Disinformation from a Mother's Perspective
A short fiction of what happens when a mother's love becomes the very thing that harms her rural community.
Jamie's body went rigid on the kitchen floor. His eyes rolled back, showing only white. His arms snapped forward and back, forward and back, as though his body had to fight itself.
Tamsin dropped to her knees beside him. "Jamie, baby, look at Mama! Please!"
Foam bubbled at the corner of his mouth. The seizure continued. The kitchen clock ticked past 2:47, then 2:48. Tamsin panicked like any mother would.
She scooped him up and ran for the truck. His small body stayed stiff against her chest as she fumbled with the ignition. Third try and the engine caught.
Fifty miles to Regional Medical Centre and she had never drove that fast before.
The nurse took Jamie's temperature while he reached for the bright overhead lights, babbling nonsense syllables.
Much later, Dr. Patterson appeared with his clipboard and familiar face. "Febrile seizure," he said after examining Jamie. "One in three thousand children experience this after vaccination. Frightening to witness, but completely harmless."
"Harmless?" Tamsin said as she held her son’s hand. "He could have choked. He could have stopped breathing."
"The seizure was brief and resolved on its own. Your son is perfectly healthy."
But Jamie had been healthy before the vaccine shot too.
Three weeks later, the bill sat on her kitchen table like an accusation. Eight hundred fifty dollars for four hours in a hospital room. Two days of lost wages from the fabric store. Sixty-eight dollars in gas for the round trip.
Tamsin spread the papers across the table while Jamie napped in the next room. The electric bill needed paying. The phone bill was overdue. Groceries were running tight. Her husband’s overtime at the plant had been cut again since the factory downsized.
Later that night, she opened her laptop in the exhaustive field of hope. The screen's glare made her squint in the dark living room. She typed: "MMR vaccine seizure" and hit enter.
The first results looked official. Centres for Disease Control. American Academy of Paediatrics. Dense paragraphs about fever responses and neurological development with little side effects. But the sidebar showed different headlines: "The Vaccine Injury They Don't Want You to Know About." "Mother's Heart-breaking Story: When Medical Advice Goes Wrong."
She clicked.
A woman in Texas described holding her seizing baby for eighteen minutes while paramedics tried to reach their rural home. Another mother posted before and after videos of her toddler, bright-eyed and chattering in the first clip, silent and vacant in the second.
Hundreds of comments poured beneath each story. "Same thing happened to us." "Doctors won't admit the connection." "You're not alone."
At three in the morning, Tamsin found herself in a Facebook group called Ozarks Parents for Medical Freedom that held eight hundred members. She scrolled through posts about children who'd stopped talking after shots, developed allergies, lost motor skills. The photos showed families that looked like hers. Working people. Church people. Parents who loved their children and wanted to protect them.
She typed her first post: "My 18-month-old had a seizure hours after his MMR yesterday. Doctors say it's normal but it was the most terrifying thing I've ever experienced. Feeling lost and confused."
The responses came immediately. Heart emojis and crying faces. "So sorry mama." "We understand." "The same thing happened to my daughter."
A private message arrived within minutes. "Hi sweetie. I'm Sarah, one of the group moderators. I saw your post about Jamie's reaction. I help run a smaller support group for parents dealing with vaccine injuries. Would you like an invite?"
Tamsin's finger hovered over the keyboard. Through the baby monitor, she could hear Jamie breathing steadily in his crib. Alive. Safe. For now.
She typed yes.
This private group felt different. The pinned post contained links to medical studies, documentary recommendations, a reading list for what they called "newly awakened parents."
The language was more sophisticated.
Medical freedom.
Informed consent.
Pharmaceutical liability.
Risk-benefit analysis.
Videos appeared in her feed the next morning. Dr. Rebecca Walsh, a paediatrician from California who'd left mainstream medicine after seeing children damaged by vaccines. She spoke directly to the camera, explaining how medical schools were funded by pharmaceutical companies, how doctors received bonuses for high vaccination rates, how adverse events were systematically underreported.
"Parents have the right to know what's really happening," Dr. Walsh said. "There are studies they don't want you to see."
Tamsin watched three videos before Jamie woke up. Then five more during his afternoon nap. Dr. Walsh's voice filled the house while she folded laundry, prepared dinner, played blocks on the living room floor. Each video answered questions she hadn't known to ask.
It felt empowering to now have this knowledge.
Nick, her husband, found Tamsin still watching when he came home from his shift. "What's all this?"
"Research about vaccine reactions. Did you know there are thousands of cases like Jamie's that never get reported to doctors?"
Nick loosened his work boots and sat down heavily in his recliner. "Babe, Dr. Patterson said the seizure was normal. Jamie's fine now."
"Dr. Patterson gets paid bonuses for every child he vaccinates. These doctors make money keeping us in the dark."
"Dr. Patterson delivered our son. He's been taking care of kids in this county for twenty years."
"Twenty years of following scripts written by pharmaceutical companies." Tamsin turned the laptop screen toward him. "Look at this study. Children who receive multiple vaccines are three times more likely to develop neurological problems. This has happened to our boy.”
Nick squinted at the screen. "Where's this from?"
"The Journal of Medical Ethics. It's peer-reviewed research."
"Who wrote it? What's their background?" Nick said as he scrolled down. "And where are you seeing these bonuses Dr. Patterson supposedly gets? Do you have his contract?"
Tamsin felt her face flush. "The bonuses are documented. It's common knowledge in the medical freedom community."
"Common knowledge according to who?"
But Tamsin had already turned back to the video, where Dr. Walsh was explaining how medical journals suppressed studies that challenged vaccine safety to protect pharmaceutical profits.
Nick sighed and went to the kitchen to heat up leftover meatloaf. Tamsin heard him talking quietly to Jamie, who was banging a wooden spoon against his high chair. Normal family sounds. The kind of evening they'd had a hundred times before.
Everything had changed, though. She'd been living with incomplete information and was finally seeing the whole picture.
Sunday morning at church, Tamsin found herself studying the other families during the service. The Henderson baby had developed eczema after his two-month shots. He seemed less coordinated than other toddlers his age. Signs she'd never noticed before, or maybe had noticed but ignored.
After the service, she lingered in the fellowship hall with Jamie on her hip. Emily Watson approached, her pregnant belly pronounced beneath a floral dress.
"How's little Jamie doing?" Emily asked. "Nick mentioned you had a scare at the hospital."
"He's recovered, thankfully. But it was terrifying." Tamsin said as she adjusted Jamie's weight. "Emily, can I ask you something? Have you started thinking about vaccines for the baby?"
Emily's hand moved protectively to her stomach. "My doctor wants me to get the Tdap shot during pregnancy. Says it'll protect the baby from whooping cough. But with all the conflicting information out there, I'm honestly not sure what to think."
An older woman at a nearby table turned toward them. Margaret Phillips, whose weathered hands always shook slightly when she poured coffee. "Did someone mention whooping cough?" she said, approaching their corner. "I lost my little brother to that disease. Nineteen seventy-eight. Rural areas didn't have good vaccine access then. I was twelve, old enough to remember. We buried him on a Tuesday."
"I'm so sorry," Emily whispered.
"Different world now, thank the Lord. My children and their children all got their shots, never had a problem." Margaret's eyes fixed on Tamsin. "Heard you've been speaking at some meetings about vaccine concerns."
"I share my experience and research with other parents,” Tamsin said.
"Experience is important," Margaret said. "But so is remembering what came before. I wouldn't wish what my mother went through on any woman."
She walked away, leaving Tamsin and Emily in uncomfortable silence.
Tamsin felt something crystallize in her chest. Purpose, maybe. Or responsibility. "Can I share something with you? As a friend?"
They moved to the corner near the coffee urn, away from Margaret Phillips and the children running between tables. Tamsin spoke quietly about Jamie's seizure, about the research she'd been reading, about the risks that doctors didn't discuss. She mentioned studies showing that natural immunity was superior to vaccine-induced immunity, that the Tdap shot during pregnancy had been linked to premature birth and developmental delays.
Emily listened with growing concern, one hand pressed to her belly. "I knew something felt wrong about the way my doctor dismissed my questions. Thank you for being honest with me."
"Trust your instincts," Tamsin said. "You know your body and your baby better than anyone."
That evening, Emily posted on Facebook: "Sometimes the hardest conversations are the most important ones. Feeling blessed to have people like Tamsin Greer in my corner during this pregnancy journey."
Forty-seven likes appeared within an hour. Twelve shares. Comments flooded in with heart emojis and agreement.
Later, Tamsin's phone buzzed with friend requests. Private messages from mothers she'd never met: "Saw Emily's post. Would love to connect about vaccine concerns." "Can you share those studies you mentioned?" "My daughter is due for her shots next week and I'm terrified."
Nick found her scrolling through messages at midnight. "You're telling Emily not to get vaccinated?"
"I'm sharing information her doctor won't give her,” she said.
"Information from where? Facebook?"
"From medical professionals who aren't bought and paid for by pharmaceutical companies." Tamsin turned the laptop screen toward him. "Dr. Walsh has published dozens of peer-reviewed studies on vaccine safety."
Nick read for several minutes. "This is one doctor against thousands. What if you're wrong about this? What if Emily's baby gets sick?"
"What if the vaccine hurts her baby? Jamie could have died from that seizure."
"But he didn't die. Dr. Patterson said it was harmless."
"Dr. Patterson is part of the system that profits from keeping us uninformed." Tamsin's voice rose. "The same system that created the opioid crisis, that hid the dangers of tobacco for decades. The same who got rich off us dying.”
Nick sighed and went to bed without another word.
The invitations began arriving the next week. Coffee dates with concerned mothers from church. A speaking opportunity at the regional home-school gathering. A spot on the local Christian radio show's morning program.
Tamsin accepted them all.
At the home-school conference, five hundred families packed the auditorium. She stood at the podium and told Jamie's story. The seizure. The hospital bills they were still paying off. The research that had opened her eyes to the truth about vaccine injuries.
"We trust our doctors because we want to believe they have our children's best interests at heart," she said. "But the medical system is designed to profit from sickness, not prevent it. They need our children to be customers for life."
Parents throughout the audience nodded and took notes. During the question period, a father stood up with tears in his eyes. "My wife and I have been going back and forth about vaccines for our new-born. After hearing you today, we know what we need to do. Thank you for your courage."
The applause lasted three minutes. People pressed forward as she left the stage, reaching out to shake her hand, to thank her, to ask for her phone number.
Dr. Patterson called that Tuesday morning. "Mrs. Greer, I've been hearing your name mentioned by several concerned parents in my practice. I wondered if we might discuss some of the information you've been sharing."
"I'm sharing my experience and legitimate medical research."
"A lot of that research comes from sources that have been discredited. The study linking vaccines to autism, for instance, was retracted for fraud. The author lost his medical license."
"That's one study among hundreds showing connections between vaccines and neurological damage. The medical establishment wants to discredit any research that threatens their profits."
"Mrs. Greer, I don't receive bonuses for vaccinating children. My income is the same whether a child is vaccinated or not. What I do see is the return of diseases we eliminated decades ago when people stop vaccinating."
Tamsin felt something twist in her stomach. "Children also die from vaccine reactions. You just don't report those deaths because it would hurt your bottom line."
"I've been practicing paediatric medicine for two decades. I've never seen a child die from a vaccine reaction. But I have seen children die from measles, from whooping cough."
"The pharmaceutical companies pay for your education, your conferences—"
"Mrs. Greer, I hope you'll reconsider the platform you're using. Your influence in this community is significant. People trust you."
"That's exactly why I need to use it,” Tamsin said as she hung up and immediately posted about the call in her private support group. "The pressure campaign has begun," she wrote. "They're scared because parents are finally waking up to the truth."
The responses came quickly.
"Stay strong, mama."
"They only attack when they're losing."
"You're saving lives by speaking out."
The Maternal Health Freedom Podcast reached out in October. Fifteen thousand subscribers. Tamsin recorded the interview in her kitchen while Jamie napped. Forty-three minutes talking about that terrifying afternoon in the emergency room, the research that had followed, the community of support she'd discovered.
"Parents deserve the truth," she told the host. "We deserve to make informed decisions about our children's health without being bullied or manipulated by a system that profits from our compliance."
The episode downloaded twenty-two thousand times in the first week. Local newspapers picked up the story. "Ozarks Mother Speaks Out About Vaccine Safety Concerns." The phone rang constantly with interview requests from parent groups across three counties.
Later that year, Emily delivered her daughter. Beautiful, healthy, and unvaccinated. "Thank you," she whispered to Tamsin at the hospital, cradling the tiny pink bundle. "I have such peace about our decision."
Six weeks later, the baby developed a cough.
It started small. Just a little wheeze when she breathed. But it worsened quickly. Respiratory distress then the emergency room. The doctors said whooping cough and put the baby on a ventilator.
Emily’s baby died on a Friday evening while Tamsin was reading Jamie a bedtime story.
She didn't speak to Tamsin at the funeral. Didn't look at her during the service. Sat in the front pew with her husband, both of them hollow-eyed and broken.
One more baby died within three weeks. He too was also unvaccinated.
At the second funeral, Tamsin sat in the back pew and watched another mother bury her child. The woman's sobs echoed off the church walls, raw and animal-like. Her husband held her upright as the tiny casket was carried.
Outside the church, Margaret approached Tamsin in the parking lot. "Reminds me of the old days," she said quietly. "Except back then, we didn't have a choice."
The health department arrived with clipboards and grim faces. Media trucks lined Main Street. CDC officials asked questions about vaccination rates and community influencers and the networks through which medical misinformation spread.
"They're looking for scapegoats," Sarah posted in the private group. "Don't let them blame you for their failures. Hospital protocols killed those babies, not your truth-telling."
But Nick found Tamsin sitting on their bed after the third funeral, staring at her hands. "Maybe we should talk to Dr. Patterson again," he said quietly. "Get his perspective on what's happening in the community."
"No. He's part of the problem." Tamsin's voice sounded hollow.
"Three babies are dead, Tam. All from families that listen to you. What if we got this wrong?"
"We didn't get anything wrong." The words felt foreign in her mouth. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Late that night, she sat beside Jamie's bed watching him sleep. Three years old now, bright and healthy and full of questions about everything.
He stirred and opened his eyes. "Mama? Why are all the other kids getting sick, but I'm not?"
Tamsin knew exactly why.
She'd never found the courage to tell him.
