The epiphany shot
Recently, most of social media was inundated with needles and bare arms behind masked faces with festive comments, reserved usually for birthday celebrations. “Today is a happy day!” or “I got my first shot, what a relief.” The vaccine train is affecting most of us, at least in New York, where I live. I normally don’t post everyday highlights on Facebook and Instagram, and sometimes I don’t understand why people want to post a lot of personal stuff, like their half-eaten dinner plates or their favorite underwear brand. But two weeks ago, when I got my first shot of the Pfizer vaccine at Javits Center, I felt a different ping. A mix of euphoria, gratitude and hope. I then understood what drove so many people to show their arms in all shapes and colors, sleeves up, about to receive a shot. In many photos we could also see people’s long and untrimmed hair and many homebound pale faces. We could even guess the extra pounds on their waistline and the confusion and worry that the last year has brought to everyone’s eyes.
No, I didn’t post my first shot on social media, but I will tell you how I felt before and after my encounter with the magic needle and this supposedly magic potion that was injected in my body. So, I reserved an entire blog for it. This is not about my travel investigations, my musings about life and people. This is about what should have been an ordinary day, but it became an epiphany.
Many shops and cafés were closed because of Easter and Passover. The city was more desolate, gray and rainy, but I still decided to walk from 18th Street and 5th Avenue to Javits Center, a good half hour towards West. Walkers, bikers, a few cars and buses. Always a lot of people, but nothing compared to pre-pandemic New York, when the streets had a spark of danger, but a good, tempting danger. New York was a place to dive your head in before the pandemic. Now you might sit by the cliff and consider the plunge. The wind was cold for April and I even saw light flurries lost in the air while I crossed 9th Avenue. I decided to take a cab on my way back. I was too optimistic about spring and I chose a light coat, ankle pants and short socks for my vaccination trip, but the outfit was not helpful, and I was not even getting slightly warmed up by the brisk walk. It was cold as on a November day.
Once I entered Javits Center, a massive glass structure, a convention center that looks more like a stadium, I suddenly felt like on my first day of school, at a time where I could just see my friends after the long summer vacation, and the anticipation made it all so special. It was not as crowded as I imagined, even if I saw a sign at the door informing us that almost eight thousand people should be vaccinated on that day. I stopped at a desk, then someone led me to another desk. Someone took my information and then directed me to a cordoned path, with arrows on the ground directing me to a gigantic area with hundreds of tables. Each table had two people sitting and an empty chair. I found my table and gave my documents and form to a cheerful African American lady who told me to sit down and after two seconds asked me a rare question around here.
“How should I pronounce your first name?”
“Ee-nes, I repeated, using the original sound of ‘I’ in Portuguese, Spanish, French and Italian.”
Then the man who was sitting in front, preparing my new vaccination card, joined the conversation:
“How interesting, I always thought it was Ines”, pronouncing the I as we do in English.
“Yes, most people say Ines as you said.”
“But it’s not right,” the woman said.
“I don’t mind,” I replied. “I’m used to it. But thank you for asking.”
She then asked me to choose my less used arm to take the shot. I chose the left arm and raised my sleeve up to the shoulder. I kept talking to the man, who was right in front of me, and who wanted to know where I was from. After we said two or three sentences, I saw the woman coming to my left side, applying the vaccine so smoothly I barely felt the needle. She proclaimed that I was ready to go.
“Really? Already done?”
“Yep.”
“This is your vaccination card. Come back in three weeks at the same time for your second shot.” She handled me a slice of paper with the information and I felt that I was holding something precious. In the future, this might become a differential between people who agreed to take this shot, still in the experimental phase, and people who didn’t. I will be in the club of those who plunged into an idea of hope in such desperate times, thankful that we live in a time when science is more advanced, despite the poor state of our planet. When I left the Javits Center fifteen minutes later, I was lighter. I was thankful. Despite the cold wind that I felt on my face when I left the building, I could close my eyes and feel the relief of the last day of school, dreaming of a colorful and healthy summer ahead.
