My sister and I drew different conclusions from the same set of facts. It didn’t help my pro-vaccination campaign when the Johnson & Johnson vaccine was temporarily pulled from the market in April after rare and dangerous blood clots were documented in a handful of people among the millions who’d received the vaccines. She’s responded with examples that influence her thinking, including a post featuring a young Black doctor who says that people of African descent naturally have stronger immune systems, and suggests the novel vaccines might disrupt that. I’ve tried, and failed, to convince my sister with stories of lives lost to COVID-19 and the debilitating symptoms that persist for many who’ve weathered the disease. It was fractious and frustrating at times, because we are tethered to separate echo chambers that amplify our individual views.īut our dialogue also led to heartfelt discussions that have confirmed our sisterly bond - and educated me about the battle that health experts face, as they try to crack the code that will get shots into the arms of vaccine-hesitant folks. Our email exchange launched a back-and-forth that lasted for months. She worried that the new COVID vaccines might turn out, in the long run, to be as dangerous as the disease. But my fear of needing a ventilator to breathe was stronger than whatever apprehension I felt about the vaccines.įor my sister, that ratio was reversed. “But living here in Los Angeles, I’m more likely to die of COVID than to wind up with some weird vaccine reaction.”Īt that point, I hadn’t done the math to know if that was actually true. “I appreciate the sentiment and respect your skepticism,” I wrote back.
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