And so it was that I got jabbed.
I still feel a little weird about it, not in a physical sense. Other than a slightly sore left arm, where the needle did the deedle, I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting to be invited for months. Also the experience is a little strange; not because it went badly or was in some way terrifying. Just that it's unusual. It's not every day that you get, what is essentially an emergency medicine injected. That just reinforces the difficult nature of these strange times. As someone that copes less well with disruption, I am reminded of that strangeness even more.
I was expecting simply to turn up at the relevant surgery and, maybe wait a little while, get jabbed, then leave. That's not quite how it works. In fact the venue is a surgery that's out the way. Fortunately there is a community transport service, used to help the less mobile in less febrile times, that gave me a lift. But there was no way the local surgery could cope. What you realise is that this is a vast and impressive logistical exercise. They are processing over a thousand people a day, using either the Pfizer or Astrazenaca medicine. I don't know how it's decided and I didn't get a choice (Pfizer in my case). I doubt it makes any difference.
There is a constant stream of traffic in and out of the surgery. A large facility in a more rural (than rural) area. THere are marshalls directing that traffic; like a major celebrity had turned up to do an event and sign pictures or something. It's a little crazy, adding to that strangeness again. Upon arrival you are shepherded in a group into a waiting area, asked for your particulars. They also ask if you have any allergic reactions and have ever taken, iirc, Warfarin (I may have gotten that wrong since I'm sure that's rat poison). Once that's all processed the nurse comes over gets you to expose your left arm and injects you. That's done in seconds. It took her about a couple of minutes to get around eight people in a largish waiting room (in normal times). Then she explains the potential side effects, tells us that in a couple of weeks we'll have 85% (ish) protection, but can still transmit and receive the virus.
Finally we're given a 'covid passport' (ish). An official card recording the date and time of the injection which will be completed upon receipt of the second jab. I think it's good to have this, despite what the antivaxxer crowd would say (they say nothing about capitalism's every daily oppressions, of course). We can't leave until fifteen minutes have passed. Just to make sure everyone's settled and not having a weird reaction. This isn't the case with the Astrazenaca medicine, but apparently you can't drive for a little while afterwards. I guess if that's the case they'll tell you before you travel otherwise...!
So here we are. An extraordinary logistic exercise pulled off with considerable efficiency. These guys know what they are doing. There was no fuss, no mistakes. Injections delivered very quickly. I'm always impressed by a nurse's ability to stab! It was all delivered with a smile. I'm sure, in private moments, they've all had their moments, but for now the staff on hand were courteous and pleasant. None of the patients were difficult or obtuse either, fortunately. I hope that's the case everywhere.
And that is the story of how I came to be partly vaccinated in the second year of the plague. Afterwards I was chauffeured very kindly back home. It is good that community transport is available. Again, I hope that's the case everywhere. Along with the surgery staff this entire effort, from door to jab, is a success of working people. Sadly, Tory supporters will happily use this as an excuse to let our incompetent PM off the hook for thousands dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment