Author’s Note: A bonus edition of The Daily. It is intended to support Public Health Emergency Response. At this moment in time, it is No Big Deal.
– Vic
It was an interesting morning here. There was some mild apprehension in the air. I needn’t go into the “why” for that. Yesterday’s panic was the Johnson & Johnson news flash of six people producing blood clotting reactions to their vaccine- six of a couple million doses administered, so the one death reported is miniscule, but certainly worth some panic. I am an accidental stockholder at J&J, and had previously preferred their single-dose approach, but that is not the way it was going to be. If there were not some important travel plans in the months ahead, I would have deferred the matter until it was as simple as the flu shots I used to get when going to the supermarket. When I remembered, and going to the store was not an independent adventure.
So, we embarked on the process, regardless of the remaining skepticism about government programs to administer experimental drug treatments to the population at large. I was up briefly around 0400 for the usual loathsome necessities and then laid back down under the fluffy eiderdown, thinking of the Moderna vaccination first injection.
There was a dream between 0400 and 0700, light slowly creeping across the floor by the bed. It was of being delayed in transit to the appointment. It was vividly run by the Army I remember from my time long ago with the 8th USA in the ROK. In the mental cartoon, I was forty minutes behind schedule and apprehensive about the lecture and refusal of service I knew was coming.
A few hours later, back in a sort of reality, I was cleaned up and 40 minutes ahead of the appointment. Grace had done the drill yesterday, so I was prepared, though the territory to be covered was in previously terra incognita. Getting off the property is the usual challenge, then a couple turns off the road to my regular swim venue. Those brought me up a long asphalt drive to the army of volunteers, arriving an appropriate ten minutes before appointment time.
Signs instructed me to wait in the car until five minutes before the appointed time. I had considered asking for a wheeled conveyance, just in case the line-waiting induced an inadvertent public collapse, but the line was short (managed by the strict time constraints for appearance) and things went smoothly. The first stop was behind only four or five socially distant masked civilians, and I was waved ahead to have my name highlighted with a bright yellow line. I was then instructed to advance to the large hall at the community college and wait my turn.
I was on the verge of instability when they crossed my name off the authorized list and directed me to ‘seat five.’ There a nice young lady, suitably masked for public duty, showed half a nice tattoo on her forearm. Graceful winged shapes surmounted the cursive script words “This too shall….” interrupted by her rolled up sleeve. Having been prepared by Grace’s experience, I had a t-shirt covered by a soft flannel covering in colorful plaid from LL Bean. I started to take it off and got as far as my left shoulder when the young lady exclaimed “that’s good, if you want the left arm.”
I did a partially flannel-covered shrug and the needle was in and out before I could complete the attire maneuver. I said: “that was no big deal,” aloud and wondered in passing what the hell the public volunteer health crowd had just administered to my bloodstream. I shrugged the shirt back on and was handed a tiny slip of paper with the numbers “10:25” written neatly in red ink. I was directed to another lady in a red shirt standing by an empty seat near the rostrum at the front of the hall. She gestured at it and said: “Wait until the time on your paper.” Then she laughed and I assumed she was smiling beneath her mask.
Comfortably seated under the vista of three Jumbotron screens festooned by Spanish language instructions for our large and largely legal proto-citizens. I looked at my phone and discovered a picture of my grandson, which I resolved to forward to the computer for printing. Then it was the appointed minute. I rose, just a little shaky, and cursed the mask that focuses my exhalations in plumes of fog across my glasses and obscures the floor. Then some marginally steady cane work on the way out, feeling my way across the access road and eventually back into the Panzer. It took but a minute, no reaction, and the road home was clear. Superb organization and friendly volunteers made it NBD. “No big deal.”
Ensconced in a much more comfortable chair in the Great Room at the farm, Grace arranged a showing of a Turner Classic Movie with William Powell and Myrna Loy to pass the time. The only side-effect noted (so far) was astonishment at the ancient scenes created with whirling ladies and dapper formally-dressed men.
I took out the card with the appointment data for the second shot. It is 28 days to the minute from the first to the second dose, which my computer calendar helpfully informed me was the end of a month-long event called “Eid al-Fitr.” I assume it is a relic of the days we had to remember Islamic holidays for a variety of perfectly good reasons, some involving deferred kinetic activity, but I had forgotten what it meant. I looked it up. “End of Ramadan Fast,” was the most workable translation that popped up.
I added a note to avoid kinetic activity until after the next appointment on the computer and made a conscious decision to ignore the fasting until then. The holiday, of course, begins with the new lunar month in the eventide, so it is not a perfect match with a morning appointment. But as someone else noted, “This too shall pass.”
If you are fasting this month, I wish you well in devotions. If you are awaiting Moderna, it appears to be NBD.
Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com