I usually try to post a little something on Tuesday. I’m bumping the schedule up this week because, this morning, Harrell and I went to receive our second dose of the Moderna COVID vaccine. It didn’t go quite as smoothly as the first time. When we showed up at the vaccination spot, the doors were locked. There was a paper sign on the window, advising potential vaccinees that the location was closed and that we’d all have to go five minutes down the road to get our poke.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have taken a photo of the notification instead of borrowing the blog’s image from Spotify’s Burst website. I’d also have taken a cell shot of the second piece of paper on the window, the one that wanted anyone inconvenienced by this change to join in a lawsuit against the non-profit healthcare organization that was giving these injections.
We could have walked to the new vaccination site. The space was smaller, but lines were light and social distancing was easily accomplished. The guy wielding the needle suggested I take it in my dominant arm (if you’re new to the process, here are some other tips) and I barely felt the poke. Today was a very good day. It’s tomorrow that I dread.
Twenty-eight days ago, after receiving my first shot, my arm hurt. I did the windmill exercises that are recommended to lessen the pain, but who knows how effective they were? The arm still hurt, but did increasing my circulation keep it from hurting more? That was my only side effect from the injection, though. Harrell experienced the same arm pain. Ten hours later, he also experienced chills and a mild fever, but they were both gone by morning.
Some friends and family members tell me it’s the second dose of the vaccine that carries a delayed punch. I’ve been told it’s not today that’ll get me; it’s tomorrow that brings the surprise. The reactions seem to vary from person to person. One friend didn’t feel a thing while his wife had an unrelenting headache that settled in for an entire day. One of our relatives had a miserable muscle pain throughout her body. And then there’s my friend, the Good Witch.
“I couldn’t,” she told me.
“Couldn’t what?”
“Couldn’t anything. I woke up the next day, feeling as if the blood had been drained from my body. I sat on the sofa the entire morning. That afternoon, to switch things up, I laid on the sofa. For two days. You didn’t call.”
“I did call,” I said. “The phone went to voice mail.”
“You think I was going to get off the sofa to answer the cell phone?” she asked.
By Day 3, she was fine. If she’s well enough to nag, I know she’s gotten better.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have taken a photo of the notification instead of borrowing the blog’s image from Spotify’s Burst website. I’d also have taken a cell shot of the second piece of paper on the window, the one that wanted anyone inconvenienced by this change to join in a lawsuit against the non-profit healthcare organization that was giving these injections.
We could have walked to the new vaccination site. The space was smaller, but lines were light and social distancing was easily accomplished. The guy wielding the needle suggested I take it in my dominant arm (if you’re new to the process, here are some other tips) and I barely felt the poke. Today was a very good day. It’s tomorrow that I dread.
Twenty-eight days ago, after receiving my first shot, my arm hurt. I did the windmill exercises that are recommended to lessen the pain, but who knows how effective they were? The arm still hurt, but did increasing my circulation keep it from hurting more? That was my only side effect from the injection, though. Harrell experienced the same arm pain. Ten hours later, he also experienced chills and a mild fever, but they were both gone by morning.
Some friends and family members tell me it’s the second dose of the vaccine that carries a delayed punch. I’ve been told it’s not today that’ll get me; it’s tomorrow that brings the surprise. The reactions seem to vary from person to person. One friend didn’t feel a thing while his wife had an unrelenting headache that settled in for an entire day. One of our relatives had a miserable muscle pain throughout her body. And then there’s my friend, the Good Witch.
“I couldn’t,” she told me.
“Couldn’t what?”
“Couldn’t anything. I woke up the next day, feeling as if the blood had been drained from my body. I sat on the sofa the entire morning. That afternoon, to switch things up, I laid on the sofa. For two days. You didn’t call.”
“I did call,” I said. “The phone went to voice mail.”
“You think I was going to get off the sofa to answer the cell phone?” she asked.
By Day 3, she was fine. If she’s well enough to nag, I know she’s gotten better.
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