Waiting game for vaccine eligibility tests our resolve, patience, character
Lynn Thoma, director of pharmacy at the HealthLinc clinic in Valparaiso, summed up the feelings for most of us.
“I’ll take this aspect of COVID any day compared to what we’ve been through,” she said while administering my first vaccine shot.
A year ago at this time, I wrote the first of many columns about the COVID-19 pandemic. Since that dark period in our lives – shrouded in fear and confusion – we’re finally feeling a sense an emerging lightness about this public health emergency.
The word vaccine has also taken on a new meaning in our lives. Even if you’re leery of getting the shot or insistent on never getting one, COVID-19 has forced us to at least contemplate getting this vaccination. I never felt rushed to get it. Nor was I overly worried about contracting this mysterious virus.
I figured I’d be just fine if I happened to test positive (two negative results so far). My positive attitude was based more on statistical data than blind faith. I was more concerned about infecting others, especially if they were vulnerable or already struggling with chronic health conditions.
This is why I started wearing a face mask (admittedly later than most people did), out of respect to those people, and then to obey
government mandates and public restrictions. If I honestly felt worried of contracting COVID, I would have also worn protective eyewear and avoided public situations like, yes, the plague.
I felt like taking such precautions in public was more of a civic duty than for my personal protection. If I cared only about my own health, I would never have left home. Getting this vaccine has similar reasoning behind it for me. If it makes people around me feel more comfortable, that’s great. If it makes my elderly mother feel more at ease when I’m standing in her garage six feet away, that’s wonderful. If it prevents me from possibly infecting others, I’m happy to roll up my sleeve, twice.
On Thursday, I got my first of two (Moderna) shots. As I waited the mandatory 15 minutes afterward inside the clinic, I wrote down how I felt about the experience: “In a way, I feel a sense of civic duty, as if I just voted. I’d like to believe I am electing to help protect vulnerable populations of people who may get ill from this overly politicized virus.”
On a table near my seat, I noticed what looked like campaign buttons for everyone’s favorite candidate these days. The buttons boasted, “I GOT MY COVID-19 VACCINE!” in star-spangled red, white and blue. It felt just as rewarding as getting an “I VOTED” sticker on Election Day. Civic duty, public health.
The only negative side effects I’m expecting will be political, not biological. When you tell someone you’ve been vaccinated, they either congratulate you or mock you (to your face or behind your back). Showing them your vaccination record card prompts a similar reaction — either that you’re a team player or you’re carrying the mark of the beast, depending on some people’s level of suspicion.
I wonder just how valuable, or not, this new “passport” will become in my life. Will it be required to board airplanes, or attend public events, or do my job as a journalist? I have no idea.
I feel fortunate to have received this vaccine, based strictly on my age, 58, not my profession, health situation or desperation. The three emergency-order vaccines are a hot commodity, causing vaccine envy, vaccine inequity, and vaccine hunters – people who camp outside clinics hoping to receive a leftover dose before its expiration time.
“I have not visited a clinic near closing time due to my work schedule. I can’t afford to just take a chance every day,” said Christina Rodriguez, of Gary.
She contacted me after finding out about people who don’t meet criteria for a vaccination. She finds it “particularly disgusting” that retail store chains are offering shots to people who may not be eligible. Or giving shots to employees as a job perk.
“Those doses should be going to those people on their wait lists,” she said.
Rodriguez, who’s 49, describes herself as high risk, with a medical history of open heart surgery, heart disease, diabetes, obesity and severe neuropathy. “And I’m an essential retail worker,” she said. “I’m playing Russian roulette with my life everyday waiting for a chance to get the vaccine before COVID gets me.”
She’s tried registering online and calling 211. “The response I got was, ‘You’ll just have to wait a while longer.’”
In Indiana, anyone 50 and older is now eligible. As the age requirement continues to be lowered, Rodriguez may not have long to wait. (People who are eligible can make appointments can be made online at OurShot.in.gov, or by calling 211.)
“How are so many people circumventing state and CDC recommendations?” Rodriguez asked.
This vaccine issue has revealed who many people are, I told her.
Getting this vaccine can feel like winning the lottery for people who desperately want or need it. Bots (autonomous online programs) are now being used widespread to book appointments, scanning provider websites to detect openings. Criteria is continually expanding from state to state, depending on age, profession, and health circumstances.
“Hoosiers who have received an organ transplant are now eligible to receive a COVID-19 vaccine,” according to a news release from Indiana Donor Network.
I wrongly presumed this population was already eligible.
President Joe Biden said every American who wants a shot should be eligible by the end of May. My concern is for people like Rodriguez who have legitimate health problems and who are trying to play by the rules.
“No one has ever offered me their spot,” she said.