I debated whether or not I should get the Pfizer Covid vaccine until the very last second. I had no moral opposition to it. I don’t doubt the virus is real. I just feared for my own safety. I’m a person with a chronic illness who frequently gets side effects from drugs.
I’ve been in the house safely for 13 months, I thought. I have enough issues, including newly discovered cysts in my chest and live. I don’t need to do anything else to this body. But, I really want to protect my dad, pregnant sister in law and siblings so I guess it’s worth the risk.
I rushed to the FEMA site after work and waited. I waited some more after the soldier administering the shot told me he no vaccine supply on hand. I looked down at my copy of Mariah Carey’s memoir and began reading. I adjusted my puppy mask and continued to wait. I joked with the workers about my full first name and my doggie mask ( someone even barked at me). Then, it was time. One quick stab and it was over.
Two hours later, my arm began to itch. My back tingled and my legs burned. A few rashes began to appear on my body. It was nothing a Benadryl couldn’t quiet.
One shot down. One to go.
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