Because I am over 50, I got a second booster for Covid-19 on Saturday. Just like the previous three shots, I had no side effects other than a bit of soreness at the injection site.
The only thing that I found interesting is that I actually didn’t freak out about getting a shot. When I was a kid and getting all those immunizations from Dr. Fraser in Perrysburg, I would practically pass out from the dread of the needle. I still remember the polio shots of the 1950’s — before the Sabin sugar cubes — and the annual flu shots along with all the other ones. I would throw a Broadway-sized production number. But the other day while waiting for the shot, I actually was looking forward to it for the peace of mind and knowing that I’d barely felt the first three. (Well, it didn’t hurt that the first two were delivered by volunteer EMT’s at the local hospital who were very nice-looking guys. Hey, I may be old but I’m not dead.)
I can’t help but wonder if one of the underlying reasons the anti-vaxxers are so strident has less to do with junk science and mythology about the origins of the vaccine and more to do with the trauma of just getting a shot. All the childhood memories of waiting in the doctor’s office and envisioning a hypodermic needle the size of a caulk-gun tube and the infantile paranoia of 0.3 milliliters of vaccine swimming around in your bloodstream is enough to spike your blood pressure through the roof.
When the pharmacist said “You’ll feel a quick pinch,” I waited but felt nothing except the comfort of knowing that I was even more protected against the virus than I was before and that good old Dr. Fraser, may he rest in peace, put up with a lot of trauma from me to help keep me healthy.