I don't have a smart phone, so I took this shot with my laptop, thus the low-fi quality (meaning: I don't know why my face photographed with those shiny patches). I forgot to take it yesterday, but happily, I also forgot to take off the band-aid, so I captured the moment this morning.
Yesterday I got the first dose of the Moderna vaccine. I made the appointment at Publix, our local grocery store. My spouse and I also agreed that we didn't want to go to a stadium or a park because we've heard about hours-long waits--we wanted specific appointment times if possible.
I had heard about crowds, especially at closing times, when people are hoping there will be unclaimed vaccine doses that must be used, so I was a bit wary. I needn't have been. When I arrived at 9:30 on Thursday morning, the Publix had very few shoppers. I went right up to the check in desk, staffed by a friendly Publix worker.
A few minutes later, I was seated in the pharmacy, waiting as the pharmacist got the dose and got the syringe ready. I felt the kind of upswelling of emotion that others have described: a rush of gratitude for all the scientists who got us to this point and so quickly, a rush of sadness for all the lives lost, a tingle of fear that the virus will outwit this vaccine.
The shot itself didn't hurt at all. I was expecting more pain. My arm got more sore as the day went on. I felt chills, but that's not unusual. My office HVAC system seems to only operate on freezer or sauna level.
In an interesting incidence of serendipity, one of my good friends from high school got his vaccine yesterday too, although half a country away. One year, you're pooling your meager resources, seeing how much pizza you can buy at Pizza Hut on the Hill, you blink, and almost 40 years have gone by, and you're overjoyed at good medical news.
Throughout the afternoon, my thoughts kept coming back to my vaccine, and to where we were a year ago. Almost to the day, a year ago, the president of my school sent some of us letters that designated us as essential personnel, in case we should be stopped on our way to or from school, letters that would keep us from getting arrested for violating the lockdown orders that the county and local governments had just imposed. I printed the letter and put it in my purse, along with my school ID, in the same area as my driver's license.
I was never stopped, and over the next few weeks of 2020, there weren't many of us out and about. I couldn't imagine how we would get through this disease, since I knew about the history of vaccine development. It can take years and years to get an effective vaccine, and it often doesn't happen at all. I hadn't counted on the collective willpower that comes with a disease of this magnitude. I would not have foreseen that just one year later, so many of us would be getting vaccinated.
I realize we are not out of the proverbial woods yet, but we are much further along than I thought we would be.
This morning, I feel like I should write Dolly Parton a thank you note, since she helped fund the vaccine that I got. If I had a magic wand, I'd make sure she got the Nobel Peace Prize this year. She is an amazing philanthropist, in ways that are much less widely recognized than the white tech guys who so often get lauded. And she came out of nothing, which to me, makes her philanthropy even more noteworthy.
Maybe the best philanthropists come out of meager backgrounds. Maybe that's how they get their extraordinary empathy.
But I digress. I'd love to sit and think about this further, but it's time to head to work. Another burst of gratitude: we kept the school going, we kept our students as on track as possible, and a year later, we're still here.
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