House Rules: A Novel Read online

  Ask another, and she’ll just as vehemently tell you no.

  The jury’s still out, literally. Even though a handful of parents have sued the government—alleging that vaccinations caused their children’s autism—I haven’t gotten my class action suit check in the mail, and I’m not banking on it.

  Here are the facts:

  1. In 1988, the Centers for Disease Control recommended a change to infant immunizations schedules in America, adding three hepatitis B shots (including one at birth) and three haemophilis B shots, all given before the baby is six months old.

  2. Drug companies stepped up to the challenge by providing multiple-dose containers of vaccines preserved with thimerosal, an antibacterial made up of 49 percent ethyl mercury.

  3. Although the effects of mercury poisoning had been identified in the 1940s, the Food and Drug Administration and the CDC didn’t consider the effects of the dosage that newborns would receive because of these shots. The drug companies didn’t raise a red flag, either, even though the new regimen meant an average two-month-old at a well-baby checkup got a single-day dose of mercury one hundred times greater than the government’s long-term safe exposure level.

  4. The symptomology of autism looks an awful lot like the symptomology of mercury poisoning. To give you an example: when scientists studied the migration of mercury into primate brains, they noticed that the primates began to avoid eye contact.

  5. Between 1999 and 2002, thimerosal was quietly removed from the majority of childhood vaccines.

  There’s the opposing argument, too. That ethyl mercury—the kind in the vaccines—leaves the body faster than methyl mercury, the kind that is a poison. That in spite of the fact that most vaccines are now mercury-free, autism is still on the rise. That the CDC, the World Health Organization, and the Institute of Medicine completed five large studies, none of which have found a link between vaccines and autism. Those facts are compelling, but the next one is all I needed to convince me there’s some sort of connection:

  1. My son looked like any other two-year-old until he had a round of shots that included DTaP, Hib, and hepatitis B.

  I don’t think it’s a causal link. After all, out of 100 children receiving the same vaccine schedule, 99 will never become autistic. But just like we probably all have markers for cancer in our genes, if you smoke two packs a day you’re more likely to develop it than if you don’t. Kids with a certain predisposition in their genes can’t get rid of mercury as easily as most of us can and, as a result, wind up on the spectrum.

  I’m not one of these parents who swings so far to the other side that she eschews immunization. When Theo was born, he had his shots. In my opinion, the benefits of vaccination still outweigh the risks.

  I believe in vaccines, I do. I just believe in spreading them out.

  It is because of Jess Ogilvy that Jacob went to his junior prom.

  It was not something I ever expected him to do, to be honest. There are a lot of moments I used to consider “definites” for a child of mine that, after Jacob’s diagnosis, became “wishes” instead. Going to college. Holding down a job. Finding someone to love him. I suppose Theo bears the brunt of all my dreams. I hope for Jacob to blend into the world more seamlessly, but I hope for his brother to leave his mark.

  Which is why, when Jacob announced last spring that he planned to go to his Spring Fling, I was surprised. “With whom?” I asked.

  “Well,” Jacob said. “Jess and I haven’t quite worked that out yet.”

  I could see why Jess had suggested it: the photographs, the dancing, the table conversation—all of these were skills he needed to know. I agreed with her, but I also didn’t want to see Jacob hurt. What if no one he asked would go with him?

  Don’t think I’m a bad mother; I’m just a realistic one. I knew that Jacob was handsome, funny, and so smart it sometimes left me reeling. It was hard, though, for others to see him in that light. To them, he just seemed odd.

  That night, I went into Jacob’s room. The pleasure of seeing him excited for once about initiating a social interaction was tempered by the thought of a string of girls laughing in his face. “So,” I said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. I waited for him to put down his reading material—the Journal of Forensic Sciences. “The prom, huh?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Jess thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “How about you? Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  Jacob shrugged. “I guess. But I’m a little worried …”

  I seized on this. “About what?”

  “My date’s dress,” Jacob said. “If it’s orange, I don’t think I could deal with it.”

  A smile tugged at my mouth. “Trust me. No girl wears orange to a prom.” I picked at a thread on his blanket. “Is there any particular girl you’re thinking of asking?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “That way I won’t be disappointed,” he said, matter-of-fact.

  I hesitated. “I think it’s terrific that you’re trying this. And even if it doesn’t work out—”

  “Mom,” Jacob interrupted, “of course it will work out. There are 402 girls in my school. Assuming that one of them finds me remotely attractive, the probability of getting one of them to say yes is statistically in my favor.”

  As it was, he had to ask only 83. One finally said yes—Amanda Hillerstein, who had a younger brother with Down syndrome and was kindhearted enough to see past Jacob’s Asperger’s, at least for one night.

  What ensued was a two-week crash course in prom etiquette. Jess worked with Jacob to make small talk during dinner. (Appropriate: Are you visiting colleges this summer? Inappropriate: Did you know there’s a place in Tennessee called the Body Farm where you can study how corpses decay?) Me, I worked with him on everything else. We practiced how to walk close to a girl instead of keeping a full foot of space between you. We practiced how to look at the camera when someone takes your photograph. We practiced how to ask your date if she’d like to dance, although Jacob drew the line at slow dancing (“Do I really have to touch her?”).

  The day leading up to the prom, a thousand pitfalls raced through my head. Jacob had never worn a tuxedo; what if the bow tie aggravated him and he refused to put it on? He hated to bowl because he disliked the thought of putting his feet in shoes that had housed someone else’s feet moments before. What if he pitched a fit about his rented patent leather loafers for the same reason? What if the prom decorating committee had not gone with an under the sea theme, like they’d planned, but a disco party instead—with flashing lights and mirrored balls that would overstimulate Jacob’s senses? What if Amanda wore her hair loose, and Jacob took one look at her and ran back up to his room?

  Amanda, bless her heart, had offered to drive since Jacob couldn’t. She pulled up in her Jeep Cherokee at 7:00 on the dot. Jacob was waiting for her with a wrist corsage he’d picked out at the florist that afternoon. He’d been standing at the window, watching, since 6:00.

  Jess had come over with a video camera to record the event for posterity. We all held our breath as Amanda stepped out of her car in a long peach gown.

  “You said she wouldn’t wear orange,” Jacob whispered.

  “It’s peach,” I corrected.

  “It’s in the orange family,” he said, all he had time for before she knocked. Jacob yanked the door open. “You look beautiful,” he announced, just like we’d practiced.

  When I took their picture on the front lawn, Jacob even looked at the camera. It remains, to this day, the only photo I have of him where he’s doing that. I admit, I cried a little as I watched him extend his crooked elbow to escort his date to her car. Could I have asked for a better outcome? Could Jacob have done a finer job of remembering every lesson we’d worked on so diligently?

  Jacob opened Amanda’s door and then walked around to the passenger side.

  Oh no, I thought.

  “We totally forgot about that,” Jess said.

  And sure enough,