Remembering Edward Jenner, father of immunology, 200 years after his death

I wanted to take this opportunity to honor the memory of a great man on the 200th anniversary of his death on Jan. 26, 1823.

Edward Jenner was born the son of the town vicar in 1750, lost both parents at an early age and was raised by his older brother. He was apprenticed at age 13 to a local doctor and at age 20 was accepted to study at St. George’s Hospital in London.

After his education, he returned to his small village and enjoyed popularity and success in his field. He joined two medical groups for the promotion of medical knowledge and wrote occasional medical papers.

An avid naturalist, he studied the local flora and fauna. His interest in biological phenomena and study of the cuckoo led to his acceptance into the Royal Society.

He wrote light verse, dabbled in art, played the flute and the violin, but his greatest achievement was in the development of a preventative treatment for the “Red Death,” otherwise known as smallpox.

Smallpox killed one-third of its victims, but that rate was often higher in children. The only treatment in the 18th century was a process called variolation. Pus was removed from the lesions on an active smallpox victim and introduced into the bloodstream of a healthy individual through a cut, usually in the arm. The patient would then develop a less virulent case of smallpox.

This was preferred to contracting the disease naturally, although it was not without risk, with a 2 percent mortality rate. Still, it was an improvement over the much higher rate of mortality in naturally acquired smallpox, which was why generals, such as George Washington, insisted on this “inoculation” for his troops.

Doctors of the day were aware that those who had previously contracted cow pox did not always “take” smallpox. There were also several variants of cow pox as well as pox that affected other domesticated animals. Not all cow pox victims avoided smallpox, so the prevailing opinion was that there was a weak connection, if any at all, and not worth exploring.

Only this man took the time to visit the farms in his area of Gloucestershire. Traveling on horseback, working in all kinds of weather, he would get down in the mud under the animal’s udder and draw the pustules of infected cows. He compared his illustrations to the pustules of local cow-pox patients, interviewed local farmers and milk maids, and recorded the results. This went on for more than 20 years, through which he stubbornly ignored the protestations of his contemporaries and was expelled from one of the medical societies which he had started.

Eventually, he found a connection between a particular strain and smallpox immunity. The next step was to wait for someone to develop that strain of cow pox. When a local milk maid named Sarah developed lesions of the correct sort, he determined to test his hypothesis. In his first “vaccination” (named from the Latin word “vacca” for cow), he transferred the material on Sarah’s arm to the arm of a young boy named James in May 1796. He later tested about 25 children, including his son. After word got out, his home was accosted by a mob and almost burned down.

The vaccinations gave the children the much milder cow pox, resulting in a mild fever and loss of appetite. They recovered in a few days. When he was certain they had fully recovered, he administered the standard smallpox variolation. The results were 100 percent effective in smallpox prevention.

Some have criticized him for his willingness to experiment on children; however, it must be remembered that those children would eventually have been inoculated with the smallpox regardless of what he did.

Smallpox outbreaks tended to come every five to 10 years. Since most adults had previously been exposed to or contracted smallpox, he used children who were born after the last outbreak. By monitoring and treating these children, he kept them from the often unhygienic and barbaric variolations done by apothecaries and self-proclaimed doctors of the day.

It took years for his work to be accepted, and during that time, he lost his wife and son to tuberculosis, another scourge of the day. He developed a way to dry, preserve and package (in quills sealed with wax) the cow-pox material, enabling him to send it to a friend who worked in America and across the world.

He continued to practice quietly in his community, writing to promote his “method” and educating other doctors on its proper application. After his wife’s death, he rarely left his hometown of Berkeley, although he did keep up a lively correspondence and received many accolades and letters of appreciation from around the world, including from such men as Thomas Jefferson and Napoleon. The day before his fatal stroke, he was delivering wood to the poor in his community.

Today, Jenner is known as the father of immunology. Others who came after him expanded on his work, most notably Louis Pasteur. His life work saved the lives of millions of people and eventually led to the eradication of the Red Death in 1970.

His remains are buried in the church where his father was vicar, very near to his home (which is now a museum) and not far from the lovely Berkeley castle. I recommend that you visit if you have a chance.

Paula Podgurski

Stanhope