The Second Dose

 Two hours should have been plenty of time to prepare for the next day. The clock, however, doesn't lie, and its hands were telling me it was almost time to leave if I was going to make it to my appointment on time. Frantically, I looked about me. There were still piles on my desk that needed to be addressed, lesson plans that needed a final once-over, and a stack of Chromebooks that needed to be sanitized before being put away.

Although there was still more to do, I had accomplished the absolute bare minimum by the time I walked through my door and hurried to the parking lot. Glancing at the clock in my car, I thought I might still be able to make it on time.

I didn't. Not exactly. It was a couple of minutes after my 3:15 appointment time when I pulled into the Safeway parking lot. Driving down one of the aisles, looking for a parking place, I spotted my masked husband walking down the aisle toward the store. He had made it!

Dan had told me the day before that he would try to leave work early so that he could go with me to my appointment for my second dose of the Covid-19 vaccine. Though well-intended, it was a promise I wasn't sure he would be able to deliver on. His is not a job from which he can always make a quick getaway. I honked as I drove past him and pulled into a spot. Smiling, I got out of the car.

"You made it," I said.

"I wouldn't miss seeing someone cause you pain," he responded as he reached for my hand.

"Ah, so the truth comes out!" I laughed.

I don't know why I was nervous, but I was a little. I had experienced nothing but a sore arm after the first dose and I knew any side effects wouldn't occur until later. Yet, there was something about being alone while having a needle jabbed into my arm that didn't really appeal to me. I mean, what if something did go wrong and I ended up on the floor in the middle of the grocery store? At least this way my husband would be there to take care of the clean-up on aisle 10.

We walked to the back of the store to the pharmacy. There were several other people standing around waiting, so I guess it didn't really matter that I was late after all. When it was my turn and I had stated my purpose, I was asked, "Do you have your card?"

"No, I wasn't given anything at my last appointment, " I explained. I hadn't realized until I left the store the last time that I hadn't received the little card with my vaccination information on it. I didn't think at the time it was a big deal. Apparently, it was.

"You didn't get an immunization record?" she asked, holding up an example of the card that I should have been given but most definitely was not. She had a look of exasperation on her face.

"No, I didn't get anything," I said. Hadn't I just told her that?

She turned away, presumably to find a solution to the non-existent vaccination record. I sat down in one of the designated folding chairs casually set up in the middle of the aisle to wait my turn for torture. Before too long, the pharmacist opened the door and came out. 

"We can do it here, Your left arm okay?" he asked.

"Yes." I obediently took off my cardigan and offered my arm. A quick swipe with an alcohol pad, a forceful jab of a needle that my husband seemed to take pleasure in informing me was really big, and the slap of a Band-aid to cover the hole in my arm, and I was good to go. Well, not exactly.

"Wait here for 15 minutes," he said, handing me my new and complete immunization card, and he walked away.

I started to swing my arm around as soon as he left.

"A nurse told me that if you move your arm around after a vaccine, it will keep it from pooling in your muscle, or something like that, and it won't hurt as much," I explained to my husband who was in the process of moving away from me, pretending not to know me. "You won't be laughing tomorrow if my arm doesn't hurt," I said.

"What if it hurts worse?" he asked.

"Well, then we'll know it doesn't work."

We were in need of food for dinner, so my husband urged me to use my 15 minutes to shop for groceries.

"But the pharmacist said I was supposed to wait here," I explained. I tend to be a bit of a rule follower.

"He doesn't care. Come on." Rule following is clearly not as important to my husband. Equally clear is the fact that I am easily led astray, for I stood up and dutifully followed him out of the pharmacy area.

By the time we had shopped for our groceries and paid for them, my 15 minutes was just about up. I had made it this far; hopefully there would be no awful side effects in my near future.

In the parking lot, my husband got in his car and I got in mine. I followed him the few short blocks to our house, thankful that the second dose was now behind me.

My arm might be hurting (I'm beginning to suspect that nurse told me to swing it simply for her own amusement), but I have no problem finding reasons to feel grateful.. I feel grateful for scientists who devote themselves to solving puzzles, grateful that I was able to get vaccinated without jumping through hoops like so many others have had to do, and most of all, grateful for a husband who can be counted on to see me through my anxious moments.