Not exactly.
On second thought, maybe I'll skip the news crews for the second dose,
whenever that may happen. I have no appointment, and according to the
pharmacist, there are no plans in place. "They'll call you," she said. Who will call
me, I asked. She shrugged.
After Canada's slow and uncoordinated start on this "roll-out" business,
we're getting going, but not quickly, and with incredibly poor organisation. Every day I check the little box in the
newspaper that shows the percentage of the population fully vaccinated. We've been stuck on 2.1% for the last 3 days. It's not cheering.
Damn, I
thought, watching the news in the UK. If we still lived there, husband and I would have been jabbed by now. There is not much to admire in the way Britain has
handled the pandemic, but its roll-out of vaccination has been a highlight. In the US, my parents, sisters, brothers-in-law, and almost all our nieces and nephews are vaccinated.
Then a few weeks ago I learned that in Ontario, my age group could join a 'pilot' plan for
administering AstraZeneca vaccines in pharmacies, rather than waiting weeks to
attend massive community venues. I signed right up. Then came the bad press
for AZ. I worried a little, but not that much. Public health experts I
know at the university--an epidemiologist, a public health doctor, a
biostatistician--not only reassured me, but got the vaccine themselves. I chose to go to our local independent pharmacy just around the corner from us.
When I arrived for my 12:20 pm appointment the place was very quiet. No queues, no crowds. A couple of people
milling in the aisles. One person was in the small room at the back getting his vaccine while
a woman with a serious-looking camera snapped pictures from the doorway. His wife, I thought. "Are you waiting for
your turn?" I asked her. "Oh, no," she said. I'm with the CBC." She gestured to
the other two people and I saw one with a clipboard and another standing next to a
big-ass video camera. "Do you mind if we film you while you're getting
vaccinated?"
"If it's okay with the pharmacy, sure," I answered.
"And can we ask
you a few questions?" Sure again.
They then proceeded to enquire whether I was
worried about getting the vaccine. Had I seen the news about the potentially
fatal AstraZeneca side-effects? Did I really want to do this? I told them what I
thought about risk versus benefit, about my epidemiologically knowledgeable
colleagues, about the importance of vaccination. I spoke cogently, I thought. Passionately, possibly. I argued well for the cause. The CBC appeared to listen.
By the time I was sat in the chair in the clinic
room, with cameras pointed at me from the doorway, I was not the least bit
nervous. In fact I highly recommend having a news crew with you when you next
get a shot. It's an excellent distraction. In gratitude on my way out I scooped up a few extra Werther's Originals on offer as post-vax treats to share with them.
"You'll probably be on "The National" tonight or tomorrow," said the film guy.
As I waited my 15 minutes for the anaphylactic all-clear he said, "So, are you
getting better reception on your cellphone now?" Pardon, I asked him. "You know,
because Bill Gates inserted microchips into each dose of vaccine." He grinned to
show he was kidding. Probably.
We don't generally watched TV news but we did for
the next couple of evenings. I did not appear. Alas.
And then I did. Not my interview, not the reasoned words about the importance of vaccination or the minuteness of the
risks but a still shot (pun, yes) of my arm along with captions mentioning 'blood clots' and 'trouble'. Friends around Toronto and beyond began messaging me. "IS THAT YOU??"
*******************************
It's utterly beside the point but I
keep looking at the blouse I wore. I chose it with care: cap sleeves to allow
the needle easy access; buttoned up the front for ease of disrobing later if my
arm hurt. Tinted red, to match any blood. And I thought how I came to own that
top. A decade ago, very soon after we arrived in Toronto from England, Pamela, a
new colleague of my husband's--and now a good friend of ours--invited me to her
house for a women's clothing swap. "Bring whatever is in your closet that you
don't wear anymore," she said. I almost declined because I had nothing to offer;
in preparation for moving across the Atlantic I had discarded everything I
could. "Come anyway," said Pamela. "You'll meet some people."
I needed people,
having just left so many treasured friends, and I accepted. The other women were
lovely and asked me about myself and about life in England. It had been a couple
of months by then and I thought I had adjusted to living in Toronto but it
turned out my balance was still somewhat shaky. As I answered questions about my
former life (my job, running at the seafront, walking in the downs, folding the
laundry, taking the kids to school...) I started to cry and couldn't stop. I took myself off to a dark
corner until I regained some composure. "Try this on," said Pamela, and I did.
It was the cap-sleeved red-and-white pin-striped top. It fit and became my first item
of clothing acquired in Canada. Who could have guessed that ten-plus years later, I would wear it to Snowdon's
Pharmacy for a vaccine against a deadly viral pandemic and that the CBC would ensure it would be viewed across the
country.
Now husband has an appointment to join the AZ pilot on Easter
Sunday. I wonder what he will wear.
PS He's now been done. We went for a walk on the beach with the dog before his side effects kicked in. For the record, he wore a blue tee-shirt.
