- April 26, 2024
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by: Nanette Rundle Carroll, author of "The Communication Problem Solver"
Scientists spent the first half of the 20th century trying to cure the epidemic that wreaked terror worldwide: life-threatening Polio.
As a child who envisioned myself starring in heroic scenarios, I was fortunate to help. Imagine my excitement in early 1954 when the golden ticket to save children globally was laid in my hands: a permission slip to be a Polio Pioneer! My second-grade teacher asked who was brave enough to get three shots that would end the monster disease. She didn’t have to ask twice.
I rushed home from school clutching the consent form that would change history. We were going to wipe out polio!
The 1952 epidemic, which had killed more than 3,000 people, had ignited intense fear. So, in 1953 when Dr. Jonas Salk announced his vaccine, the nation came together to defeat polio with a massive clinical trial using only children ages six to nine. Schools recruited 1.8 million youngsters for what was called the greatest public health experiment in history.
I begged my parents to let me be a Polio Pioneer. To my surprise, instead of consenting, my parents agonized over the decision. Mom, who’d gone door-to-door with the Mothers March, requesting dimes to fund polio research, seemed the most skeptical. Raising money was one thing but letting your daughter be a guinea pig was another.
Children would be randomly assigned to either the group that got the vaccine or the control group, which we dubbed “getting the water.” It was the first time a double-blind method was used meaning neither families nor vaccine administrators would know what each child received.
Was it ethical? Mom called her brother, a priest and professor. Would God forgive her if something went wrong? Was it moral to risk your child’s life for the greater good?
Next, she called the doctor. Did he trust the science? What were the risks of getting polio, paralyzed, or dying? Without health insurance, who would pay?
Lastly, mom phoned her sister. What would she do? Could she and dad forgive themselves if I had to live in an iron lung, the mechanical respirator of the day? It was basically a metal coffin with only the child’s head sticking out and a mirror to look at.
Finally, my parents signed.
On the day of the first shot, I lined up with the other kids in the principal’s office. I was undeterred by the smell of alcohol, the girl who threw up, or the crying boy. I rolled up my sleeve and watched the nurse inject me.
I swaggered back to my classroom with my official Polio Pioneer card and metal pin.
Months after the third injection, the Buffalo Evening News announced what each Polio Pioneer had received: the vaccine or the placebo. I’d gotten “the water,” but I’d done my part to erase polio.
The necessity of mass vaccination was clearly proven, communicated and mandated. Vaccines (Salk and others) obliterated polio in the United States by 1979!
When the COVID-19 pandemic struck, scientists worked nonstop to eradicate it. And because the vaccines went through trials quicker than ever before, some people were skeptical about safety. But as a trailblazer, I sought the first available COVID-19 vaccine without hesitation. The moment I received the first Moderna dose, I felt a surge of hope. After the second, I felt liberated, as though life might resume, albeit with precautions.
According to the American Lung Association, we need 70-90% participation to achieve herd immunity. But today’s America has double the population of the 1950s, requiring more dosages. And although many can’t wait to get vaccinated, a portion of the population is vaccine-hesitant. Let’s educate and persuade those folks to get inoculated and extinguish COVID-19 the way we annihilated Polio.
