Measles is Miserable

When I was 12, our 7th grade class took a trip to Veterans Stadium to watch the Phillies. I got separated from the group. The stadium emptied, the buses left, and I was alone in a place built for thousands.

I wandered down to field level, wrote my name in the dust on the Eagle mobile, and decided to go for it. I walked onto the Astroturf, stood on the plastic-coated pitcher’s mound, and imagined I was Steve Carlton. Stadium security quickly discovered me and escorted me to the security office, which happened to be where the locker room emptied after the game.

Player after player walked through and signed my beloved glove tied to my wrist. Eventually, a security staff member drove me home. I returned with a trophy of autographs and a story I would tell forever.

I also went home silently infected with measles.

Through another series of unfortunate events, I never saw a doctor. I spent two weeks with high fevers, a crushing headache, an unrelenting cough, and itching so intense that my skin bled. I survived, but there were moments when the pain was unbearable.

I should have been playing baseball and learning. Instead, I suffered.

Measles is not a harmless childhood rite of passage. It is a painful, miserable disease. Every child who contracts it suffers. Some are left with permanent damage. Some die.

The scientific method remains the best tool we have to evaluate safety and effectiveness in vaccines and other preventive care. It is not perfect, but it is grounded in evidence, transparency, and continuous improvement.

I was lucky.

I had access to care, even if I didn’t use it in time. I had a body that recovered. Not every child does.

No child should endure what is preventable.