My phone rings. I forgot to put it on silent while I was studying. I pick up.
“Hello,” I answer.
It’s my mother. “I just wanted to call and tell you I finally got the vaccine.”
“Yes, Mama, I know. You told both me and Connie when you called yesterday,” I replied.
“Oh, I have to go back on Feb. 19 for my second dose,” Mama says.
“Which one did you get? Pfizer or Moderna?”
“Moderna, it says. Well, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing,”
Some would say that I should be happy for her, and I am, but I’m also frustrated because of the ease that my mother has been able to get the vaccine. It’s been so difficult for me to access the Denton County’s website for vaccine registration. My underlying health conditions make it imperative that I get the vaccine. I’m more vulnerable to catching COVID-19. So, when I was able to finally get on the site to register I felt that I would feel a sense of relief.
Relief was not to come. The more I listened to the news each night, the more frustrated I became. Then I learned there really wasn’t a plan to vaccinate people like me who have a disability that might prevent them from accessing the mass drive-thru vaccination hubs that the counties were setting up.
Frustration. Irritability. Irrational fear. Those are just some of the many moods that I have been feeling during the past 10 months. Yes, I will admit that Trump and his administration did get the pharmaceutical companies to work on a vaccine. But it seems that there was absolutely no distribution plan put into place nationally. The federal government left it up to the individual states, but no state is alike.
What is the plan that is being implemented to get doses into our arms by the city? County? State? Federal government? As of this writing, no one seems to have developed an actual plan.
As I was sitting in my narrative journalism class my phone went off. I had my wife Connie read a text to me later from the Denton County Health Department telling me that I had an appointment the next day at Texas Motor Speedway to receive the vaccine.
What could I do? I’m blind. I had no way of getting there because my wife would be working the next day. So, I had no choice but to cancel the appointment. I realized that I didn’t know when the next opportunity to get vaccinated would come.
The next day, I phoned the Denton County Health Department for assistance.
“Hello,” she said.
“Yes ma’am, I hope you can help me. I’m blind, high-risk and need to get my COVID-19 vaccine, but I can’t drive out to Texas Motor Speedway. I can’t drive. Are there any other locations where I can get the vaccine and use mass transit to get to?”
“Here let me give you this number. Do you want to write it down?” she asked.
I took the number and dialed it. I explained to the gentleman my predicament and he
was very understanding. However, he said that they were a van service that picked up other people and that they couldn’t pick me up.
Many times, this world has forgotten its disabled citizens, whether they are blind like me or suffer from another type of disability. In actuality, I cannot say that it surprises me that there was no plan about how the disabled might get their vaccines. Few people give much thought about the disabled community one way or another. There are the ableists who either view us with pity or we get the miracle story on the news. For those who might not know an ableist is someone who views a disabled individual with disdain or pity, like those who thought I could not go to college and be successful because I’m blind.
However, unless they can guarantee me that the vaccination site is at a place that I can easily access being blind, then I will have to cancel the appointment. That saddens me. It also angers me. These vaccines should also be going into everyday drug store chains like CVS and
Walgreens--or pharmacy sections of Walmart, Kroger, Tom Thumb and Albertsons.
After getting off the phone with the man at the van service, I went online and read the websites at CVS, Walgreens, and Walmart. None of them had even received the vaccine yet. When I checked the website of Albertsons, Kroger, and Tom Thumb, they were completely out of the vaccines and did not know when they would be getting replacements.
Am I selfish? After all, I have been under this lockdown unable to leave the apartment for the past 10 months with the exception of doctors' appointments because of my immunocompromised system. Connie, who works as an essential worker, also has asthma and type 2 diabetes, so she’s at a higher risk of hospitalization if she were to get COVID-19.
I tried to distract myself by watching TV or a movie, but my thoughts always came back to the vaccine and my need to receive it. As much as I tried to stay away from the news of the vaccine or anything COVID-related, I simply couldn't. I’m a journalist and watching the news is part of my chosen career.
I listened to the numbers of those who have been vaccinated each day and heard the stories of those who waited in long lines just to find out the site had run out of vaccines. I found myself hoping that I wouldn't be someone who had been interviewed because they'd run out.
On Monday, February 8, I received an email from Denton County Health Department that I had a 3:30 p.m. appointment to be vaccinated the next day at Texas Motor Speedway. I immediately called Connie to see if I should cancel it or to see If she could she drive me. She told me to keep the appointment because I desperately needed to be vaccinated. And she wasn't working on Tuesday.
So, I emailed my professor explaining that I had a chance to be vaccinated and that I might not be in class Tuesday night. I informed him that I needed to do this because of my health. He replied that he understood.
We left about an hour before we needed to get there for the vaccination. It was a good thing that we did ,because even with navigation we got lost. By the time we arrived at the Texas Motor Speedway, there were lines of cars all with someone waiting to receive their first or second dose. There were tents set up with generators to keep the vaccine at the correct temperature.
When we got to a certain point, my wife had to stop and fill out the paperwork for me. This was after I showed my QR code and photo identification. There were a series of three tents on the drive up. I now had to figure a way to take off my jacket and get my sweatshirt over my head while not losing my mask. As they prepped me for the shot, I wondered if it would hurt or not. It didn’t.
We then had to pull up and wait in line for 30 minutes to make sure I didn’t have an adverse reaction. Once they saw I didn’t, we were allowed to go. I hadn’t eaten that day so, Connie drove us to Buc-ees.
It was when I tried to get out of the car that I realized how sore my muscles were. I could barely walk. I felt flush all over my body. It was almost a cross between getting ready to faint and having a hot flash. By the time, I got home, I couldn’t keep my balance. Needless to say, I missed class altogether that night.
The next morning when I awoke, I could barely keep my balance and spent most of the day on the couch. Add to that the fact that I was itching from head-to-toe, I may have had a small allergic reaction to the vaccine. For all who are wondering, I had the first dose of the Pfizer-Biontech COVID-19 vaccine. I’m due for my second dose the day before my shoulder surgery, but may need to reschedule it.
My phone rings. I forgot to put it on silent while I was studying. I pick up.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Mark, it’s me. I just wanted to call and tell you I finally got the vaccine,” Mama said.
“Yes, Mama, I know. You told both me and Connie when you called a couple of weeks ago. I saw that you called ,but I was resting. I had my first dose of the vaccine.”