A Couple Shots in the Arm

It finally happened at 5:05pm in a little office next to the condoms and Tampax.

My appointment was scheduled for 4:45pm, so I spent 20 minutes lingering nervously in the “Feminine Hygiene and Family Planning” section of Costco’s pharmacy.  I was convinced that somehow the pharmacy staff was not finding me “In the System” (which does not actually exist) and was moments away from telling me that so sorry, I wouldn’t be getting my first COVID vaccine today after all.

Gateway to Freedom

In reality, they were short-staffed and running behind.  When the pharmacist finally arrived, toting a little plastic basket of paperwork, alcohol wipes, and a syringe of hope, I nearly fell into the Shot Chair from relief.

I listened as best I could as she reviewed the paperwork and explained the side effects they would be watching for as I settled in a freshly sanitized plastic chair for 15 more minutes.  It was a little hard to concentrate on her words with the incredulous “IT’S REALLY HAPPENING!!!!” screaming in my head.

The shot itself was nothing extraordinary.  I might say it was even easier than a flu shot.  Of course, I might have been numbed by adrenaline.  And of course, it was in fact all kinds of extraordinary.

With a sticky note confirming my second shot 4 weeks later, my paperwork and I plopped down in a specially designated “Under Observation” chair with a prime view of facial masks, face shields, and rubbing alcohol.  Just a reminder of the real reason I had a new Band-Aid on my left arm.  As if a reminder of the past more-than-a-year was necessary.

My eyes were a little watery

I mentally scanned my body.  The vaccine site felt a little warm and itchy, but only for a couple of minutes.  My knee and back hurt, so that was normal.  I also felt a little dizzy.  The dizziness psychosomatically increased as I read it on the list of “You might be having an allergic reaction” side effects. 

My head spinning, I realized I was on the verge of tears, desperately trying not to cry while Under Observation.  I was relieved, I was grateful, I was numb.  I was not elated, I was not celebratory, I was not smiling under my mask.  I actually think I was in a bit of shock.

Kayla came by a few times to ask how I was doing.  Through watery eyes, I told her I was ok.  When my 15 minutes were up, Kayla returned.

“Should I set you free now?”

Oh, she had no idea.

I told her I was feeling emotional, that I was a bit dizzy but I knew it was from being overwhelmed by what had just happened.

“I felt that exact way after my second shot.  I had a hard time describing the feeling.  It’s a very emotional thing.”

I put the paperwork and the coveted Vaccination Card with my name on it in my purse.  I pulled my jacket on to cover my Band-Aid.  Strangely, the fact that I had just been vaccinated against death from a global pandemic felt like very private information.  I felt somehow reborn, but I didn’t want anyone to know yet.

I tried to stay focused as I located the AA batteries and paper plates…because, you know, I like to trip link.  As I walked through Costco and stood in line, I realized that although I was still taking all the highly practiced distancing precautions, my urgency to do so was subsiding.  Of course, I knew that 20 minutes of antibody construction was not providing any protection whatsoever.  Nevertheless, I noticed that the emotional tightness I had been carrying for over a year was slowing releasing.

I drove home listening to Spa music to help soothe the fast flicker of thoughts and reorganizing my brain was doing.  I was holding it all together quite admirably until I got into my town’s city limits and saw the Walmart parking lot.

Looking at the Walmart, I saw flashes of being terrified to go inside.  I saw employees spraying down shopping carts with disinfectants. I saw empty shelves where toilet paper and Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer used to be.  I saw myself waiting for a curbside delivery and popping my trunk and talking to an employee through a mostly closed car window.  I saw Rob and me sitting in our car in the parking lot, eating so many fast food meals on our laps, watching people in the parking lot simply for something else to see and to be reminded what other people look like.  I saw the past year and I burst into tears.

I cried most of the rest of the way home.  I cried on Rob’s shoulder soon after I arrived.

The tears were mostly of release.  Until that moment, I didn’t realize how tightly I had been holding onto things the past year.  Tightly holding onto staying safe, tightly holding onto following the rules, tightly holding onto anxiety, tightly holding onto fear, tightly holding onto rolling with so much uncertainty, tightly holding onto sanity.

The next day my arm was sore, and I accompanied Rob to his first shot at a medical clinic.

For the next week, I found myself lapsing a little on my highly-attended COVID protocols.  Twice I came home from errands and absentmindedly walked right past the kitchen sink without washing my hands to the ABC song.  I allowed myself a masked hugged with a fully vaccinated friend.  I left the house without a mask and had to dig into my Emergency Mask Stash in the car’s console.  By the second week, though, I was back on task, vigilantly washing and sanitizing my world.  But it was with a distinct reduction in sustained terror.

Eighteen days after Shot #1, we had reservations for seven trips from near to far, from driving to airplanes to boats, from summer to winter to 2022.  My spirit instantly filled with light and sunshine and optimism with new plans…ANY plans…to look forward to.  Our calendar was blessedly peppered with confirmation numbers of hope and freedom and normalcy.

As the date of Shot #2 approached, I found myself fantasizing about the reported possible side effect of hoooouuurrrs of sleep while my body’s immune system kicked into high gear.  A full night’s sleep is a distant memory (hello, menopause), so a fever induced semi-coma sounded quite lovely.

The Second Shot

I woke up the morning of Shot #2 feeling excited and a little nervous.  I was concerned that I hadn’t been inundated with confirmation emails like with the first shot.  I had just one confirmation email for Shot #2, which felt like Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket.  I was also a little nervous about what my side effects might be.

Receiving the second dose was even faster and more overwhelming than the first. 

It's easier to take a selfie when
you aren't crying.

I didn’t start crying until I was in the car…but the tears continued until after I collapsed in Rob’s arms back at Woodhaven a half hour later. 

Amongst the sobs, I realized I had been holding my breath for over a year.  The trauma of the past year (with full understanding many people have suffered much worse) finally became more clear in its sudden release.  I know life will never return to exactly how it was in January 2020…but Lord willing, it will never be like April 2020 again either.

I spent the next 20 hours waiting to feel something other than a sore, heavy arm.  I cleaned out a drawer, I tidied up the kitchen, I did some light yard work, I lounged in the sun.  Waited, waited, waited.

Finally around the 21^st hour, I started feeling a bit off.  I had a headache and I had goosebumps on my arms despite being happily in shorts in the warm sunshine. 

By the time I went to bed at 9:30pm (not a typical bedtime for my night-owl self), I had pretty constant chills, my body felt like one big bruise, a variety of joints hurt (knees, fingers, elbows…ELBOWS?), and my energy level allowed for two episodes of “Young Sheldon” before I fumbled for the remote control and lamp switch. 

I slept for 10 glorious hours.  Not only that, I was wearing long pants and long sleeves – a first in a several hot flashing years.  Having the chills was sort of nice.  It was so novel to be cold!  I kinda liked it!

The next morning, I was only left with a slightly sore arm. All other symptoms were gone.  And my long sleeves felt a little constricting.

Three days later, a new side effect popped up.  The area around the injection site was suddenly red, warm, and itchy.  It was about the size of a dainty tea saucer.  I had heard of “COVID arm” so I wasn’t concerned as much as curious.  

I slathered on some cortisone cream throughout the day.  The next day the rash was much smaller (about the size of a half-dollar…a reference for those of a Certain Age), no longer hot, less red, but so much more itchy.  I kept reapplying the cortisone cream but THE ITCH.  Goodness, it just wouldn’t go away.  Consulting Dr. Google, I redirected from cortisone to a topical Benedryl cream and magic!  So much better the next morning!

After four more days, the rash and itch were gone and I had nothing to report on the V-Safe app.  All that was left was to endure the rest of The Countdown.

I was in my car driving to the post office when freedom rang.  It was 4:40pm, two weeks to the minute that I got Shot #2.  As the minute flashed on my dashboard, it felt like midnight on New Year’s Eve.  I smiled and lingered at a stop sign.  

Just like that, in an instant, a new chapter started.  New beginnings, fresh hope, resolutions to do things differently, a deep breath with a full exhale.