That dreaded second vaccination.

 

This afternoon, Jordan and I got our second COVID-19 vaccinations. I feel almost guilty writing that because I know so many deserving people are trying desperately to gain access to the shots, applying countless places and caught in an endless vacuum of waiting. We are fortunate because our family doctor is a member of a network that is coordinating with the county to deliver the vaccine and therefore receives a supply. Obviously, I am more than qualified to be in the 1b group because of age, and Jordan qualifies because she is listed as my caretaker.

I sometimes bristle at the idea of calling her a caretaker, in spite of all that she does for me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her; it’s more that I rebel against the truth that I need a caretaker. But when I take a bold, straightforward look at reality, that’s the truth. I don’t drive, so she drives me to various medical appointments, which are about the only things that get me away from the cottage. She does my grocery shopping, my laundry, cleans my cottage, and fusses at me to drink more water, be sure to take medications, etc. There are a lot of things I can’t do from a walker, and Jordan does them with endless good cheer. I need to shut up and realize that she, as a caretaker, makes my life easy and happy life possible.

So now we’re in that limbo: will we have a severe reaction or not. Facebook is full of stories by people recounting their negative reactions—it’s enough to scare anyone. My doctor reminded me, however, that only about one-third of recipients of the second shot have a negative reaction. It can range from that of a neighbor, healthy young man, who was in bed for two days to a slight headache. And I’m told that older people are less inclined to react because our immune systems are weaker. Still, it’s kind of unsettling to get a shot that you know might make you feel worse. Christian is going to make a comforting chicken dish in the crockpot for dinner tomorrow night, and we will return the favor Sunday after he has his second shot on Saturday (he is eligible because of an autoimmune condition).

And then there’s the question of what we can do after we are fully vaccinated, and the vaccine has had time to take effect. Dr. Fauci, in whom I have absolute faith, says still wear your masks, social distance, and wash your hands a lot. I intend to do that, because even vaccinated, we can be carriers and infect others. The statistics on vaccinated people who get the disease are slim, but it does happen. Still, it seems to me that we are dealing with a disease that is even yet largely unknown—maybe in ten years, we may know the answers, but we don’t now. So that lunch with my daughters will be postponed, and I’ll essentially continue to live in quarantine.

More than one person has said to me, “So if that’s what you’re going to do, what’s the point of getting the vaccine?” It seems twofold to me. By getting vaccinated, I am pretty much protecting myself, but I am also protecting others. Even if I might still be a carrier, I would think odds are less likely. And I do believe that increasing vaccinations are what are making hospitalization and death numbers go down. Being vaccinated is what you do for yourself—and for your family, your neighbors, your community.

I read a Facebook post the other day in which a woman vehemently said she was never getting the vaccine because it is poison and is part of Bill Gates’ depopulation plan (never did figure out why Gates would have a depopulation plan, but I wasn’t about to ask that woman). Such ridiculous thinking doesn’t bother me, but I have also read that large percentages of health care workers and first responders are declining to be vaccinated. And that worries me, because of the implications for continuing spread of the disease. What do they know—or think—that we don’t? I know the vaccine was approved in a hurry—desperate situations call for desperate measures—but I tend to trust science. I wish everyone did.

More later. So far, I feel just fine and ate a good dinner, but it’s too soon to tell. In a sense I feel like there is a dark cloud hanging over my head. Can I blow it away?

Stay well, warm, and safe, everyone.