After fighting for so long to get my first vaccine shot, I ended up with an appointment at a mass vaccination site. There are three of them in Maryland, all close enough that I could get there in less than an hour.
Actually, about four million people could get there in less than an hour, and that concerned me. When they opened the mass vaccination site at Six Flags, the news and the traffic reports were inundated with angry callers – some waiting for their vaccine for hours and other waiting to get around the jam caused by the miles-long line.
I was going to a brand new site: the Baltimore Ravens Stadium. I had no idea what to expect, but I prepared for the worst. I got up, ate a healthy breakfast, and left for the stadium four full hours before my appointment.
I didn’t want to be late.
But there was no traffic at all. I pulled into Parking Lot B as instructed, right in front of the gate. While the place was teeming with volunteers in yellow reflector vests and/or military garb, I saw no lines anywhere.
Someone asked me, “Do you have an appointment?”
“I do.”
He pointed to a tent with no line. I walked right in, gave my name, and explained that I was three hours early.
“Okay,” said the female soldier. “Just go through that door and someone will show you where to go.” Not only was she not upset with my early arrival, I swear she was smiling under her mask.
Kind eyes, I thought.
I went through the side door of the tent and into the football stadium. It was vast and quiet. There were volunteers positioned at strategic turning points but otherwise I was the only person in the stadium. It was awesome.
When I realized I was heading up to Club Level, I started snapping photos. One of the workers jumped in a photo with me. We were laughing so gleefully, I took the escalator two steps at a time to get to the top faster.
When I arrived at Club Level, I was escorted to a “line” (with no one in it) and given an iPad to “check in” (again). I barely finished answering the three questions before the “line” ended. A woman took my iPad and escorted me to the place where I would receive my vaccine.
The Club Level was a cross between a hospital and a luxury resort lobby. Everything was spread out for social distancing. Strategically placed tables with two people each sat just out of the way of the cast of workers moving deftly between them.
I felt like hugging everyone.
Someone led me to a table. One woman entered my information into a computer while the other prepared my vaccine. We talked and laughed like we’d been friends for decades. As I got the shot, I thought: Finally.
But thinking wasn’t necessary. I was swiftly moved to a chair for my 15-minute observation. During this time, a soldier labeled “GRANT” set up my second vaccine appointment.
More kind eyes.
By this point, I loved everyone I saw. Their kindness was contagious. When I asked a question that only “Sergeant” could answer, he was so soft-spoken and sweet, I assumed he was related to Gandhi.
Eventually they ushered me toward the exit. A volunteer asked if I preferred to take the stairs or an elevator, and I opted for stairs.
Still giddy, I took them two at a time down, too.
I felt like I’d just had a spa day.
My mom called to wake me on Monday morning. “There are vaccines!” she whispered with serious urgency. “I just got a link!”
I was awake in 12 seconds, running down the stairs without my glasses. “Send me the link!” I shrieked. I turned on the computer mouse and ran back upstairs to get the glasses.
The link was for a brand new mass vaccination site.
Frantically, I filled out the form, sharing my eligibility as a K-12 staffer. Over and over and over, I filled out the form, then reloaded the page. I filled out the form another four dozen times. Every time the site said, “Check back a bit later.”
I never even got to enter my name.
Minutes later, a friend called: “I just got an appointment for my brother-in-law!” she said. “I’m going to try to get one for you!”
I gave her my information and tried not to be hopeful. Sure enough, she called back 20 minutes later and said she hadn’t gotten an appointment for me.
“I really tried,” she said. “I didn’t even get to the page with the days and times.”
“I really appreciate you trying,” I said.
“No problem,” she said. “I have to go help my brother-in-law. He’s trying to find an activation code or something.”
We hung up and I hopped onto email. A new, cryptic email said:
Thank you for scheduling your appointment. Please create your MyPortfolio account to view more information about your appointment or to cancel the appointment.
Huh?
It provided a (real, valid) link, so I clicked it. The website said “Please enter your activation code to set up ‘MyPortfolio'” … Hmmmm… That sounded familiar.
I looked back at my confirmation email from January, from the vaccination appointment I missed.
It was the exact same email.
Did I actually have an appointment? How could I find out?
I tried to sign in without an activation code: “forgot your username?” “forgot your password?” I changed everything, submitted new everything. I could not get into my supposed account.
Then I saw a paragraph at the bottom of the page, in fine print.
If you have forgotten all of this information, you will need to contact the number below to obtain access to MyPassport.
I called the number. What did I have to lose? It sure beat spending an entire day waiting in line in the snow at a mass vaccination site, wondering if and when I had an appointment.
“This is not an appointment line,” said the automated system. “We cannot answer any questions about your vaccine appointment. This line is reserved for technical help with the MyPassport system.”
So I stayed on hold. I sat around, played on the computer, made my lunch. I was on hold for 45 minutes. Just as I finished making my salad, someone answered.
“Hello, my name is Blah Blah, what can I do for you today?”
“I got an email asking me to sign in to MyPassport, but it wants an activation code and I don’t have an activation code,” I said.
“I can help you with that,” he said. And he did. He gave me an activation code, and he waited while I typed it into the box. I hit submit.
“That will give you your new activation code,” he said.
“What?!?” I cried. “I just got an activation code!”
He laughed. “You should have another one in your email.”
Sure enough, I did. I signed into MyPassport and read what was in there:
COVID IMMUNIZATION
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2021 @ 3:15 p.m.
Somehow, some way, without my really doing anything, I have an appointment to be vaccinated.
I know that I am the only one who cares about my own eating habits.
My kids do not care. I can’t tell you how little my kids care about my eating habits. I think they are happy that I am substantially less irritable now, but they don’t realize that it’s a direct result of changing my eating habits.
Bill does not care. He cares about me, perhaps, and he will even cook whatever I ask. I suppose that is better than 99% of husbands out there. But since he eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants and slurps it down while sitting right next to me – I know that I am 100% on my own in this house.
My parents care that I am healthy, maybe more than anyone in the world. They ask about my health, but they don’t often ask about my food issues. It’s a lot to follow, especially since I’ve been on so many different food plans. Instead, they bring over baked goods and say, “We know you can’t eat these, but we thought Bill would enjoy them.” And then Bill, of course, enjoys them. Shane and Dylan also enjoy them. They all really enjoy them.
I cannot eat them. I cannot eat much of anything.
I have one friend – she knows who she is – who actually cares about what I eat, at least in as much as she thinks about me while she is eating. To be fair, this friend does not live with me, and probably likes me more because she doesn’t have to live with me. I am high maintenance.
But she remembers many of the crazy twists and turns my diet has taken in the past five years, which is incredible. Sometimes she remembers things I don’t even remember. And when she takes a bite of something I can’t eat, she actually wonders aloud if I mind.
I do not mind.
In fact, I don’t mind that my parents bring over treats for Bill and Shane, or that Bill eats a cup full of chocolate sauce at 10:00 at night.
It’s like the years when I worked as a cashier at an amusement park. On the first day, I realized there was a ton of money in my hands. Immediately after noticing the money, I realized that it wasn’t mine and it would never be mine. I didn’t suddenly feel robbed because it wasn’t my money. I just noticed that it was money.
That’s how I feel now about the food I can’t eat. It’s just food.
Now that I am eating based on what it says in my personalized the LEAP plan – exactly what I can and can’t eat – my body isn’t screaming for sugar. It isn’t asking for things I “can’t” have. I am just eating when I am hungry, and moving forward with my life.
But I am doing it alone.
I have just realized, at the age of 56, that I am totally on my own here. My health is my health, and I am the only one who is going to care enough about my own body to feed it properly.
Still, it is nice having that one friend who asks me about it when we’re together. And it is nice knowing that I can write about it whenever I want, and anyone who reads my blog can just scroll through – or skip this one – and I will never even know.
Before I got COVID, I took a day to reconsider my goal of walking/biking a total of 500 miles in six months. One day, I had an epiphany.
I wanted to ride the bike 10 miles, but Loki was looking at me like I was abandoning him by leaving the house. So I rode on the bicycle, with Loki at my side. (He actually enjoys this.)
At about 1.5 miles into the ride, Loki screeched to a halt and yanked me off the bike. I had to stop very fast. Even though I’d stopped four times previously to allow him to use the facilities, this was the exact moment he had to go.
So I sipped some water and walked him around a little. When I got back on the bike, it made a terrible sound. It sounded like the brakes were squealing, even though I was just pedaling. I looked at the brakes, and they didn’t appear to be rubbing the tire. I pulled at them a little.
After two minutes of the awful sound, I discovered that turning the tire to the left made the sound stop. But I could hardly ride with my tire constantly turned to the left, so I headed home.
As I rode, I pulled the tire this way and that; I stared at the brakes. I couldn’t figure out the problem. Everything looked the same, but all I could hear was EEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
Turns out I only rode a whopping 2.5 miles – and it took me 43 minutes, because I stopped for Loki constantly, and then I stopped and tried to stop the squealing. I considered taking my bike to the bike shop without even telling Bill, but I wanted to wait just a couple more weeks and get a full tune-up. So I left the bike in the garage and asked Bill to take a look.
Bill wheeled the bike back and forth about four feet – and sure enough, there was that terrible squealing sound! I felt vindicated. I obviously had a very serious problem.
I told him about turning the wheel to the left, so Bill turned the wheel to the left. Sure enough, the squealing stopped. Bill reached down beside the wheel, reached into the water bottle holder and turned my water bottle about 25 degrees.
He turned the water bottle handle away from the wheel. And voila! The squealing stopped altogether. The little plastic finger-handle had been hitting the wheel when I rode.
How am I supposed to ride 500 MILES if I can’t even figure out that a water bottle was the source of my problem?
Now that I am free from isolation, I am “immune” – at least temporarily – from COVID-19.
Unfortunately, I got COVID the night before I got my vaccine. If I’d gotten symptoms just one day later, I would be vaccinated now. (And my parents would be deathly ill.)
Fortunately, I followed the rules.
Please note: If you have been diagnosed with COVID-19 in the 10 days before your appointment or have an active COVID-19 infection at the time of your appointment, you will not be eligible for vaccination.
So I had one shot – and I had to give it away to no one in particular.
A week later, a friend of mine drove with her husband – who was eligible – to get his vaccine. They drove almost two hours to a pharmacy that had one available slot. She sat outside in the car while he went inside to get vaccinated. He asked if there were any extra doses for his wife, and they told him to bring her inside. They both got vaccinated.
But when I took my sister-in-law – who was eligible – to get her vaccine, I waited an hour in line. I politely asked staff if there was any way to get my vaccine. They all said, “You need to make an appointment.” So I watched as dozens of people got a vaccine in the room where I stood. And then I walked out without one.
I am not – thank God – eligible because I am disabled. But I am eligible because I am a teacher. And I won’t teach until I get vaccinated.
I know, deep in my gut, that there is some reason that I am still not vaccinated. How clear did God need to be? I got a fever. I couldn’t go. I wasn’t about to risk my own parents’ health, let alone the health of the other people in that room, knowing that I could be contagious.
I didn’t even know it was COVID at the time – but I knew I was doing the right thing to stay home. Why does doing the right thing then feel like I’ve given up my only chance at ever getting a vaccine now?
I have filled out every request form in every county in the state. I am willing to travel for hours. The only chance I got was when I got the vaccine appointment I didn’t take.
Day after day after day, ten times a day, I check the websites: Giant, Safeway, Rite Aid, Walgreens, Walmart. I check something called Albertsons, but I don’t even know an Albertsons. I search the hospital sites: Adventist, Holy Cross, Luminis, MedStar. I check all the county health sites.
My Congressman assures me that, someday soon, we will all have a chance to get a vaccine. The emails say to “be patient” – but what does that mean? I am just sitting here, checking websites. Should I stop checking?
Twice, while I was asleep, I got a notification that the “big” state vaccination site – Six Flags America – was opening a “limited number of appointments.” By the time I read the notification, they were all gone.
They are always all gone.
Sometimes those notifications come in late at night. Should I not sleep?
I am not calling anyone, since every site says “don’t call.” I am not driving to places without an appointment because all the websites say “no walk-ins.”
And I did not get a vaccine when I had an appointment because I was sick, because the website said not to get a vaccine when you are sick.
Thank God for 90 days of immunity.
#10 … When you’re going to bed at night, and you’ve pulled the smoke alarm out of your wall because the little green light is keeping you awake, you have your sense of smell to alert you to any smoke if your house is burning down.
#9 … You can find the dead mouse before your son sees it inside the laundry room cupboard.
#8 … You know whether or not the milk went bad in the fridge while you were in isolation.
#7 … You can tell whether or not anything went bad in the fridge – and for some reason, your husband does not think to use his sense of smell for that.
#6 … When you go outside to walk the dog, you can breathe in the crisp, freezing air – and you never know winter has a scent until you’ve walked outside and been met with … nothing. (Close your eyes and step outside – you’ll see what I mean!)
#5 … Poodle smell is awesome, even if your dog is wet and/or muddy. Bury your head in that fur and breathe it in. There’s nothing like it in the world. (Baby smell is also spectacular, but I don’t have any of those around lately.)
#4 … If something is burning in the oven, you know it right away. For that matter, if your hair, your clothes, your dryer or your carpet is on fire, you know that right away as well.
#3 …You can tell if yesterday’s sweat pants – that you only wore for an hour – are still able to be worn today.
#2 … Scented candles, crayons, and chocolate.
And the #1 reason to appreciate your sense of smell is…
#1 …. You can taste the food you eat! This, especially is wholly underrated. Yesterday I cried while eating homemade kale chips; they were so delicious.
Never take for granted the ability to use your senses.
It’s been a heckuva few weeks.
I spent weeks scouring the earth for a vaccine appointment – and got one. The night before I was scheduled to get that shot, I got a fever instead.
I tested positive for COVID. I got it through the air vents in my own home.
Then, just as I was starting to recover enough from COVID to stand up and walk around the bedroom, my mentally challenged sister-in-law fell. She called 9-1-1 and they took her to the hospital. Physically, she is 64 years old; mentally, she is eight. Bill spent the day talking to folks at the hospital so that she wouldn’t fall through the cracks and end up admitted.
She had arthritis. Eventually they sent her home.
I started feeling better the next day – and even better the day after that. I may have had COVID but my symptoms fairly suddenly vanished (except my sense of smell which still eludes me).
When I started feeling better, I started scouring the internet again for possible vaccinations. I filled out more forms, more requests for appointments. I waited and hoped and visited site after site, hoping. But there were – always – no appointments available.
I got the virus instead.
As soon as I got out of my bedroom, Bill and I got tested again for COVID. I thought this was necessary, but apparently it is not. Bill tested negative; he’s fully vaccinated now. I tested positive again; it was not a surprise. They said it could be 21 days before I test negative again, but I am not contagious.
Just when it was time to start celebrating, only a few days before my release from isolation, Bill awoke in the middle of the night in horrible pain. He did a virtual visit with his doctor, then did an ultrasound and discovered that he had an enormous kidney stone. The pain was unbearable and, three days later, almost constant.
They told him he would need surgery, but they wouldn’t tell him when he could have that surgery. I spent the day complaining to the office that he was in pain. They told me to go to the emergency room – who, of course, would tell him that he had a kidney stone and that he’d need surgery.
At 4:00 on a Friday, Bill finally got an appointment for that surgery. The first available surgery appointment is not for three weeks. And Bill is in so much pain that all he can do is moan, and take pain killers, and sleep, and then moan some more.
He has to wait three weeks. I can hardly speak about this, it makes me so angry. Apparently there are only a handful of urologists in this world, and there’s a pandemic. The combination means, basically, Bill waits forever.
So tomorrow, since Bill is out of commission, I am going to take over his daily plan. I will pick up my mentally challenged sister-in-law. My mission? To get her vaccinated. She’s got an appointment for her first shot tomorrow morning. So I get to go, and watch – once again so close to that elusive vaccine, but not able to get one.
And then I will come home and hop back on the internet and wait and hope some more. Because that is going to be my life until I get that shot – and until my kids get that shot – and until the 300 million Americans who are still waiting… get that shot.
I do see light at the end of the tunnel, but this is a very long tunnel.
I have been very, very fortunate. A week after my fever hit, I am nearly symptom-free.
COVID has been my source of terror for a full year. Last January, I was in Orange, California the day before the first case of COVID was discovered in Orange, California.
Like almost everyone, I spent the rest of 2020 running scared, hiding, and masking up to keep myself, and my family, as safe as could be. When I somehow got COVID anyway, I got a very mild case. I’d like to say I did something right, but I did not. I just got lucky.
Instead of being in the hospital now, like so many people have been, I am getting ready to end my quarantine and go back to the world. I don’t know why I am getting through this and so many people have died, but I am sincerely grateful.
A lot of people have asked what it feels like, what happened to my body. Obviously the symptoms are different for different people, so this is just my experience.
Here is how I experienced COVID symptoms:
- My fever was mercifully short – barely lasted more than 24 hours – but for several days afterward, I kept checking my temperature. I still felt achy and sore and exhausted. I kept saying, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” But my temperature didn’t go back up above 98.7.
- I had a dry, occasional cough that told me I was breathing okay. I appreciated the cough – and occasional sneeze – more than I’d ever have imagined. It reminded me that I was sick – and alive.
- On Day 5, when they say the virus can turn on a dime, I was able to check my oxygen levels. While it’s dangerous to allow oxygen levels to drop under 94 for any period of time, mine have stayed around 98 all week long. I took tons of deep breaths every day, just to be sure I could.
- I was especially thrilled to wake up on Day 6 feeling nearly COVID-free. My symptoms had stayed the same mostly, but suddenly they almost disappeared on Day 6 – and on Day 7, they were gone. I felt good.
- I got two or three sharp, shooting pains in my head (over the course of a week) that inspired me to take aspirin once a day. Blood clots are a real threat during COVID, especially with a lack of movement.
- I slept 10-15 hours every night and took a ton of Vitamin D. These are the things that may have contributed to my getting well. Or maybe I just got lucky.
- The most interesting symptom happened quite suddenly, and without my even noticing. I ate an entire meal without realizing I couldn’t taste the food on my plate. Losing one’s sense of smell is bizarre, and probably deserves a whole blog of its own. I hope, however, that it comes back before I write one.
- I have a little brain fog, but I’ve had a little brain fog for about a year. I watched copious amounts of Jeopardy to help the situation, but it doesn’t seem to have made a difference.
Neither Bill (who has now had both vaccines) or Shane (who had none) got COVID – through the air vents or from me. I am happier about that than I am about surviving it myself.
In three days, I am allowed to go back into the wild. Like everyone else, I can go back to seeking my first vaccination. I may have survived my bout with COVID – thank you, God – but it’s never going to be my friend.
On Tuesday, I was scheduled to get my first COVID vaccination. But I got a 100.9-degree fever instead. A few scary days later, I got the diagnosis:
POSITIVE for COVID.
After so many months of fear and paranoia, after trying so hard for so long to keep my family and myself 100% virus-free, I won a million battles – but I lost the war. The virus got me in my own home, traveling through the air vents from our basement apartment, where one of our two tenants recently tested positive for COVID.
I am not young, and I have an autoimmune disorder. Oddly enough, I feel achy but good right now. My fever is gone for now. I have no way of knowing if I will continue to have mild symptoms, or if I will end up on a respirator next week. So of course, I am scared.
But before any such hospitalization occurs, I wanted to write this blog – desperately needed to write it – to share my revelation about humanity.
We’re not permanently divided after all.
I feel like a member of a group I thought had disbanded. After the past year of screeching, horrible conflicts over issues and morals and intangibles, culminating with raging debates about masks, it turns out that we are all just spiritual beings having a human experience.
I am suddenly a human taking part in the human race.
No matter where I have turned and announced my (leper-like) diagnosis, I have been enveloped in kindness and care. Friends on Facebook – distant and close – have sincerely wished me well, and are praying for me. Close, dear relatives – and friends of the family who barely know me – are all praying for me. Prayers are free and easy; but to me, they are like angels lifting my heart and my spirits and giving me reasons to embrace life. I can’t thank anyone enough for their prayers.
My husband has done yeoman’s duty on my behalf, although I’ve barely spoken to him. I’ve been too busy on the phone with my stepson, my closest friends, my parents, and my sons. My sister bought me a pulse oximeter so that I would have it when I need it – and I feel like she pulled a star from the sky and handed it to me.
Strangers are helping me, too. Wendy, the survey worker from MARYLAND COVID, called to follow up on my positive test results. I said, “This actually makes me feel like somebody cares.” And she said, “I do! That’s why I do this job!” And I believe her. She used to do search and rescue for lost pets, but her dog has aged out of the system.
Coincidentally last week, I found a new Facebook friend who had a peaceful, fun page, so I sent her a note. She apologized for taking a couple of hours to respond and said she was recovering from COVID. So when I got my diagnosis, I messaged her in desperation: “What can I expect?” And she helped me to prepare for everything. Since that message, she checks on me twice a day. She’s a total ray of light during this dark time – a kind-hearted soul who gives just because she can.
I even emailed a librarian and got a thoughtful, personal response, telling me her own story and her worries about her college-aged son, out on his own in this mess. “I hope your symptoms stay mild, your recovery is swift, and no symptoms linger.” This total stranger, too, said her family would keep my family in their prayers.
Now the angels are everywhere.
Today, I can breathe.
I am worried about the virus – still. I am concerned about the division of our country – still. I believe what I believe, and not everyone believes what I believe – still. But today, I have hope.
For four years, I have been struggling under a weight that felt like a boulder – an enormous, heavy rock crushing my entire body and soul. As the months passed, and the years, the boulder didn’t just get heavier; it felt like an elephant – then two or three more elephants – climbed on top of the boulder.
Then, on the morning of January 20, for the first time in my life, I awoke thinking about the government. I remembered that today was the day I’d been anticipating for four years. I crawled out of bed with one less elephant crushing me.
But – as a worrier will do – I was still afraid. My concern this time was that a crazy person with a gun would take away the new President of the United States. Until 1:00 in the afternoon, I was still afraid.
And then, as the day wore on, the elephants fell off. By evening, the boulder had crumbled into tiny pieces. I brushed away every one of those tiny pieces before I went to sleep.
I know that there are people who wished that we would not have found such an honest, direct, transparent, professional man to lead our country. I’m not sure I will ever in my lifetime understand how those people could continue to believe that our former “leader” was a decent person, given the preponderance of evidence against him.
And for me, understanding is important. The “why” of this situation is so far out of the realm of my understanding that I want very much to just shove it aside, forget about it, and brush off some of the people I love like I brushed off that crumbled boulder.
But I think it’s going to require a lot of understanding for this country to move forward. Obviously violence isn’t the answer, but so many people are angry that somehow, in some way, we all need to find a common ground – and start building there.
I sincerely hope that can happen – soon – so that no one else has to walk around carrying boulders and elephants for the next four years.
