Gratitude and guilt after receiving COVID-19 vaccine

The orange-lined maze I was following wound back and forth over the large yellow parking lot at NRG, the place where I had been instructed to appear for my coveted COVID vaccine. The Golden Ticket was in my hand — and this one held more promise for me than any chocolate factory tour. Like so many of my fellow grandparent friends, I had pantomimed hugs to my children and grandchildren and stolen kisses from the backs of their heads for nearly a year now. I wanted this vaccine.

“Organized. So well done and organized,” I kept mumbling to myself. This was going much smoother and quicker than I thought it would. I already realized that the library book and newspapers I had packed in preparation for a long wait in a long line would not be necessary.

The process had all started the day before, when local KPRC 2 Houston newscasters announced during their 4:30 p.m. report that there were several thousand additional vaccines available through Memorial Hermann for its Jan. 14-17 vaccine distribution at NRG. I nearly fell out of my chair to hurriedly reach my computer and get to the suggested website. There were only a few suggested times available so I quickly grabbed one. I learned a little later that all appointment slots had been taken within a brief amount of time.

Scheduled for 6 p.m. on Jan. 14, I was notified by Memorial Hermann around 4 p.m. via text to come an hour early for the vaccine — they were even running ahead of time!

So there I was, winding my way down the orange-lined trail. Workers met drivers to check required IDs and vaccine invitations. After workers copied the necessary information and received more verbal information from each of us, they pointed out the next labyrinth to travel in route to the next set of white tents, which housed the vaccines and medical personnel administering them.

For at least the third time that day I offered a heartfelt thank you and big smile to the friendly, efficient workers. It always occurs to me minutes later that they can’t see the big smile behind the cotton mask. Why am I smiling at them? But a friend of mine who works in public service always reminds me that the smile carries to the eyes, and it can be appreciatively seen by the recipients. I hope so; there are times when a simple thank you doesn’t seem quite enough.

I can’t wait for the day when broad, happy smiles can be seen firsthand again.

I arrived at the final white tent. A friendly, kind masked face — I just know she was smiling under there — was holding a syringe, just for me.

“Let’s open your door and you relax your arm,” she said. And presto — just like that — the vaccine was delivered, and I was told to drive forward to a designated parking area where I would sit in my car for 15 minutes to ensure there were no side effects. Other cars were parked next to me, all individually counting down the minutes until we could each drive away. I heard only one car honking — the signal we were told to make in case we noted any repercussions from the vaccine just administered. Attendants were on hand to check with the occupant of the honking car. One even came by my window: “Are you doing OK?” she asked. I assured her that I was, and then I followed the last orange-coned path to exit the parking lot.

It was just a simple shot to the arm, but it comes with such mixed emotions. I had anticipated the moment of getting the shot from the instant vaccines were in the news, since scientists and researchers revealed they were working day and night to formulate a viable vaccine for this crazy COVID-19 threat. The day of my appointment was filled with emotion. Now the first dose was in my body.

I was grateful.

And then I felt guilty. So many people are still waiting for that Golden Ticket, but I can’t wait for the day when I can feel deep, warm family hugs first hand again.

Yes, at 70, I legally had the right to receive this vaccine, but I knew of others across this city and across the country who should have already received a dose. There were teachers, nursing home residents and people more elderly than me who haven’t landed an appointment. I personally know of two cancer patients who are waiting. I have friends who have been on four or five waiting lists to receive the vaccine and have yet to be notified.

With both gratitude and guilt, I arrived home that day to tell my family — mostly virtually — that I had received my first dose of the vaccine. And as I tore off my mask, there was a genuine wide grin for all the world to see.