In a stunning development for both epidemiology and drama, the acting CDC director suggested breaking up the measles-mumps-rubella vaccine, like a boy band that insists it’s about the art. Measles immediately announced a solo tour called Airborne, with opening act: Your Daycare.

The pitch is simple: take one appointment that works and stretch it into three because suspense builds immunity, apparently. It’s like declaring tricycles dangerous and issuing three unicycles with a pamphlet on balance and good vibes.

I’m Sage Hale, professionally allergic to headlines that read like wellness horoscopes. I went hunting for randomized evidence that splitting the shot improves outcomes and found only a Spotify playlist labeled “Conscious Uncoupling—Lo-Fi Beats to Complicate Clinics To.”

Public health folks whispered that adding two extra jabs increases missed visits, needle phobia, and scheduling whack-a-mole. Also, measles doesn’t reward your effort; it just arrives early, uninvited, and eats your epidemiological leftovers.

Parents asked if there’s a “shot splitter” they can add to their baby registry. I suggested calendars, snacks, and kid-friendly shot distraction toys, because the last thing your toddler needs is suspense pacing the waiting room like a Netflix cliffhanger.

Meanwhile, the viruses—nature’s worst roommates—are thrilled. Measles is practicing its crowd surf. Mumps says it’ll meet you behind the school with cheeks that look like an orange tried to major in anthropology. Rubella, ever polite, just leaves a note that says, “Surprise!”

Logistics teams nodded grimly and opened Excel. Three separate orders, three cold-chain paths, three chances for a clinic fridge to play Tetris on nightmare mode. Congratulations, we’ve invented artisanal herd immunity—now with more steps.

Fifty years of safety and effectiveness data politely cough in the corner, asking if anyone remembers that one jab is the one that works. Breaking MMR into singles has the energy of sawing your smoke detector into three smaller, chirpier smoke detectors and hoping the fire also divides itself.

Supporters framed this as “choice,” the kind that comes with a lot of calendar invites and a measles outbreak RSVP. By this logic, we should also split seatbelts into three adorable ribbons and ask the windshield to be more gentle.

Etsy sellers are readying the merch: tiny vials as charms, a matching tote, and color-coded vaccine card holder so you can track the trilogy like a prestige TV season with an unreliable narrator named Immunization Gap.

Rough math: every extra visit is another chance for life to happen instead of the shot—car trouble, daycare plague, or the sudden belief that YouTube is peer-reviewed. Measles brings more plus-ones than a group chat; it doesn’t RSVP, it just shows up in glitter.

So yes, break up the vaccine if you miss the thrill of cliffhangers and longer lines. But when the encore is a resurgence, don’t act surprised—I told you it was a reunion tour. I’ll be in the lobby with a dry smile, hydration, and a walk to the clinic—because the only conscious uncoupling I’m endorsing is your kid uncoupling from preventable diseases.