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| I had to get these for Rascal |
It was painless.
I didn't write about it or talk about it.
I wasn't sure I'd even mention it.
I mean, we're all doing it or are supposed to do it. Eventually.
I got the shot. One and done, thanks to Johnson & Johnson.
So it's over for me.
It came together so quickly. My niece Stephanie found that the vaccine was being given at the North Highlands Fire Department in Cold Spring. It was basically a half-hour from home, on the east side of Putnam County.
Thanks to Stephanie pointing the way, I went to a website on Monday and made an appointment for today.
Then I began to worry.
What it will it cost?
What about side effects?
And then there's the small thing that I don't like needles.
So I made the appointment and put it out of my mind. I followed the instructions for any forms to be filled out and made sure I did as told for the appointment.
I also consulted the proper FAQ for answers to my questions.
Side effects? Maybe sore muscles or perhaps some fatigue.
Cost? It's supposed to be completely free, regardless of insurance (or lack thereof).
So that just left the needle thing.
Today was the day. I pulled myself together, including making sure I had my radio equipment ready along with any notes for the lacrosse game I was to call at 4 p.m.
Because, you know, I had to have something scheduled on the same day, but I figured there was enough time between the vaccination and the game.
I was right.
The instructions were to not arrive at the firehouse more than 15 minutes before the appointment. I made good enough time that I was 18 minutes early. So I drove around the Cold Spring area. It's a fine town, Cold Spring is. The village itself -- down at the Hudson River -- is a gem on the Hudson Valley.
As I wasted a few minutes before returning to the firehouse, I discovered that I couldn't find the New York State vaccination form that I had to show proof of filling out. So, I sat on the side of the road and did it again.
At the firehouse, I was directed to a parking spot. After parking, I was directed to a spot outside the rear door where we met by Dave, a volunteer who would guide us to the next phase.
Dave showed patience as he dealt with those waiting for their appointment.
"Who has everything ready," he asked.
A couple of hands went up. Mine included.
It was like passing barriers. I made it to the parking lot. I got a spot. I got on line. Now I was inside the front door before heading to the next stop, where my license was copied.
"You can go to the line on the left," the copy lady said.
The next step was to the registration table. Was this it? Was this simple room, with several circular tables, to be the endgame in a long nightmare?
"Your nurse will be Bev and her assistant is Barb," the registration lady said. "Go to table six."
Bev went over my registration papers. She confirmed everything. Name. Address. Email address. Phone number.
Right arm? Left arm?
"Which do you use more?" Bev said.
In the end, we chose my right arm since, frankly, I won't be pitching anytime soon. My left, on the other hand (see what I did there?), would be needed to write lacrosse goals down.
Was this it? Didn't I need to go to another room? Wasn't there going to be a private bay for this? Wait...that's a needled Bev is taking out.
Bev had me change my position in the chair. I watched a young family at another table while Bev spoke to me.
Barb, was writing out my vaccination card as we spoke.
Bev and I kept chatting and I suddenly had that feeling of wanting to ask her to let me know when she gave me the shot.
Because it was already over.
I felt literally nothing. It was painless.
That was it, except Barb gave me a strip of paper saying that I couldn't leave for 15 minutes.
My appointment was at 10:45. I was there at 10:27. It was now 10:49 and my strip of paper said 11:04.
11:04 a.m. eastern daylight time on Friday, April 9, 2021.
But before I could leave, I had to drive to the adjacent parking lot for observation. Either that or I had to sit in a room back in the fire department. The car made the most sense.
"If you have any issues just wave," Barb told me.
I did some work while I waited. Business, of course, never stops.
Physically, I felt fine, except for a headache. Whatever I did feel, I surmised, was a result of me whipping myself into a tornado of stress. It's my specialty.
I looked at my phone. It was 11:04. I was fine. Nobody in the parking lot was going to sign me out. I didn't need to confirm it.
I started the car and left.
The day went on. I kept expecting something. Some kind of reaction.
Nothing.
I rant to Wal Mart for some groceries. Then I went home to give Rascal some chicken and waffles-flavored treats.
I made lunch and pulled together more notes for lacrosse.
I called the game. Still no problems.
I made my way home.
I made dinner and now I sit here, nearly 12 hours post-shot, feeling essentially fine.
Save for a small pain in my right arm.
The long-winded point? It was all no big deal. Literally. None of it. The staff was beyond fantastic. It all was so smooth.
When it's your turn, thank those volunteers and the people taking care of you.
And get the shot.
It was painless.
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