It's true that I barely felt the jab when the Moderna vaccine went into my arm, but it's also true that I felt that shot with every cell in my body. Relief--so relieved that I couldn't decide whether to sit down an cry or jump up and dance, neither of which felt appropriate in an extremely busy pharmacy.
Despite what looked like chaos, the vaccines were administered like a carefully choreographed dance: stand on this dot, move up to that dot, sit in this chair, jab ouch bandaid, sit in that other chair for fifteen minutes and then jump up and sashay on outta here. In front of me in the vaccine line was an 84-year-old woman who wants to hug her family members again; behind me was a young mother who wants to take her kids to Disney World. I want to go see my dad and travel again and spend time with my grandkids without worrying about who's breathing on whom, and I want us all to move past masks and Zoom and social distancing in the classroom. Getting the shot felt like a big step in that direction--as long as enough other people get it too.
Side effects? I fell asleep pretty early last night and had some vivid dreams, and if you nudge my upper arm I'm likely to shriek, but this morning I felt lively enough to take a two-mile muddy hike at Lake Katharine, so I guess I'm okay. I have a few weeks to wait for my second dose but meanwhile I'm walking with a spring in my step and hoping all my colleagues get a chance to step out and dance the coronavirus vaccine polka:
Stand in line, wait your turn,
wonder if the shot will burn--
let's do the vaccine polka!
take a seat, bare your arm,
don't forget to sign the form--
let's do the vaccine polka!
It doesn't matter if you're lean or tubby,
this shot will make you want to hug your bubbe,
So take the jab, sit and stay,
then smile as you sashay away--
you've done the vaccine polka!
I eagerly await the day when many others can add verses to this ridiculous song.
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