The Arm of Astra Zeneca

I'm half-vaccinated and so happy about it that I decided to share the experience with the whole nation. In fact, I briefly became the Arm of AstraZeneca in Canada.

Not exactly.

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??" 

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. 

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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.