The people at my house got their second shot. The staff behind the registration desk were friendly. One even said she remembered us. Is that possible? Four weeks and hundreds of arms ago? Now if we had been my daughters with more unique names, like Mercy, and Hosanna, and Hope I could believe it. The woman in charge of taking our temperature delegated the thermometer to her little girl, who took seriously the task of pointing it at my forehead. It took three tries. 

 

The woman who actually jabbed me had her life story written in tatoos which I asked about. While she swabbed and tore off packaging she explained the Pooh, and Tigger, and Roo that were her daughters, as well as the image for a relationship that ended which she needs to cover up somehow. 

 

Then we were done. We waited the obligatory fifteen minutes, and walked into our immunity. 

 

There has been publicity about the side effects of the second shot, which prepared me for the possibility. As it happened, I felt fine. But there was a strange reassurance in knowing that if I did have a fever, or chills, or exhaustion, that was to be expected. I almost wanted to say I felt queasy, just because I could. 

 

A dear aunt needed a ride to a medical appointment, and I was pleased to oblige. I parked in front of the hospital, and waited in the car. For the next half hour I observed foot traffic. A woman with a head scarf and slumped shoulders shuffled inside for what is probably a grueling procedure. Nurses came out, silent about stories of intubation, and bodily fluids in the wrong places, and the quiet... or clamor... of an all night shift. There was a doctor who strode to his car, taking off the identifying white coat and hanging it in the back seat. He turned into an ordinary person. A man walked inside with a baby carrier, and later strutted out beside his wife in a wheelchair, holding the carrier as if it transported gold. 

 

Most of us are tired. A year is a long time to be uncertain, to hold fear, to hunger for touch. Maybe we can give ourselves a pass. The side effects of a pandemic, and social unrest, gun violence, and job insecurity comprise a list at least as troubling as the one on the vaccine vial. If you or someone you care about is irritable, or unpredictable, perhaps you can attribute it to the potshots we have all taken.