I didn't vaccinate my children with the MMR jab – but now I'm having regrets

Telegraph

a day ago

Olivia*, 56, lives in west London with her husband and twins aged 14. Their oldest son, 19, is at university
I'm neither a hippy nor someone who set out to make 'alternative' choices. Yet nearly two decades ago, when my eldest was born, I decided not to vaccinate him with the MMR jab. And when his twin siblings arrived four years later, I made the same decision for them.
Admittedly, this is something I've kept quiet about over the years. I never even told my own mother as I knew she would worry – and disapprove. Yet today, reading the heartbreaking news that a child has died in Liverpool after contracting measles, I'm feeling anxious and now questioning whether I did the right thing.
At the time, it didn't feel radical; it was instinctive. It just did not feel right to inject my precious, much longed-for babies with a live vaccine. I was also influenced by a close friend who was passionate about natural health and homeopathy. She was someone I trusted – intelligent and thorough – and her arguments about the pharmaceutical industry's vested interests made me think.
The MMR jab was first introduced in the UK in 1988, so I didn't have it myself, (though I do know my mother would have given it to me had it then been an option). I remember getting both mumps and measles but these illnesses were part of childhood I believed – unpleasant but survivable. My eldest did eventually catch mumps, and he was fine.
I can't pretend that I wasn't affected by reading the claims of the now disgraced British doctor, Andrew Wakefield. His paper in The Lancet infamously suggested there was a link to the MMR jab and autism.
While The Lancet completely retracted the paper in 2010, and his claims were struck off before then by many, the controversy made me wary. Raising my young family in west London, I was surrounded by several other parents dealing with autism diagnoses. Unlike measles, where I didn't know anyone affected, autism felt more of a threat.
So, with my husband's backing, I didn't vaccinate them. I honestly don't remember ever feeling bullied by my healthcare professionals at the time. Doctors never challenged me, however over the years when I've taken them for the inevitable A&E trips (broken fingers and the like) I have been asked whether they're 'up to date with their jabs' and I've had to explain my decision. I don't think I was even met with raised eyebrows any time, because it's common, especially in London where (according to statistics in from 2021-2022) one in five haven't been inoculated by the time they're aged three.
I vaguely recall it being discussed at baby groups with other mums and I kept quiet. I suppose I sensed there was a stigma, but I also felt it was a private decision for me to make.
My children all attended local state school, and teachers and other parents at the school gate never once asked me and it never came up in conversation. I would have been honest if it had despite not advertising the fact. It's most likely they would have assumed I'd ticked the box like everyone else.
I've never been a militant anti-vaxxer, and all our family had the Covid jabs when the pandemic struck. I didn't hesitate about that because – like the rest of the country back then – I was frightened of Covid, this unknown new virus which killed.
But things change. Every time news hits about a new outbreak of measles I get anxiety. The first time I felt anything close to regret about my decision was when my eldest went off to university, and there was doubt. Was I putting him at unnecessary risk? I even contacted our GP to see if we could arrange the vaccinations before she left. They never got back to me, I never chased and life moved on. But moments like this – tragic stories of unvaccinated children dying – bring back the uncertainty.
I know people will claim I've been irresponsible, and now I am wondering if I should have made a different decision. The good news is that I can still get them vaccinated. My oldest of course will have to make his own decision now he's an adult. But I plan to talk to him – as well as the 14 year olds – about getting the jabs.
If something were to happen to my children because of my decision, I would never forgive myself. Yet back then, with the knowledge I had, I believed I was making the best choice I could. Isn't that the uncomfortable truth about parenting? You make your decisions out of love and fear and instinct, and sometimes you only know if they were right years down the line.
The death of a child is something I can't ignore. I hope that other people, like me, who might be less sure of themselves now might re-think their decisions. Far more important then being 'right' is the chance to say another child from dying from an illness that can be prevented.