Image of the word “rubella,” or German measles, written in Braille. Concept: Lois Beardslee. Artwork: Mark Videan.
Anishinaabe Perspectives
By Lois Beardslee
When I was growing up, “rubella baby” was a term that everyone in our community knew. The worldwide 1963-1965 epidemic of German measles hit Michigan so hard that the Michigan School for the Deaf had to create a special unit for preschoolers. These children were born both deaf and blind because their mothers were exposed to the virus during their first trimester of pregnancy. With CRS (congenital rubella syndrome), the vulnerable fetus contracts the disease from the exposed mother. Heart defects are also common in such children. Even if a mother is exposed to rubella later in a pregnancy, there can be adverse outcomes, including miscarriage, preterm births, low birth weight and visual impairment.
German measles is so contagious that even up to two hours after an infected person leaves a room, nine out of ten unprotected people who enter that room will become infected by contaminated droplets of moisture left in the air and on fluid and solid surfaces. Masks don’t help prevent the spread of the disease. Immunity is the only way to avoid infection. Most people who haven’t lived through a German measles epidemic have only vague notions of children with spots on their faces, as depicted in sitcoms and cartoons. But measles is no laughing matter.
A vaccine was developed in 1963 and distributed as quickly as possible, but in the U.S. approximately 11,000 babies died over a period of two years. Another 20,000 developed birth defects. Every case of rubella varies, and many of us were lucky enough to have mild cases that only included a rash, fever and runny nose. But I also remember being shut up in a dark room during the duration of the illness because symptoms often resulted in damage to the retinas and ulcerated corneas. Permanent eye damage was common, as was permanent hearing loss. German measles continues to be a leading (preventable) cause of childhood blindness worldwide. One in ten people who contract the disease will develop pneumonia. One in a thousand will die. One in a thousand will develop encephalitis (swelling in the brain stem). Another one in a thousand will develop panencephalitis (brain inflammation) and die, even up to 10 years after exposure.
There are only two known ways to become immune to German measles. One is by contracting the disease. People born before 1957 are most likely immune, exposed, but many are asymptomatic. The other is the safety measure of getting vaccinated. Contrary to popular “theories,” there is no evidence that the measles vaccine causes autism. Autism and Asperger’s syndrome fall within a category of developmental disabilities that appear to be related. They have a 63% correlation with gastrointestinal disorders that have nothing to do with vaccines. (I used to be a special education teacher, and among people with master’s degrees and doctorates I scored in the 100th percentile ranking in the professional knowledge core area of the National Teacher Exam, which means that I received university training in a state where teachers were taught how to screen for congenital abnormalities and head trauma, and colleges of education accepted such medical school coursework toward educational certification.) The MMR (measles, mumps, and rubella) vaccine is one of the safest and most effective vaccines known to humans. It is given in two doses, usually 28 days apart. Currently, Michigan law allows parents to opt out of the vaccine for religious purposes. But in order to register one’s child in school, one must provide proof of MMR vaccination or fill out a waiver.
We know a lot more about childhood illnesses than we used to. Along with rubella, mumps has also been lampooned in popular culture and media because it causes chipmunk-like bulging in the cheeks and neck. If mumps occur on one side of the face, up to 13% of boys who contract it are rendered sterile. If the swelling occurs on both sides of the face, it’s estimated that up to 87% of boy victims will suffer from loss of reproductive ability. Rubeola, another measles virus often confused with rubella, is equally destructive, and historic pre-vaccination outbreaks in North America have had devastating effects. Believe it or not, rubeola (also known as common measles) is even more contagious than rubella. Both are more contagious than COVID-19.
In my family, for years, part of the transition from early childhood to the privileges and responsibilities of adolescence involved my siblings, cousins, and me taking turns babysitting a beautiful little boy who was blind and deaf. His mother was a neighbor, younger than my parents, desperate and alone. She didn’t realize she’d had German measles until after her child was born and diagnosed. Then she remembered having a light rash on one arm a few weeks into her pregnancy. The boy’s young father responded by leaving, and the young mother had no choice but to go to work.
The School for the Deaf in Lansing was a boarding school serving the entire state. But during holidays and summer vacations when the school was closed, the young mother needed in-home daycare. The disparity in wages between women and men in the 1960s was even greater then than it is today, and she couldn’t afford to pay. So, in spite of the racial segregation that separated our family neighborhood from that young mother’s, our parents took turns driving us miles to and from her house, and we took turns teaching each other how to take care of our young friend. We communicated with him by pressing on his palms in American Sign Language. I remember that one of the first things one of my younger brothers did during his stint as caretaker was to invent a sign for “pick up your toys and put them in the toybox.” The young mother was so poor and overwhelmed that there was often no food in the house, and we bigger kids often dipped into our own scant teen earnings to buy peanut butter and bread. We added jam that my mum and aunties made from wild berries.
More than anything, I remember the young mother’s sense of isolation and sadness. Her son had a normal IQ, and the doctors had told her not to expect a Helen Keller story. She was going to be overwhelmed for the rest of her life. Even as teenagers, we knew we were separated from disastrous illnesses like polio by only a few vaccination years. Our older relatives had told us cautionary tales about parents keeping their children home, praying that they not become infected. And epidemics often hit Michigan’s Native American communities harder than other communities because the culture of northern Michigan in the first half of the 20th century dictated closing off roads to infected Indian communities, not even letting in doctors. We knew we were lucky to be healthy. Helping that young mother was the right thing to do, and I’m grateful that our parents instilled that sense of responsibility in us.
Lois Beardslee is an Anishinaabe award-winning illustrator and author of both fiction and nonfiction such as “Not Far Away: The Real Life Adventures of Ima Pipiig” and Michigan Notable Book “Words Like Thunder”. She illustrated her latest work, “We Live Here”, a poetry collection inspired by a traditional Anishinaabe seasonal year. Beardslee was recently nominated for Michigan Poet Laureate.
