12/12/2025
Thalidamide and DES (diethylstilbestrol) are two of history’s most glaring examples that just because a doctor prescribes a medication-does NOT mean we know it is safe for use in pregnancy. Thalidamide’s drastic effects caused its usage to be quickly discovered and discontinued -though far too late for thousands of families who faced terrible loss or a lifetime of suffering. Fortunately US families were spared this tragedy by one brave woman!
But DES was given for a decade before they realised it wasn’t helping as they hoped-and it was an additional 20 years before all the negative outcomes for the next two generations would be fully known.
Historically drug companies have excluded pregnant women from medical tests/clinical drug trials-(over ethical and liability concerns like thalidamide) so for most new treatment options-moms and doctors are left to guess if benefits outweigh risks. So mostly there are two catagories of drugs. Those we KNOW cause harm to a developing fetus (because some other families have had those harms happen to them) and drugs we haven’t found problems with yet.
Do your due diligence in researching ANY medication you may be offered during pregnancy.-especially in the first trimester when body systems are forming. How long has it been in use? What are the known risks and side effects? Are there non pharmacologic alternatives you can use to treat your problem? Make sure the benefits and medical need really outweigh any risks.
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=737212999400441&id=100093352437550&mibextid=wwXIfr
In 1960, a miracle drug was sweeping the world. Thalidomide—safe, modern, perfect for morning sickness. Approved in over twenty countries. Millions of pills sold. The American pharmaceutical company Richardson-Merrell had already stocked warehouses with ten million tablets, ready to flood U.S. markets.
The FDA approval was supposed to be a formality.
Then it landed on the desk of Dr. Frances Oldham Kelsey. She'd been at the FDA exactly one month. She was one of only seven doctors reviewing drugs for the entire agency. This was her first assignment. Her supervisors expected her to sign off quickly.
She didn't.
The testing data had gaps. The safety claims for pregnant women didn't match the evidence. Animal studies were weak. Human trials incomplete. The "scientific studies" were actually marketing materials. She had questions.
The company expected approval before Christmas. They pushed back. Hard.
Sales reps crowded her office. Phone calls day and night. Over eighteen months, company officials contacted her and her supervisors fifty separate times. They went over her head. They called her names she later said "you wouldn't print."
Every sixty days, the law required her to either approve the drug or request more information. Every sixty days, she found the new data inadequate. Every sixty days, she refused to sign.
Why was this junior medical officer holding up a wonder drug over technicalities?
Because years earlier, as a researcher at the University of Chicago, she'd studied how drugs cross the placental barrier to affect developing embryos. When she saw claims about thalidomide's safety in pregnancy, she wondered: had anyone tested what happens when it reaches a developing fetus?
Nobody had.
Then Europe started noticing something horrifying.
Babies born with arms and legs grotesquely shortened or missing entirely. Hands sprouting directly from shoulders like flippers. Eyes, ears, hearts malformed. At first, scattered cases. Then impossible to ignore.
All the mothers had taken thalidomide during days 20-36 of pregnancy—the exact window when limbs form.
More than 10,000 children affected across forty-six countries. About half died shortly after birth. Survivors faced lifetimes of profound disability. Germany pulled the drug in November 1961. Britain in December. But the damage was done.
In America? Seventeen confirmed cases.
Not seventeen thousand. Seventeen.
Because one woman refused to accept insufficient evidence.
When the news broke in mid-1962, Americans realized what had been avoided. The Washington Post ran a front-page story calling Kelsey a heroine who prevented "the birth of hundreds or indeed thousands of armless and legless children."
On August 7, 1962, President Kennedy gave her the highest civilian honor the U.S. can bestow. She was only the second woman ever to receive it.
But the story didn't end with an award.
Congress unanimously passed sweeping drug reform in October 1962. For the first time, companies had to prove drugs not only were safe but actually worked. They had to report adverse reactions. Obtain informed consent for trials. Testing standards became rigorous. Oversight became strong.
Frances Kelsey helped write those regulations. She headed the division implementing them. Her team earned the nickname "Kelsey's cops" for their rigorous oversight. She worked forty-five years at the FDA, retiring in 2005 at age ninety.
She died peacefully in 2015 at 101 years old—exactly fifty-three years after receiving Kennedy's medal.
She never made a groundbreaking discovery. Never invented a lifesaving device. Never developed a cure.
She just refused to accept inadequate evidence. She asked questions when everyone wanted quick approval. She demanded proof when proof didn't exist. She withstood pressure from powerful corporations and held firm.
Her decision saved thousands of American families from devastating heartbreak. Her example shaped modern medicine. Her legacy protects every person who takes prescription drugs today.
All because one doctor understood that courage isn't always about saying yes.
Sometimes the most important word in medicine is no.
