Sugar Cubes and Iron Lungs

A small jar of sugar cubes and a lifetime of gratitude.

When I was a kid in the 1960s, vaccines came with sugar cubes and stories about iron lungs.

Having a mother who survived polio, we were taught to appreciate vaccines.

In our house, vaccines were not debated.

They were celebrated.

By the time I was three, I knew who Jonas Salk was. I knew what an iron lung was—how rows and rows of them once lined hospital wards, filled with children. I knew about the mirrors positioned above them so the children trapped inside could see their own faces and make eye contact with visitors and staff.

I don’t think there was ever a time when I didn’t understand polio: what caused it, what it did to a body, and how lucky we were that we didn’t have to worry about catching it.

When we went to the doctor, immunizations were not something to fear—because our mother taught us to be grateful they existed, and we lived with daily evidence of what polio did to a body.

The polio vaccine came on a sugar cube. Our pediatrician, Dr. London, kept them in a small glass jar that looked like a candy dish. I was always disappointed if I didn’t get one. Even the shots didn’t bother us.

Dr. London would take the needles off the syringes and let us take them home. We would squirt each other with them, laughing, playing doctor—never afraid.

Our mother told us what polio had taken from her. She told us how sick children could become. How many people died. How different her life might have been if a vaccine had existed when she was young.

We grew up under the shadow of her falls, her braces, her body cast. Our fear wasn’t the vaccine.It was constantly worrying that our mother would fall again and break more bones.

We saved our tears for her falls and hospitalizations.

We had no tears for vaccines.

There were no negotiations.

We got vaccinated.

Vaccines were a privilege.

A way to avoid suffering.

As much as I wish my mother had never had polio, the way she taught us to value immunization was a gift she gave us for life. I grew up knowing—without question—that vaccines overwhelmingly save people from pain, while also understanding that no medication is ever completely without risk. Over the years, I’ve seen adverse reactions to many medical treatments, including vaccinations.

But my mother always said the same thing:

“I wish there had been a vaccine before I got sick.”