Allison Quinn

If you have to ask the question, you have to be prepared for the worst in response.

HHS axed a committee on detecting rare inherited diseases. What could go wrong? Let me tell you.

My son is 8 and doctors are saving his life but worries we can go extinct from stupidity. He’s not wrong.

Good riddance, childhood immunizations. My son is now un-vaccinated and getting a second chance. All he had to do was undergo a horrific bone marrow transplant.

After being told we could leave the hospital following my son’s bone marrow transplant I figured we were due for some bad news. Then my son threatened to blow up the doctors and nurses treating him.

Doctors on their rounds routinely ask how my son is feeling, and my answer is always “OK.” He’s “OK” in the sense that he’s still breathing on his own and not, as far as I can see, getting any worse.

Musk has claimed his DOGE bros were all about “cutting government waste” and rooting out “massive fraud.” But then the mask slipped.

My eight-year-old son is enduring a form of torture more commonly known as a bone marrow transplant. I wasn’t ready for the one complication that should’ve been obvious.

My 8-year-old son this week started chemotherapy that may save his life, and people keep describing me with one word that feels like a consolation prize.

It sounds bad when you put it that way. Or any way. But there’s a method to the madness.