Covid

 

Yesterday, Joyce drove us about 30 miles away, where we entered a vaccination site that our daughter-in-law, Melissa, had found for us.

We hadn't had any luck registering other places--a local drugstore, a regional group of hospitals. We'd gotten notice that a site in Akron would be opening reservations online at 12 noon the other day. I logged on precisely at that time--the site was already jammed, and by the time I got through, all available times were gone. Unbelievable.

So ... we were basically just waiting when our daughter-in-law gave us the good news. And so down we drove.

The place was aswarm with people--but highly organized: a place to sign in, socially distanced lines, many injection sites, a place to sit afterwards for fifteen minutes for them to make sure we weren't having any adverse reactions. A place to make our appointment for Shot #2.

My balance is so bad these days that I soon requested a wheelchair (too much standing for me), and they brought me one swiftly and with great compassion. I’d never propelled myself in one, but I did yesterday—injured no one in the process!

Soon, waiting, we saw Melissa there, accompanying her father, for whom she’d also arranged an appointment.

I felt nothing when the needle jabbed (Joyce did), and I’ve had no real trouble since—though Joyce had some pain at the injection site, but it has been diminishing.

Afterward, Joyce went to get the car while I waited in the wheelchair. A kind young man, a volunteer, helped me into the car.

The place was full of kindness and professionalism. All kinds of volunteers were there, too, ranging in age from high school kids to those old enough to be those kids’ grandparents.

And the clientele? Mostly older—but not all. In all sorts of health. The young helping the old, many of whom were using walkers or wheelchairs.  It was incredibly touching to see.

Being in that large room reminded me of all my visits to Seidman Cancer Center—all the most wonderful features of our human race on full display.