Southpoint Access

A few weeks ago, I found myself doing something I usually avoid: scrolling through the comments. And y’all, I KNOW better. Truly.

It started with a Facebook post from a local news reporter about a measles outbreak and the importance of childhood vaccines. I added a brief comment, sharing that my daughter is immunocompromised and that vaccines help protect kids like her. Harper was fully vaccinated before she got sick, but chemotherapy wiped out her immune memory, including the protection those early vaccines once gave her. We tried re-vaccinating her this year, but follow-up testing showed the vaccines didn’t take. We’ll try again in a few months, which gives me little comfort in this day and age.

I wanted people to understand that not everyone who is unvaccinated made that choice. Some kids can’t receive vaccines because of medical conditions. Others, like my daughter, received them but lost their immunity during treatment. These children rely on the rest of us to create a safe environment around them. That’s the whole idea behind herd immunity: it only works when enough people participate.

Someone replied that they weren’t “risking their kid’s life to keep mine safe.” And we were off to the races…

What happened next wasn’t a conversation. It was a pile-on. I was ready to flip tables, RHONJ-style.

Strangers began replying, many with vitriol disguised as conviction. Their responses weren’t curious or compassionate. They were accusatory, echoing conspiracy theories disguised as concern. One claimed that my daughter Harper “probably got cancer because she received childhood vaccines.” Another declared her “an excellent example of someone who’s vaccine injured.” A third weighed in with, “A wise person would look at what they are injecting into the body.” These weren’t questions. They were judgments: loud, misinformed, and deeply personal.

I sat with it for a moment. I was enraged. Apoplectic, really. But I also knew that shouting into the void wouldn’t change anything. Communicating in anger rarely does. So I didn’t take the bait. This wasn’t a debate; it was the hijacking of my child’s illness to serve someone else’s fear.

I’ve always believed in staying above the fray. But sometimes, the fray shows up anyway. And when it starts making declarations about your child, you respond.

I chose my words carefully. I responded with facts, not fury. A yeoman’s effort.

I reminded them that childhood leukemia is not caused by vaccines. I spoke about the role that medical research funded by the work of organizations like The V Foundation, vaccine science, and the dedication of healthcare providers at Duke Children’s played in saving my daughter’s life. I pointed out how dangerous it is to spread misinformation, especially when it targets families already living through unimaginable circumstances.

One of my responses ended with a line I stand by: We will always support and advocate for science, especially at a time when misinformation spreads faster than, well… the measles.

Some people thanked me. A few quietly messaged support. But many doubled down. One commenter told me that supporting vaccines was “damning my child’s health.” Another said I was pushing propaganda. And when I didn’t respond fast enough to their next round of comments, someone asked if I was afraid to keep arguing because I knew I was wrong.

I wasn’t afraid. I was just tired.

I didn’t respond because I thought I could change their minds. I responded because silence, in moments like this, can be misread.

When people use your child’s name as proof of something untrue, you speak. When they take the most painful chapter of your life and try to reframe it to fit a narrative that dismisses science, you correct them. Not because they’ll suddenly believe you, but because someone else is always watching. Someone undecided. Someone unsure. Someone scared and trying to make sense of a loud, messy, and often contentious world.

I also responded for the sake of my daughter. She’s old enough now to understand when conversations overlap with her lived experience. Old enough to notice when people speak with certainty about things they don’t understand. And yes, old enough to see what it looks like when her mother defends truth with dignity and strength.

It would be easier to disengage. To say nothing. To let the tide roll in and back out without ever getting wet. But there are times when it matters to stand in the water and hold your ground.

This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to defend my child’s medical journey, and it won’t be the last. But it was a reminder of how important it is to speak up, not just in defense of our own families, but for the broader community of people who rely on science, evidence, and collective care to survive.

There are children who can’t be vaccinated because of their health conditions. There are parents navigating diagnoses that turn their lives inside out. There are doctors and nurses showing up every day, making impossible decisions with compassion and skill. When we dismiss all of that in favor of internet theories and false certainty, we don’t just undermine science. We diminish the people who depend on it.

Harper is here today because of research, because of vaccines, and because of medical professionals who knew what to do when we didn’t. That’s not opinion. That’s fact. And it deserves to be protected.

So yes, I spoke up in a comment section and it’s likely I’ll do it again. Not because I enjoy conflict, but because I believe in truth. Because I believe in public health. And because when you’ve watched your child fight for her life, and she wins, you don’t let anyone rewrite the story.

Heather Hindin is a Durham-based educator and single parent to 11-year-old Harper. With a career dedicated to equity in education, Heather brings both professional insight and personal experience to Southpoint Access. As the mother of a pediatric cancer survivor, she understands the importance of community and candor in overcoming parenting challenges. Together, Harper and Heather advocate for pediatric cancer awareness and research. They’ve founded Harper’s Home, a non-profit providing affordable housing to families with children receiving treatment at Duke. Heather’s Raising Durham: Tales from a Bull City Mom column offers a blend of practical advice, compassion, and community engagement, drawn from her journey as an educator, advocate, and most importantly, a mom.