Post #14 - Down the Highway
Turning off of York Ave and on to 74th Street , I saw what I knew was the building where we were headed that Saturday afternoon. I was driving, as I always do when I am anxious, with Rich sitting shotgun. I know he was talking to me, but to me, it sounded like the teacher in the Charlie Brown shows.
Although I was headed back to MSK for my 1st corona virus vaccination, and nothing more serious, I could feel the anxiety churning in my stomach like a witch was stirring a cauldron. The familiar glass facade and beautiful entryway took me back to 7 months ago when I started this journey.
I felt so very fortunate that MSK was able to administer corona virus vaccines to their current patients, regardless of age or stage of treatment. I made my appointment, and we headed to the city for it. It was a grey and chilly Saturday at the end of February - a very typical day in the City. We decided to valet the car, as on street parking was not going to be an option. I walked through enormous glass doors, and was hit by the familiar medicinal smells and royal blue colored scrubs - the eyes of the staff were smiling as the masks covered everyone’s actual mouth. Volunteers were spread out everywhere helping us (the patients) figure out where to line up and check-in. We were early, so we decided to sit and wait. Well, Rich sat while I paced around.
The all-too-familiar calming voices were helping patients of all ages, races, genders, and nationalities navigate this process. It was finally my turn to line up and I hurried into line while being able to see Rich until the elevator. He has been and continues to be my calm. When I spin, I look to him - his face, his voice, his hand-in-mine, calms me. As long as I could see him, I was going to be ok. He was going to read in the lobby as I headed to the 11th floor where the vaccinations were being put into the arms of all of us. I was both excited and nervous. I was so happy to be receiving the shot…it symbolized hope; a possible return to normalcy; and, most of all safety.
I noticed the gentleman standing behind me as he started coughing. Since covid started, coughing does not usually go over well in public, so I glanced over my shoulder to see if he was six feet behind me. Cue the immediate shame spiral. I had, probably, a good 15 years on this young man who seemed to be struggling. I asked him if he was ok. He said he was, and as he spoke, I realized that he had a tracheostomy and was struggling a bit. I wanted terribly not to have the look of pity in my eyes as I know how it feels to be on the other end of it. So, as I normally do, I tried to make small talk about the vaccine and how exciting it was. I could see the young man had radiation burns down his entire neck and was going to great lengths to try and cover them.
MSK had only 4 of us in each elevator - so, I lost my new buddy as I headed into the elevator that would take me to the 11th floor. I checked-in again and sat in the waiting room and tried to read my book. While reading the same line and over and over, I heard my name and jumped up. I was given the very fashionable hospital bracelet to wear while stating my name and birthdate. I swear - that should have been one of my tattoos…my name and birthdate. I was led into a beautiful exam room where the nurse explained all I need to know about my vaccine. She also let me know that, as soon as I left the exam room, I would meet with a nurse that would schedule me for my next shot exactly 3 weeks from that day.
Needles and shots have never bothered me. Before my summer of surgeries, taking blood was never an issue - I would watch the nurses put the needle in and draw the blood. I didn’t love it, I just accepted it as part of an overall process. Once upon a time, I was not skeeved out by it. Since my surgeries this past summer, anyone examining me, taking blood, or fussing over me (for lack of a better term), irritates me. I feel like a cat being pet the wrong way. I don’t want to be touched in this way; I don’t want to be poked or prodded; and, I certainly don’t want to be examined. My nurse was nice, and walked me through every step of the way. I just kept my eye on the prize - not dying from covid.
I asked the nurse if I could take a picture of this monumental event and she obliged. I promised not to get her in the shot. I knew this vaccine meant seeing my family without any nerves; seeing my sister as it has been almost a year since I’ve been able to hug her and laugh with her; I could sit and chat with my grandmother without worrying that I could kill her. I was doing it for me; I was doing it for my family; I was doing it for future laughs and memories that need to be made.
I had no side effects from shot #1 other than a sore arm. While waiting for my second vaccination, we were able to get Rich scheduled for his inoculation, which had been a huge concern for me. What good was it being vaccinated when only one of us was going to have it? When Rich saw the MSK facility where I was receiving the vaccine, he wanted to go there for it. I reminded him that he is, thankfully, not part of “The Club”. Instead, we actually got him into the Javits Center for his Johnson & Johnson shot. We headed into the city for a 12:30am appointment. At first, I think we were both hesitant to go at such an “off” time; however, in hindsight, it was the most amazing experience for him. l sat in the car outside while Rich sped through the entire process. I was getting texts throughout, and felt comfort knowing he was doing well and moving through it all very quickly. He, too, had no side effects - just a big, rainbow-colored bruise on his shoulder.
About a week and a half after Rich’s shot, we were headed back to that big, beautiful, glass structure on 74th Street for my 2nd dose of Pfizer. This time, we sped right into the city and found on-street parking. I saw it as the Universe giving me a small gift. My nerves were put a little more at ease knowing the process from the first dose. I sped through the lobby, leaving Rich with his book. I looked back one last time to see his smiling face before I turned for the elevator bank.
That same, sterile smell hit my nose as I pressed “11” in the elevator. I had one lady jump in and I made small talk as we climbed up through the floors. I checked-in and was sitting in a small hallway that led to a larger room with beige curtain partitions.
I spoke with the nurse, repeating my name and birthdate; she told me once again about all the side effects; and, she asked how I did after my first shot. We basically covered the covid vaccine’s greatest hits. She commented on my tattoos and told me about a female tattoo artist that she had become close to. This artist donates nipple tattoos to breast cancer survivors that have had their breasts rebuilt after having a mastectomy. Cue up the shame spiral once again.
While asking how I faired after receiving my first shot, I told her my arm had been sore, but it was no big deal. The nurse with the kind eyes, told me that after having surgery at MSK, none of “us” (the patients) were ever concerned with these small things. She reminded me that “we” were warriors, that we had fought the big battles, and we were there to tell our stories. I thought to myself, “Wow. Another label that I never saw coming my way.”
And, just like that, I was vaccinated. What we had all been waiting a year for was over before I could blink. I didn’t even feel the meds go in this time. I went downstairs and found Rich right where I left him. He let me know that he had text my parents and his family to let him know how we were doing. I can always count on him to handle those things for me while I am in any kind of doctor’s office. Rich has been with me every step of the way - even for just a vaccine.
We walked hand-in-hand across 74th Street to our car while chatting and making plans for life after the pandemic. It was a sunny day in NYC with bright, blue skies and I could feel the warmth of the sun hitting my face. It felt promising, hopeful, and like a new day was coming for us.