plan to monitor the response to the vaccination vigilantly. We’ve set up a hotline and a website for reporting unexpected reactions.” Lisa begins to sweat under the glare of the camera lights and the demanding stares from the faces in the audience. She tries to clear her throat, which suddenly feels full. “The idea is to give maximum protection to the at-risk groups. And ideally to create herd immunity to this new infection. We can only accomplish that with a widespread campaign.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” asks another reporter whose face is hidden by the balding head of the man in front of her. “What if you’re acting prematurely?”

“The only other known outbreak of this particular strain of meningitis happened in Reykjavík,” Lisa says. “It’s all we have for comparison. Thirty-five people died there in a matter of weeks last winter. Seattle has a population twenty times the number of Reykjavík’s. If we do nothing different—in other words, if we don’t try this new vaccine—then we predict our death toll could rise into the hundreds. Or more.”

“You just told us you can’t assume anything…” another reporter begins to say, but Lisa’s attention is drawn by Tyra, who tugs gently at her sleeve.

Tyra leans in close enough for Lisa to feel her breath on her ear. “Just got a report of a kid on a ventilator at Children’s Hospital. Meningitis and sepsis,” she whispers. “Youngest case yet.”

“How old?” Lisa murmurs.

“Eight. Had a full-blown seizure at a baseball game. He’s from Bellevue,” Tyra says of the suburb to the east of Seattle where Amber’s family also lives. “Never been near Camp Green. No obvious connection to other victims.”

Lisa nods, instinctively thinking of Olivia. With that, her resolve cements again as she turns back to the reporters. “As I said, the vaccine clinics will open tomorrow morning. We urge everyone in the Seattle area to bring in their children. This is the best way—maybe the only way—to prevent this outbreak from spreading.”

CHAPTER 23

Max has been so absorbed in the op-ed he’s been writing for the community newspaper on the mandatory HPV vaccination policy that he has been ignoring his phone for the past hour. The paper is offering him a chance to make his case with a broad readership against the ill-conceived policy. And he takes the opportunity seriously.

Max is all too aware of the stigma associated with the vaccine hesitancy movement. Many people—if not most—view them as wing nuts, zealots, or uneducated hysterics. And, in truth, Max has met a number of people in the community who do fit the bill. But most of the ones he associates with are like him, concerned people—usually parents—who are driven to effect social change. Many have suffered the devastation of a vaccine injury to themselves or a loved one. And, also like Max, many are motivated to protect others, since it’s too late for their own families.

His phone buzzes again. Max turned the ringer off, but it’s been vibrating steadily on his desktop, alerting him of new texts, tweets, and emails. He wonders what’s causing the literal buzz, but he’s on too much of a roll to stop to find out.

His concentration is finally broken when a Facebook message from Cole, his best online friend, pops up on the corner of his computer screen. “Dude, where the hell have you been? Everyone’s going crazy over the news of this vaccine!” The message is punctuated with a series of emojis of exploding heads.

Max immediately saves his document and logs onto the group chat page. He scans the rolling list of messages until he reaches the top of the thread. He clicks on the link in the first message that takes him to an article describing how Seattle Public Health is launching a campaign to inoculate the youth of the city with a new meningitis vaccine.

“Not another one,” he mutters to himself as he returns to the conversation thread and sees a similar response echoed in multiple messages.

Fighting back his simmering anger, Max reads every comment on the thread before posting one of his own. Some people are saying that they need more information to evaluate the dangers of this new vaccine. Others are advocating active resistance right away through social media and public protests. A march is being planned. One person, Daryl, who often goes too far in these chats, suggests that they find out where the supply is being kept and sabotage the site. “Burn it to the ground!” as Daryl puts it.

“Big Pharma always finds a way to flog their next drug,” Max types. “Isn’t it convenient that this ‘epidemic’ hits just as they’re ready to market a new poison? Is it possible this is all just one ugly marketing ploy?”

The group chat lights