I gave my daughter the MMR and nothing happened

She didn't break into a seizure. She didn't stop breathing. She didn't instantly come down with Autism. The sky didn't fall. The walls of my world didn't crash in on me with guilt, and regret, and tragedy. She cried for a second, picked out her treat for the treasure box, and has been fine since. Our world has continued turning.

I don't say these things to belittle or mock those with such concerns, or the tragic minority who have actually experienced these events. I say these things because I have been terrified that these exact results to the vaccine would occur. I HAVE BEEN TERRIFIED for four years.

Yes, my daughter is nearly four. And yes, I realize this vaccine is late. But I don't care. I care that I had a strong base line to compare any potential reaction to, and I care that I spent an obscene amount of time studying this issue.

Why are you so scared?

For the health episode of the MomsEverday show I filmed, vaccines was a topic we covered. During the taping, I told my co-panelists that I had not get given my daughter the MMR. A fellow panelist looked confused as she asked me why. "Because I am scared," I responded. "Why are you scared??" She retorted. Why indeed.

The MMR will give my child Autism

You laugh. You roll your eyes. You shake your fists at the screen and yell, "But that study was debunked! It's all a lie! Are you an idiot?" But alas, it was debunked, but by who exactly? Who is calling it a lie? And are the parents who had walking, talking, healthy children pre-shot, and children who literally did a 1-80 in their development within hours of receiving the shot, idiots? What about the court case in Italy that ruled in favor of the parents suing the government for giving their child Autism with the MMR? Who is lying, who is not. Who wants to play this kind of Russian Roulette with their baby?

Rumors are that the doctor behind the study linking the shot and Autism recanted his claim, but that is not true. Dr. Wakefield stands firmly by his study. Medical professionals say that signs of Autism often appear around the approximate age that a child receives the MMR, hence the case for correlation and not causation. But this correlation occurs within the same 24 hours? Conveniently during the precise hours proceeding a shot and subsequent seizure? I don't buy it.

The MMR will not give my child Autism

Do I believe that there is a link between the MMR and autism? In some cases, I do. Could three live viruses, injected into an immune system with an unknown disposition against or allergy to the vaccine (allergic reactions are a real thing, ask the CDC), causing a high fever and seizure lead to Autism? I believe so. I believe parents who experience this are evidence of this claim. Do I believe the MMR is causing Autism in 1 in 68 children and 1 in 48 boys? Hellllll no. Science may betray us from time to time, but in this case, it is pretty crystal clear. The claim has been that the Thimerosal (or Mercury) used in vaccines caused Autism. But in the last decade plus, according the FDA, it has been reduced and removed from vaccines for reasons of health concerns. During these same years, Autism has skyrocketed. Better diagnosis alone simply cannot account for this growth. Clearly, there is something much more sinister and much more significant causing Autism in so many of our children than the MMR vaccine.

Why I did it

Ultimately, as parents, a lot of what we do is about cost/risk analysis. What is the benefit, and what is the harm. If the MMR were causing one in approximately 50 children to get Autism, and IF your child got the Measles they would have a 0.001% chance of death (according to the CDC), then you tell me? Of course parents have been scared to get the damned three-live-viruses at once (four if you get the combo with the chicken pox vaccine) jammed into their healthy child! But, alas, the studies that some question and fear, debunking Dr. Wakefield, are just too solid and too common to ignore. The MMR is not causing all these cases of Autism, and if any, it is an extremely, extremely, meniscal amount, in my humble opinion. Making the cost/risk analysis heavy in the favor of the vaccine, and in avoiding three diseases that still have the potential of causing deafness, and, though extremely rare, death.

Why this debate pisses me off

There is ample reason to question vaccines. Ultimately, I find the science behind them to be sound, and the need for them significant. But pigs will fly before I will agree that shooting up my little babies with a whole bunch of viruses, all at once, knowing damn well that there could be a negative reaction, is the optimal approach. It is the herd approach. It is the cost/risk analysis that tells healthcare professionals that all is better than none, and that since moms are not likely to come back in multiple times, it is better to get the kids vaccinated while you have them in your paws. It is the herd approach that says, "If the vaccine does not work on child A, then we must be sure that child B, C, and D have had all of their vaccines." Does it make sense? Of course it does. But would it be most ideal to give new vaccines spread out so that should a reaction occur, the doctor would know which specific vaccines to avoid and which could be repeated? OF COULD IT WOULD BE. Lying to me about that because you are afraid if you give me any rope I will hang myself kills your credibility, dear doctor. KILLS IT. Each time we get a vaccine, we all get a hand out. If you read it, it says that--while very, very, very rare--some children have really bad reactions. Some get brain damage. Some die. The paper gives you a hotline number to call if your child has a bad reaction. It tells you about a reimbursement fund for any medical harm caused. And it tells you, quite clearly, to avoid getting a vaccine if you or your child are ill. This leads back to the credibility issue: my husband was harassed and judged harshly for refusing to allow my six week preemie baby--who could not breath on her own, who had pneumonia, and who was fighting for her life--to get the Hep B vaccine. What. the. hell. Do they read their own paperwork they hand out? Do they use any ounce of common sense? This is the kind of crap that makes me madder than a crazy person with lots of hats (Mad Hatter reference, get it?) and makes me lose a great deal of trust in some of these health care professionals.

This is really long

Ok. I am done. Let me conclude by saying this: Don't hate on the mom who doesn't vaccinate. You do not know if her family has a history of bad reactions. You do not know if her child is allergic to eggs or yeast (some component of that matters for Hep B), and you do not know if her child has a chronic illness and has been advised against it. You do not know what she has seen or heard. You can discuss it with her if you would like, and share your own concerns about that pretty valid herd argument, but don't be mean. DON'T BE MEAN.

To those who ride along in my boat, who get the science behind it but who are scared to death about all these stories and risks and warnings, I will say it again. I gave my daughter the MMR, and nothing happened. It was terrifying, but it was ultimately the right decision. For us.

Mormons and modern polygamists:Dispelling the myths

I ain't got no sista wives!

Whether I am backstage in a theater and overhear that we are dressed in old fashioned dresses and aprons like Mormons, teaching a college course and asked by a student how many wives my husband has, or in between shots on a TV set and told that Mormons marry their daughters off to old men, I have sort of heard it all. I was even asked by a co-worker if I was allowed to dance. I used to be defensive, irritated, and shocked. Now, I am totally amused. With so much technology, news coverage of prominent Mormon figures, and social media at our fingertips, isn't the distinction between my Mormon faith and those other guys pretty darn obvious? But the answer, is of course, that it is not. Sure, a simple Google search would dispel the myths and clear up the misconceptions, but in many ways, news media is perpetuating the problem. The separation of my religion and the specific one I am so often lumped with is not well established in any news presence. Why?

The battle of the term

I am a Mormon. That is my nick name. In my religion, we believe in the Bible, but we also believe in another ancient book that was written by prophets in other parts of the world. Each writer had their own book, and, as with the bible, it was compiled together in the end to become the unified book that it is today. Unlike the Bible, this was done by one man, who we believe to also have been a prophet. His name was Mormon. Hence we call our book the Book of Mormon, and hence our nick name. Our church is actually called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, making me a Latter Day Saint (LDS). But, that's a mouthful. So the nick name lives on.

Still with me? Cuz this is where it gets tricky. When our church was first restored in 1830, we were a people of monogamy. Our prophet Joseph Smith, according to revelation he said he had received, called a few men to participate in polygamy (roughly 3% of the church's men practiced it). This aspect of my church history is worthy of its own blog post, book, sermon, you name it, but for now, lets move on. In 1890, the prophet at the time, Wilfred Woodruff, declared that polygamy would discontinue. At that time, a group of members did not support this manifesto. They did not believe it was a revelation from God as the prophet claimed, and they split away from the church so that they could continue to practice polygamy. They gave themselves a new name: Fundamental Latter Day Saints (FLDS). Tie in our endearing nick name, and you have Fundamental Mormons. SURE SOUNDS A LOT LIKE OUR NAME. Especially when you drop off that F. We then literally share the exact same title. But, this is nearly the only thing we currently share. Here is our doctrine on this issue, "The Lord’s law of marriage is monogamy unless he commands otherwise to help establish the House of Israel (see Encyclopedia of Mormonism Vol. 3, pp. 1091-1095).

Fundamental Mormons

Fundamental Latter Day Saints (FLDS), or Fundamental Mormons, currently practice polygamy. Now, let me be clear on this. I have no problem with adults making consensual choices, in a state of strong mental health, whose choices involve no neglect or abuse to themselves, their spouses, or their children. Shout out to my sister wives here (err, the ones on the TV show, not my own). I believe in freedom. BUT, the FLDS church has very sadly seen many injustices and abuses. Insert Warren Jeffs and cuss words here. A lot of gnarly and nasty things have taken place by individuals who prescribe to this branch of my faith.

And now....

So where does that leave the Mormons? It leaves us in a place where in many minds, the term Mormon, polygamist, and subsequently, pervert who forces young girls to marry old men, are interchangeable.

Naturally, it is understandable that I am confused with polygamists. When my student asked how many wives my husband had, I wasn't offended. I found it humorous. I responded, "He has three. I am the one that goes out and works." If you could see his face....

My quest here is not to be angry or ugly about it. THE NAMES ARE NEARLY THE SAME. Of course there is confusion! My quest is to stamp out that confusion. To save you the trouble of Googling and digging to figure out that we are far from the same religion, and to just make it easy for you. We are not. We are monogamous. We marry whoever the heck we want. We dress modestly, but in modern clothes (ever heard that Utah is known for having the hottest ladies? Fa real, we got style).

So the next time you hear that someone is a Mormon, think of the Osmond Brothers and Marie, not creepy ol' Jeffs rotting in jail.

I got beat up in Africa: This, and other experiences that have made me

​I was floating. I heard a woman’s voice beneath me, screaming and crying out, and I felt sadness for her. Who was she? Why was she so upset? I felt light, peaceful, free. I couldn’t see any images, just an orange tinted haze all around me. I didn’t know who I was, I didn’t know that I didn’t know, I didn’t know that the girl screaming beneath me, was me.

​Me. Born to Connie and William Loumeau, in 1984, near Los Angeles, CA. Born to a mother who was adoring, and a father who wanted to be, but just never figured out how. Born the eldest of my mother’s, with four to follow, and the second eldest of my father’s. My blood was a very American mix of French, Guatemalan, English, and Irish. Fiery hair, a fiery mouth, a fire that helped me fight through many trials and adventures that were to come.

​I opened my eyes, and was blinded by a light. The sterile glare of the operating room lights were immediately blocked by the silhouette of Rita. “You’ve been attacked.” I reached my hand around the back of my head, to touch the pain. I pulled my hand forward into my view, and it was covered in blood. I remembered. The men surrounding me in the darkness, seeing one reveal from behind his body a police stick, as he raised it above me. I was falling, and everything went black.

​The train car went black as the man closed the sliding door before we made it out. One mother and four small children, with all of our bags, just couldn’t get us out in time. We were on our way to Utah, leaving our home in crisp, lush Oregon. Leaving a father who was too broken to care for us, going to a place I did not know. My little brother lunged forward in the darkness and jolted the door open. A man on the tracks was angry at first, then realized we were nearly forgotten, and helped us step out into our new home.
​Two dozen moves in one state, new schools, new friends, a new dad, a new sister. Boyfriends, a wedding, a companion, and more moves. Colorado, Tennessee, Colorado again. I saw Guatemala, Mexico, Belize,Amsterdam, and Africa. I saw Africa, and it almost took me.

​I was in front of a mirror. Who was that? Me? No. The girl in the mirror was broken. She was swollen, bloody, black, ugly. Not me, who?

​Me. Watching the rain kiss the ocean waves. Smelling the salty air, feeling the sand in my toes, the wind that threatened to bring in the tide before I made it back past the rocky shoreline. I picked up shells, pooled them into the bowl of fabric from my shirt. The sky and the ocean were one, there was no longer a distinction; the raindrops were so thick. Beauty.

​The first time I saw her, I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. Despite the emergency, the pain, the fear, I said only, “I am so happy. I am so happy.” I kissed her forehead, and she was gone. I begged to see her, but I was too sick. She was too sick to be brought to me. At last, I saw her. My baby girl. She couldn’t breath on her own, couldn’t eat, she was so weak. I sobbed endlessly for fear of losing her, or leaving her. I cried to my ancestors, to my God, to save her. To save me so I could be with her. Someone was stroking my hair, but I opened my eyes, and no one was there. “Not me,” I said, “Go to her.” I wheeled up to her floor, leaned over her tiny bed, and felt a shoulder against mine. Someone else was also leaning over my sweet baby, but no one was there.

​I woke up the next morning, and my reflection was unchanged. I felt someone against my shoulder, next to me. Someone was there. Who? Faces I did not recognize leaned over me, they cried for me. “We heard your friend cry for help. I ran to you, I felt your pulse. I thought you were dead.” Her dark skin was creased with concern, her eyes fearful. “Your mother cannot be here with you, so I will be your mother now.” A few others joined her, and they prayed for me.

​I prayed on the plane that winter, prayed that the vision I had was just my imagination. Prayed that the Tsunami I learned about from the small tv on the back of the seat in front of me did not really take Kali. Prayed that the instant vision of her body being ripped through the water, far below air, wasn’t real. The plane landed and I desperately grabbed for my phone. I turned it on, 4 new messages. “Monique, Monique, did you hear? They can’t find her. Monique, Kali is missing in the Tsunami.” The pain was excruciating. I knew she wasn’t missing, I knew she was gone. I raced in a daze for the exit, raced to get home to stare at the talking faces on the screen. Missing. Lost. Searching. And finally, a body found. My sweet Kali, the girl I cared for, made macaroni and cheese for, drove to gymnastics, to parties, went shopping with, loved, gone.

​I changed my degree. I became a humanitarian, an activist. My long sought after dreams of fame as an actress and a singer seemed silly. They took back seat to my new ambition-I wanted to be a humanist. Kali was gone, but those left to suffer in this world needed aid. Support, love, oneness. It was settled, I was going to Africa.

​Abdi was there next. Holding my hand. He said little, just sat for hours. How did you get here? I asked. He lived hours away by bus, a bus fare that was quite costly for his wages. He did not have to answer. I knew, food money was sacrificed to hold the hand of a white girl, a friend, who needed him.

​God is my lineage, for I am his daughter. And I need him. I need him because I am afraid, I am often confused, and I need him to protect those I love. I need him to show others that this world is still good. That a girl can be beaten, bloodied, left for dead, because she is a girl, and she is white. But, that same girl can be surrounded by the sacrifice of strangers, by the pure hearts of his otherchildren. We need God, we need him to help us see that we are all one. That Kali, who was taken by a Tsunami, is our sister. That Abdi, who went hungry to serve a friend, is our brother. That we are incredible, capable, and we can make a difference. We can hold the hand of a bruised girl, we can light candles for a lost child, we can watch over and pray for a sick baby. We can and we should. I can. I do.

​Me. Fire. Strong. I am a woman, I am a fighter. I am a mother. I am powerful, and I am learning. My legs are strong. I am not floating; I am firm on the ground. And I am running forward.