Feeling Punk

I was fine yesterday, except when I tried to raise my arm.  But sleep was elusive last night, and that is unusual for me.  Once my head hits the pillow, I rarely stir (beyond a bathroom visit).  Last night, though, I saw every hour as the digital clock marked the passage of time during which I was not asleep.  

I kept falling back asleep, and waking up again.  I debated getting up and reading a boring book (Brother gifted me Nikolai Gogol short stories that are just deadly),  but moving seemed like more than I could handle.  I gave up in the 6's, and stumbled out to join TBG on the couch.

I made had oatmeal and made phone calls and ran an errand or two and thought everything was just fine until it wasn't.   I barely made it home.

I've spent the afternoon lying on the bed, reading Brian Broome's heartrending memoir of growing up black and gay.  I had planned to swim in the pool for the first time this season, but, again, moving seemed like more than I could handle.... not to mention my inability to lift my left arm above my shoulder without crying out in surprise.... not pain.... an unpleasant sensation.... but not really conducive to doing the crawl.

My tummy is talking to me.  I'm shivering and then I'm not.  TBG got his booster this morning and feels weird all over.  He's not moving much, either.  

All this so that I don't get sick.  I wish I felt better.

Getting Boosted

When I arrived at the empty Wallgreens, my mask was dangling from my wrist.  I made my way to the pharmacy in the far corner and put it right over my nose and mouth - there were masked people sitting in the chairs, waiting their turn while being socially distant.  

There was no line at the window.  My paperwork (completed at home) was accepted without a problem.  I had to wait 15 minutes past my appointed time for the booster to end up in my arm, but everyone was pleasant and the chairs were comfortable.

Everyone there was of a certain age.  We were filling up our vaccination cards like debutantes at a ball.  Personally, I would rather dance with a dashing young beau than be jabbed in the upper arm by a 50-something year old pharmacy tech.

I wonder if there will be new cards when the next dose comes out.  

As I waited the requested 15 minutes, others in our age cohort came over.  Everyone was masked.  Everyone stood a respectful distance from everyone else.  

If only the woman sitting in the chair at the end of the next aisle weren't coughing..... well, at least she was masked.

We drove up to the Gila Reservation to get my first dose, a dose that took hours of angst and planning to achieve.  This took 5 minutes on the computer yesterday and 45 minutes in the drugstore one block from home.  I suppose this is progress.

If only people had done what they were asked to do when this all started..... well, a girl can dream, can't she?

It's Just Going To Be This Way

That's what my doctor told me today, when I asked about getting the COVID booster.  She agreed that I was correct to be concerned, but she reminded me that most people aren't concerned, that we wouldn't be in this situation if people had vaccinated and masked way back then when being concerned might have made a difference, and that dynamic shows no signs of changing.

So, since It's just going to be this way, and we want people to get out and live, you should protect yourself as best you can.  What she said made sense.  I changed my mind.  I decided to get the booster.

The doctor's frustration that there is so much information floating around it's enough to confuse anyone and it's hard to know what to trust made me feel better about my uncertainty.  Do I trust Eric Topol, a high school friend of Brother who's now a scientific brain trust and frequently re-Tweeted expert, who has come around to accepting the 2nd booster?  Do I worry about the Israeli study that shows a 3 week effectiveness window which would argue for waiting until a family wedding in July?  Do I really want to give up a day to side effects when my physician assures me that, even if I were to be infected, the disease would most likely manifest itself as a runny nose, itchy eyes, a cough, and a sore throat?  

It's that most likely that tipped the scales.  I'm scheduled for tomorrow morning at 10:45 at the Walgreens down the block.  

Better safe than sorry, right?

I Don't Feel Any Safer

They - whoever they were - told me that two weeks would be enough.  The two weeks are up tomorrow.

The Omicron variant was to have bulled its way through the population by now.  The vulnerable are supposed to have been infected and gotten sick and suffered the consequences by now.  There are medicines to treat the disease, and the triple vaxxed don't seem to be dying or overburdening the hospitals.

Life was supposed to be back to normal tomorrow.

I don't know what I was expecting - a flurry of confetti from the sky, a brass band marching down America's Main Street, millions of people streaming into the streets hugging and laughing and already beginning to forget the past two years.

What I've got is nothing.

I don't know where to go for answers.  The CDC is once more under attack, this time from the left - what used to be the dispositive choice is now just another bunch of hacks, or so they say.  Big Pharma is making vaccines for Omicron, even as it fades away - piggybacking on the government's need to be seen to do something.  N95 masks are the gold standard for protection - I was the only one wearing one in the grocery store this afternoon.

I'd really like to celebrate my 70th birthday with friends.  For some reason, I latched onto this 2 week notice like a terrier with a chew toy.  I'm as disappointed as ever.  My plans were never made, and I suppose that's a good thing.  This milestone is just another thing that has been taken away, and its loss is far smaller than the months in which I've been away from my daughter's hugs, FlapJilly's Uno prowess, Giblet's giggles and buffoonery.

I just really thought things would be different.

Back In The Shadows - Or Are We?

TBG's doctor shook his hand  - Come on, we're both vaccinated  - at his routine visit today.

I cancelled my private Pilates sessions for the next two weeks.

Finding trustworthy information regarding exposure and isolation - especially at school or day care - is nigh on impossible.

This does not make it easier to sleep at night.  

I'm back to thanking delivery people and having groceries chosen by strangers and placed in my trunk by masked teenagers.  

Two friends want to meet - that's not happening for a while.

I have 9 library books on my counter.  A week ago I thought that was too many.  Now, with so many fewer options enticing me to leave my cocoon, I wonder if that is enough.

Outdoor yoga tomorrow is a problem - how much space is enough space between mats?  

How much risk am I willing to take?  

Who can I turn to when assessing that risk?

Are we back in the shadows again?  Who knows?

I Don't Have COVID

Neither does Giblet, but that's another story... or maybe the end of this one.  In any event, I digress.... if one can digress before one begins.  

I've had a hard time sleeping these last few nights, which is unusual for me.  I've been over-heated, twisted in the covers, and kept awake once my eyes opened by the annoying dry cough caused by my blood pressure medicine.  I attributed my weariness to that.  

But this morning, on my way to take JannyLou to a doctor's appointment (can you call it a doctor's appointment when you see a PA?), my head hurt.  I took some Advil and a Bayer, and nothing got worse... for a while.  By the time I got home, though, my throat was scratchy and my body felt crappy and I needed to lie down..... immediately.

I was very glad that I was wearing a mask while we were in the office; I just knew I had COVID.  After all, I hosted a party for 35 strangers on Sunday night - who knows what viruses were floating around?  I began to feel awful about hugging My Yogi goodbye after lunch yesterday;  she wondered if we should get that close while I was blissfully moving in for her touch.  At least we didn't kiss, we agreed, and smiled.  

Would she be smiling when I called and told her that I had COVID?  JannyLou is in the midst of moving; being exposed is the last thing she needs on her plate.  Did all the party participants require notification?  As I began to spiral further and further down that rabbit hole, my attempts to nap were thwarted.  

Should I take a COVID test?  Of course I should take one of the two home tests I have in the cabinet.  But I was scared.  I didn't want to know.  But I had to know, because treatment must be started early.  But I didn't want to isolate myself, not with most of The Brownie List undone.  

But I wasn't getting anywhere in the sleep department, so I took the test in its cardboard box to the vanity table in my bathroom, and began to read.  This is not a test for home use introduced the instructions.  There was verbiage referring to Pictures 3-6, which corresponded to Pictures 1-4 when I put the words and the line drawings together, and the directions required a few readings before I had the full picture of what went where and how it got there and for how long it stayed there and what the result would look like.

I swabbed and inserted and squeezed and dripped and within seconds the red line went to the C - I don't have COVID.

I immediately began to feel better.

I still have symptoms, but they are unlikely to become life threatening.  What remains from this morning is a vague sense of unease.  It's true that every headache I have is a brain tumor unless diagnosed otherwise - my family has laughed at me about that for years.  But now my paranoia is more focused. It  feels less like psychosis and more like appropriate concern.

Remember Giblet?  He came home from day care with a fever, and went straight to the doctor to check for COVID.  He got the paperwork that will allow him to return to school - a much more official note from the doctor than G'ma ever provided for me when I ran a temperature.

I don't have COVID.  Neither does my grandson.  I can't believe I wrote an entire post about having a cold.

Boosted

Confusing was the calmest adjective... or is it an adverb.... in the lead up to getting a supplemental COVID vaccine.  There was no guidance that was relevant fifteen minutes after it was issued.

That's as much as I wrote before I fell asleep on the couch.  It was deep sleep, for a while, until I moved and my arm announced its presence with authority.  

That was the beginning of my impetuous decision to get an additional dose of the Moderna vaccine.  A friend told me that Walgreens had lots of them, the online registration process was easy once I assembled my paperwork, and there was an appointment available at the pharmacy down the block in 15 minutes.

An hour later I was jabbed and back on the couch.  I had to say that I was immunocompromised, but since my doctor told me to get the shot, and my immune system is old and therefore compromised, I only hesitated for a moment.  I don't like lying.  I don't like getting sick and dying even more.  It was a foolish worry on my part; the next day the boosters were authorized for all of us over 65.  

Go get yours now.  

The rest of this blog tells the story of my reaction.  Don't let it deter you.  If I had anything else to write about I would do so, but this booster knocked me on my ass for two days.

The exhaustion was compounded by the pain in my arm.  The shot-giver told me to take Tylenol not the Advil on which I usually rely.  Extra Strength Tylenol recommended that I take two 500 mg tablets every 6 hours.  1000mg seemed like a lot; I took one.  

That proved to be a mistake, since my arm woke me up every REM cycle, and there was really no comfortable place to put it.  By 5am, I gave up and took two pills...... and I slept well and woke up on my own, without my arm prompting one bit. 

One could speculate forever about why I decided in this instance that I knew better than the manufacturer, but I was so foggy I couldn't hold the thought.  If that feeling - a cloud in my brain, inserting a semi-permeable layer between me and the rest of the world - is what COVID-brain is like, then I am very glad to have minimized my chances of living with it long term.

I cancelled plans - yes, I had plans - and spent the day on the couch, until the fog lifted a bit and I decided to do a few errands.  The library was easy and I found some treasures.  I felt okay, so I went on to Whole Foods.  

Their carts are very sturdy.  I know this because one supported me throughout the store.  I managed to get dinner and ice cream and a melon.... which was too heavy for me to lift onto the counter without moving my whole body.  That was a sign.  

Getting the groceries into the car was challenging.  Sitting down felt great, and I let the air conditioning cool me off until I felt safe to drive..... at the speed limit.... in the right lane.... all the way home and into the garage,  dragging the groceries in my cooler bag into the kitchen.

I shoved them into the refrigerator and headed for the couch.  I am not as tough as I thought I was.  Dinner was nothing like the extravaganza I had planned, but there was food and I am proud of that, at least.  Feeling foolish about overdoing it, I wasn't paying attention to my lower intestine until my third or fourth trip registered on my (still foggy??) consciousness.  I'll spare you the details - suffice it to say that I cancelled all plans for today, too.

I'm now 48 hours past injection, and I'm doing fine.  The symptoms came on all at once and are leaving in stages, but they are leaving and I am inoculated and as safe as I can be.  

It's good to live in a country where healthcare is available and free and easy to obtain.......... oh, yeah, right.

Handling It Like a Grownup

Nicki Minaj has almost 23 million Twitter followers.

She tweeted that her cousin's friend... or maybe her friend's cousin.... got the Covid vaccine and a swollen testicle - and the first gave rise to the second.  . 

Despite all medical evidence to the contrary, Nicki Minaj tweeted the connection between manhood and the vaccine to 23 million followers, all over the globe.  This is not your aged aunt on her back porch sharing gossip with a neighbor.  23 million is a lot.  

The media didn't help the situation by sharing the story - laughing at it but advancing it at the same time.  Then Joe Biden stepped in.

He offered to educate her, to facilitate her meeting with scientists who would address her concerns, to get her questions answered, to do what he could to make her see the light.

I can't imagine how frustrating it must be to inhabit Joe Biden's skin these days.  Have at it was the most recent gentle explosion from within.  I'm having fun imagining his conversation with Jill as they brush their teeth and go to bed, that time of day when  no one else is around and your inner idiot can be given free rein.

The possibilities are endless.  I'll leave you to them.  I will be admiring our First Lady whose influence on educating rather than shaming those who are in error.

This explanation makes me much less angry than I would otherwise be. 23 million people .... well, perhaps she'll change her mind and become an ambassador.  I'm going to hold onto that thought for the weekend.

How To Lose Weight

Pandemica - I can't travel, I can't hug my friends, I can't eat.

What?  I feel you furrowing your brows.  The connection is not obvious, but it's there.

Taos Bubbe and I had plans to eat pizza and salad at Sauce..... until she arrived early and discovered that they had no outdoor seating.  Luckily, the plaza also houses a Prep and Pastry, which had several umbrella shaded tables just waiting for us....... after a 15 minute wait while they dithered about, neither clearing the dirty plates nor wiping the table nor seating us.

We were shaded.  There was no breeze. It was over 100 degrees.

And there were flies. Lots of little annoying beasties, landing on my bare shoulders and bare legs and hovering over and occasionally alighting on my avocado toast.  

Taos Bubbe was hot.  I was dripping sweat.  I had absolutely no appetite; there was enough on my plate that the server offered me a to-go box.

We met up a few days later at the Sauce near me.  Their outdoor seating has misters overhead and is tented; I was sure we'd be fine.

We were not.  

The breeze, what there was of it, was blowing the mist toward the sidewalk, not the seats.  Triple digit temperature (again), tiny flies (again), no appetite (again).  After eating not very much of our very good food we agreed that it was too hot to visit any longer.

This morning, Amster and I had our usual lunch at North.  We ate outside, tented, under broken misters as the temperature rose with the sun.  As soon as the food arrived, so did the flies.

My food was delicious.  The service was impeccable.  I was never without ice tea.  

I had no appetite.  Though we had more to say, we left as soon as TBG's pizza to-go arrived at the table.  He was the only one of us who truly enjoyed his meal.

After waiting for the cleaning lady (90 minutes late but where was I going anyway) I ran to Whole Foods then bbq'ed NY Strip Steaks.  The low 90's didn't feel much cooler than the low 100's, even though the sun had already set.  The absence of a breeze was made tolerable by the bats, who were busy reducing the number of flying annoyances to a random few.  

Yes, as I sat and boiled, I was grateful for the presence of bats.

By the time I sat down to eat, the knife and fork felt too heavy to lift.  There is a lot left for lunch and dinner tomorrow.

The scale is rewarding me.  I don't care.  I like eating.

GET YOUR DAMN VACCINE so that I can eat inside like a sane person.

I'm So Angry

This is usually my happiest evening of the school year.  The kids show up for their first day tomorrow and, usually, I'm filling the pockets in my Grandma robe with stickers, and deciding which shoes are the most comfortable for standing and bending.

I should be setting my alarm for 6:30 so that I arrive in the parking lot while there are still empty spaces.  Hugging and smiling and introducing will occur;  I will comfort little ones who don't want to leave Mommy.....  at least that was my plan earlier this summer, when the virus seemed to have released its death grip on our County, and people were believing that we could go into public spaces without our masks - our reward for being well behaved during Pandemica.

Instead, I am going over to Scarlet's to play mahjong.  I can't risk getting sick, and our Governor has made it impossible for the local district to keep me safe.  Masks can no longer be required.

This is, I am told, in defense of my liberties.

All except for life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness - all of which are encapsulated in the fact that I do not feel safe going to the first day of school.  The kids will all be under 12 and thus unvaccinated.  The grown ups are probably a mixed bag.  I could contract the Delta variant and have no symptoms and transmit it to everyone with whom, up until now, it's felt safe to visit.

I suppose this is my punishment for those moments when the reopening of the world felt like more than I could bear, when I remembered the long, empty days with a certain fondness.  But, I could cry to the universe, I'd come to terms with allowing events and people back into my life.  I had learned to travel safely and to party with my grandkids without endangering their health.

The unvaccinated - if you are reading this please comment and tell me why - served as hosts for a virulent new disease, one that now threatens to morph into still another variant.....Delta Plus, according to Lawrence O'Donnell..... and if someone can explain to me how their liberty trumps mine I'm ready to listen. 

Until then, I'm thinking of Jezebel's solution to Yellow Jack..... and if it's gotten to the point where I am thinking about using weaponry to keep myself safe..... well, things have certainly gotten out of hand.

We have a problem.  We have a solution.  We were almost there.  I am so angry.

Tomorrow's post should be stories and pictures of America's newest scholars.  I'm going to wallow in self-pity take the day off and regain my composure.

Come back on Monday.  I'll have a better attitude, I promise.  Til then, stay safe.

Going Backwards

The last time we flew home from South Bend, we were the only people in the waiting area.  It was early June, we were vaccinated, we were sitting alone and far from the few other travelers who were leaving Indiana at 11pm, so we took down our masks and breathed free.  

We weren't worried.  If we believed the science and stayed home for 14 months, we have to believe the science when it tells us we are safe was our mantra. 

All that has changed in the past few weeks.

Of course, we masked up whenever we went anywhere with FlapJilly and Giblet.  If the least among us could not be protected we would take all the precautions we could - to protect them and to show solidarity with their predicament.

As soon as you get your vaccine, my love was the all too frequent answer to horseback riding and eating inside a restaurant and traveling to Arizona... and it shouldn't be.  If everyone who could get vaccinated did get vaccinated I could have taken the kids to the library when the weather turned ugly.  Not that we didn't have fun at home - SIR and Little Cuter have created a paradise for kids of all ages - but there is so much world out there to explore.  

In the airport on Wednesday we kept our distance and our masks and found ourselves aware of every cough and exposed nose.  I went to Costco that afternoon and I wore my mask.  JannyLou and I masked up when we went out to lunch.  We were very glad to be sitting at an out of the way table in the back.

This doesn't have to be happening.  People are dying who might have been saved.... who probably would have been saved.... and who certainly wouldn't have served as a host for who knows what other variants might be percolating out there and I am slowly losing my mind as this threatens to happen all over again.

Little Cuter hugged us at the airport and reminded us that If there's even the hint of another pandemic, you are coming right back here... or maybe we will come to you  - you have a pool.

 I want them to be able to visit rather than flee.

Summer Fun in the Neighborhood - Times Two

Bret-t.. our favorite waiter at our favorite pizzeria, regaled us with stories and videos of his trip to introduce his 7 year old daughter to his fiancee's extended family in Iowa.  Lady Jane and I were treated to videos of fireworks by the lake, of little girls' faces filled with wonder and awe.  We heard stories about jumping off the dock into that lake, of heat and humidity so thick that clothing was drenched within minutes of stepping out doors.  

Mostly, though, there were stories of familial connections that were new but which felt old.

She doesn't feel like my cousin, Dad.  She feels like my sister

*****

SIR created his annual fireworks extravaganza again this year.  Little Cuter sent text invites to their neighbors with kids, and by nightfall there were children running through yards and hiding and chasing and laughing out loud while gasping and ooohing and aahhhing (from a very safe distance) at the sparkles and booms.  

Little Cuter took a break from her role as Entertainer of the Year and chatted with grownups as the children romped.

Giblet wanted to be like the big kids - he asked mom if he could take off his shirt like they did.  

FlapJilly was exhausted - Those boys wore me out!

*****

Memories like that last a lifetime.  I know, because my 4th of July memories are vivid even 6 decades later.  

Thank you, Science, for bringing joy and laughter to everyone this summer.  Vaccinations made all these stories possible.

My Second Shot

This Walgreens was 30 miles and 35 minutes further away than dose number 1.  Unlike last time, there was traffic, lots and lots of traffic.  A rent-a-truck going 60 in the left lane in a 75 mph marked zone backed up cars for miles and miles and miles.  The grey van next to him moved up and back, precluding anyone from passing safely.  We observed all this as we followed the cars that were moving with more alacrity,  awkwardly passing in the far right lane.

That's not TBG's usual style of driving, but we were on a mission and he was determined to get me where I needed to be when I needed to be there.  As we drew closer to the orange U-Haul which was causing the disaster, we snarled at the driver who was holding his phone and merrily chatting away.  Our death stares didn't phase him, but they made us feel marginally better.

(There ought to be a direct phone line to call the police when someone is holding the phone; it's illegal all the way from here to Phoenix.)

We exited I-10 after a brief pit stop at the Rest Area, which is now reopened and was densely populated with masked travelers emptying their bladders.  The road that Google Maps selected took us through the Gila River Indian Reservation on a lightly traveled straight road that passed cookie cutter stucco-ed  one story homes with covered porticos at the front door to shelter cars from the sun.  The colors were different, but the basic style was always the same.  

There were no store save the gas station and mini-mart at the highway's exit.  Ten miles of vacant land, farm land, scattered houses, and one lone man working on a motorcycle in the shade of his portico.  The land is flat and featureless.  There's a BASF ("We make chemistry happen") factory set far back from the road, but that's it.  Desolate is giving it too much character.

Casa Blanca Road ended at a traffic light, and civilization appeared over the horizon.  Freddy's and Chipotle and Fry's and Basha's and gas stations of every variety lit up the overcast afternoon.  It was jarring to move from what could have been the early 1900's to the 21st century just by turning left.

The Google Maps lady sent us past all the different-but-basically-the-same strip malls, directing us to turn right into the Amtrak Parking Lot.   

There were no other cars there.  There were no humans to be found.  There was certainly no Walgreens in the small paved area.  Refreshing the app did nothing; she sent us to the same place.  I had the right address, having Ctrl+C'ed it directly.  I told her app that she sucked😒and closed her up.

I called the store and was told that there was no Amtrak lot in town.

After some confusion about where we were and where we should turn, I managed to get a cross street from the very confused young woman who was trying (and failing) to help me.  I have never wished for a paper map unfolded in my lap more than I did at that moment.  Finding Smith Enke Road on my phone was a less than pleasant challenge, but I saw a Walgreens and then a street sign and we turned and parked and were still 10 minutes early.

TBG followed me in for a bathroom break, then sat in a comfy chair as I filled out paperwork.  After assuring himself that I was safe and well taken care of, he went back to his car to wait without being surrounded by possible virus spreading humans in the store.  

The pharmacist stabbed me and directed me to a chair across from the main desk.  There was no joining TBG in the car until 15 minutes had past.  So, I sat and moved my arm around, chatting pleasantly with the woman occupying the I'm Next chair.  When enough minutes had passed, I stood, told the pharmacist that I felt fine, and turned to leave.

The line of patients waiting to drop off prescriptions applauded, smiling and giving me thumbs up and nodding heads and smiles behind their masks.  I curtsied and blushed.

I danced along to the top hits from 1965 all the way home.  It was an easy way to keep moving my arm, pretending I was 13 years old again.  This shot stung more than the first one, and the injection site was painful, not tender.  I prepared myself for the worst.

Home, fed, nestled in the couch with a book, I felt fine until I decided to stand up.  My legs weighed 10,000 pounds.  There was a weight on my chest the size of a refrigerator.  My tongue had a hard time forming words.  I've never been that tired.  Ever.

I finished pulling up the shades and flopped back on the couch.  The clock said 8:07.  I announced that I was going to sleep.  I took 2 Advil for the arm pain and pulled the covers over my head.

TBG rubbed my back until I dropped off.  The next time I looked at the clock it was 7:07, the sun was shining, and my arm still hurt.

I haven't slept that long since I can't remember when.  

And now it's nearly noon.  My arm, Advil soothed, still hurts when I move it abruptly, but it's fine tucked next to my waist as I type to you.  My friends have had reactions on the second day, so I'm uncertain how the rest of today will unfold.  But for now, I'm fully vaccinated and relatively okay.

I feel grateful and humble.  I feel safe and healthy.  I'm ready for a big sign that says SCIENCE ROCKS!!!

The Vaccine Saga Continues

Things were changing quickly.  

Notices went up and were replaced by the time Little Cuter clicked over to check them out.  What I read in the newspaper over breakfast had changed by the time washed the dishes and logged on to look for my eBook.  As Allison asked in a comment yesterday, Where did you hear that?

Long after Little Cuter's bedtime, the messages on the provider's website calmed down.  I thought that we were okay, but the wording was somewhat less than reassuring.  I shared the link with her to read when she woke up; and went to (fretful) sleep.  

Her texted reply was waiting for my early morning bleary eyes.  Yes, it seemed like he was okay, but call when they open to be sure.  

And that's when anxiety turned to delight.  I was midway through the comics when terminal hold started speaking to me.  I closed the newspaper and turned up the volume to better pay attention to the friendly young man on the other end.  

He understood my confusion, and repeated the facts, just to be sure.  He checked the calendar and thought we were fine.  He did a deeper dive and decided that only the Monday and Tuesday appointments were changed (to Friday), but that Wednesday and Thursday were fine.

That made sense to all of us; the doses promised were now able to be delivered.  The snow has turned to sleet on its way to rain, and the supply chain is open again.  I thanked him for checking for TBG and he paused.  He'd only run a general search of the issue; he wanted to go further into the data base and give us a more specific answer.  

Hmmmm.... we weren't in his MyChart information, but we were not to worry..... as my heart rate increased he offered mindless reassurances and logged into the POD database..... and was delighted when I told him the lane number under the registration number and there was TBG, at the right time in the right lane at the right site.

We'd been checked and rechecked and confirmed with a supervisor to boot.  As TBG, listening in as he cooked us eggs, said, We love supervisors.  I thanked the young man profusely, and he was gracious and charming and made sure I was completely comfortable before he wished me good health and let me hang up first.  

We smiled.  We texted the kids.  We looked with reverence at the printed appointment information.  We haven't felt this safe in a long, long time.  

Weather, Planning, and Vaccinations

TBG was the first in the family to snag an appointment for the first dose of Moderna.  That was the first deep breath we took since Pandemica arrived; on February 25th at 10:20am he would be on his way to health and safety.

Little Cuter and I manage to schedule two doses for me at Walgreens; TBG turned down my offer to schedule one for him there, too.  He had one appointment.  Why test fate by locking in an insurance bid?

We were all set.  Our two doses would be finished in time for traveling in April.  The transmissibility results were encouraging.  We were gently treading from cautious optimism to actual hope.

Climate change seems to have dashed those hopes.  

Anyone who doesn't think that rashes of fires in the west and snowstorms in the south and floods all over the planet aren't a result of our disrespect for our planet needs to take a basic Earth Science course.  I still remember It's all connected as one of the lessons I learned in 8th grade.  The Bride and her family are enjoying a light dusting and freezing temperatures in Alabama.  FlapJilly and SIR are spending hours taking videos of the slalom course he shoveled in the back yard for her sled-pulled-by-tractor runs.  

Note the home improvised Go-Pro camera on her helmet.  Duct tape, paper towels, and several failed attempts didn't dampen their spirits.  It was so much fun that they woke Giblet from his nap so that he could play, too.

But all that snow created havoc in the supply chain.  And that did not bode well for TBG's upcoming vaccination appointment.  I resisted checking the site.  For two days, I didn't look at all.  Then I read the newspaper.  Not only is Gov. Ducey reserving most of the vaccines on hand for Maricopa County and those Phoenix area Republicans,  he's reducing the number of doses we'll receive here in Pima County in the future.  

With that information percolating in my brain, I opened the MHC website.  The Community Clinic which was to inoculate TBG posted a well written, lengthy, thorough notice atop the usual website home page.  They explained the delays - political and meteorological - and laid the blame squarely at the feet of those responsible.

I can't wait until he tries to run for Governor.

Vaccines scheduled for last week were pushed to this week.  Those scheduled for this week (like TBG) are cancelled indefinitely.  

I took a few deep breaths before I read the rest of the blurb.  MHC promised to get in touch with everyone who was scheduled, both to notify and assist with rescheduling.  As of Sunday at lunchtime, we haven't heard a thing.  I can't blame them for not sending a sorry we can't help you right now email, but it would have been nice.  

Nicer still would have been a 45th President who made a plan while we waited for the supplies.  There is only one company making the basic lipids needed by all the manufacturers.  They are licensing their patent to other companies now, but couldn't that  have been foreseen last Spring? Government doesn't run by itself.  Hollowing out the infrastructure providing the manpower and the brain power only served to exacerbate the problem.

And now, we wait.  Little Cuter and I are on all the websites - Walgreens and Fry's and AZDHS and Pima County Health Department - and so are all my friends.  We have all promised to telephone one another if we spot a break in the dam.  

Unfortunately, the 12,000 people who were cancelled out of their appointments at the fancy schmancy UofA Mall site are also going to be in the hunt.  I predict another round of battling with clunky websites overwhelmed by anxious typists.

There had to be a better way.

Getting My Shot

We drove to Casa Grande, 57 miles and 58 minutes away from home.  It was an overcast afternoon, with more traffic than we'd expected.  We were anxious, for no reason, but there it was.

It was 50 miles on the highway and 7 miles on two lane roads past trailers and rusted wrecks and flea markets.  The Walgreens was on what we call a Rte 13 - the McDonalds, Denny's, motel, car wash and other traveler's needs road that bordered Ithaca.   

We parked, double masked up, and entered a store together.  It was a moment - we haven't been in a store together since our last grocery outing on March 12th.  There was a short line waiting at the pharmacy; TBG took himself back to the car to stay safe.  I waited as the couple at the window filled out their paperwork (it was possible to do this before you arrived, thus saving everyone time and energy), and then as the lovely pharmacy clerk explained to the next customer, an Hispanic gentleman of indeterminate age who thought that his presence in line was enough to secure a vaccine.  She was patient.  He was sad.

I handed in my papers and got my shot and we drove home and everything was fine.... except my heart.

Everyone in line to be vaccinated was white and well dressed.  We'd overcome the obstacles registering and searching presented, and found ourselves with the golden tickets.  The vaccination sites located in underserved neighborhoods don't seem to be doing much to serve those who live in those neighborhoods.  

Scarlet's friends in Manhattan took two trains and a bus to Bushwick, a less than savory neighborhood in Brooklyn.  There, surrounded by dismal poverty, they and other well dressed white people received their vaccinations, surrounded by those less fortunate residents of the neighborhood.

There's something really wrong with this picture.  

Vaccine Weirdness

I got an appointment for both doses of the Moderna vaccine; the first one is this Saturday.  We'll be driving  about 45 minutes to Casa Grande, to a random Walgreens just off the highway.  

Little Cuter was on it from the early morning, and recruited me to the search via text. The site was clunky and kept crashing and sending error messages and showing three blue dots bouncing at the top of the screen as the site stopped to think. But I managed to get through and answered a few questions and found that there were 9 appointments and 27 appointments and 24 appointments remaining on the first few days that popped up on the screen.  

I might have squealed.

I figured in the drive time and chose one date and then another, one month later.  I printed out my confirmation code and appointment details on two bright white sheets of paper.  I've been carrying them around all day.

There is an end in sight for my total isolation from the world. You'd think I'd feel the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders.  You'd be wrong.  

I spent the entire day full of anxiety.  I kept looking at my papers, checking the dates and the times and looking up the address on Google Maps.  I called the pharmacy to ask which vaccine I'd be getting.  I shared my angst with Little Cuter, who totally understood.

I've been so accustomed to worrying about this virus, for such a long time, that I'm having a hard time letting go.  It makes no sense to my rational self, which self has been gradually asserting itself as the day's gone by.  But the morning and afternoon were filled with worry and concern and trembling hands and free floating anxiety.

The papers are still nearby, but glancing their way is enough to calm me.  The weirdness is passing, slowly but surely.  Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to be really happy.  For now, the fact that my kids are thrilled is enough.

There Really Was No Plan

At the risk of sounding whiny, aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

I slept well and exercised and made hot cereal for breakfast and opened the paper to find that, separate and apart from the Arizona Department of Health Services' and the Pima County Health Department's vaccine registration/invitation sites, pharmacies at Fry's and Safeway were getting and injecting vaccine into the arms of people who were reading the Arizona Star.

I left the oatmeal cooling in the bowl.  I opened the websites and registered myself and cursed at having to do this all over again for TBG as I clicked through the speedy and easy to follow pages to find that, of course, there were no available dates.

I registered TBG before I went to the Safeway site and had the same experience.  

I spent the rest of today in a funk.  I logged on randomly during the day, but nothing changed,.  Before I made dinner, I called the local Fry's pharmacy and asked the lovely lady (who answered after only two rings) if she had any Covid vaccines.  She sighed, said they had been available last week, that no Fry's in town had any nor knew when more would come, although she was sure that more was on the way.

I keep thinking about the 5,000 person per day sites that are up and ready to run, 24/7.  

I can't look at Facebook and see my friends in California and New York and Chicago and Indiana showing off their vaccination cards and maintain my equanimity.  I'm jealous where I should be grateful that someone I love is one step closer to being safe. 

But I'm so through with handling Trump's incompetence while maintaining my equanimity, and this lack of supply cannot be laid at President Biden's feet.  We did everything we were supposed to do.  I am furious that my government did not do the same.

Fortunately, President Biden does have a plan, and you can read the Fact Sheet here.  It's not very long and it is very clear.  Reading it helped me breathe again.  

I've decided to take a deep breath and continue my delivery/curbside, sequestered with my sweetie, life. I'm sure we will receive our vaccines eventually.  I have to embrace the uncertainty and move on.  

Little Cuter says anxiety is wishing that was is, isn't.  

I should remember that.

Watching the Sausage Being Made

I've been down in the political weeds since Hilary vs The Donald.   I've spent much too much time considering the minutiae of the judicial system.   I've delved into the differences between rural and urban areas in states I've never visited.  And now I know about Reconciliation and Organizing resolutions.

It's disgusting.  

The back and forth in public.  The space laser.  The Senate Minority Leader commenting on his House counterpart.  The fact that people who were cowering in fear three weeks ago are now denying that anything of consequence really happened.

I was happier when I was ignoring the whole thing over the holidays.  

Little Cuter keeps reminding me that it's been less than 2 weeks and that now there's a plan but I live in a world where I can access any book I want at any time of day, where Amazon brings me vitamins and cleaning supplies tomorrow, and where there is no vaccine available so I am registered but don't have an appointment at any of the ready-to-go PODs which means Point of Distribution, another acronym I've learned since Pandemica fried my brain......

Little Cuter refers to this feeling as my brain pouring out of my ears.

All I know is that, at least for right now, it is making it impossible for me to think.

A Virtual Conference

They tried.  I have to give them credit for that.  

The production values were excellent.  For the most part, the transitions were seamless, with hardly anyone forgetting that they were still muted.  Cornelliana festooned the backdrops and other surroundings of those who trying their best to make us feel as if we were there.

Where?  Anywhere.  Last year we were in Las Vegas, just as the reality of Pandemica was beginning to creep in.  Most of us stayed within the confines of the ballrooms of the hotel; hardly anyone ventured out to the art at the Bellagio or to a show anywhere else.  The airport was deserted when the cab dropped me off; there were no fares waiting for him.  

Inside the conference there was laughter and conversation.  Ideas were exchanged.  New people spoke to me, and I spoke to them.  There was none of that in the virtual experience.

We were lectured to by speakers who could not gauge their audience's involvement, or lack thereof.  No one told a joke.  Some were uncomfortable with the medium, and it showed.  Others loved it, talking over one another so that nothing was heard.  

Have I mentioned that I really don't like COVID?

The best part of this alumni leadership conference has always been the snark behind the propaganda.  Difficult issues are talked about in an academic code that is often missed by those of us living in the real world.  But sitting next to those who are conversant is an enlightening experience.  And for those issues we understand but can't believe we're still talking about this, there is always someone else who's rolling her eyes.

Online, Crowdcast has a robust chat feature but Hi, from Long Island was about as deep as it got.  As always, the students were the most fun, the most interesting, the ones with the freshest takes on whatever topic was in play.  Young people today are dealing with a world so different from the one that TBG and I experienced; it's hard to keep up.  In the past, I've hung around the fringes of the conversations the panelists had after the session ended.  That opportunity cannot be replicated virtually.

Plus, there was no swag.

I appreciate the efforts made by the University to have this event at all.  I'm not complaining.  I'm describing.  It's a good thing the sessions are archived; it was too much screen time all at once for me.