One of the best parts of my job is talking to people and hearing snippets of their life stories. A few weeks ago, I was talking with a Navy veteran who served during the Vietnam era. Part of his job was packing parachutes. “How do you fold up the fabric and stuff it into such a small bag?” I asked him, thinking of my own personal challenge folding our king-sized sheets into neat squares for the linen closet, which no one’s life will ever depend on.
His eyes lit up as he explained the mechanics of it, drawing the process of parachute packing in the air with his hands while he talked. He methodically listed off all the steps it took to transform a giant hunk of slippery fabric and ropes into a safety net that would float you through the sky to the ground, all in one piece. It sounded like he knew his stuff. I secretly wished I had a sheet in the car to see if he could give me any tips.
“Did you ever make any jumps?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “That was one of the first things the Navy had you do. They wanted to make sure you believed in your work enough you would trust your own life to the parachutes you packed.”
That story has stayed in my mind this month as I watched the country figure out how to pull off the COVID-19 vaccine rollout. Yavapai County is 85% through Phase 1A, the group made up of health care and emergency medical service workers, long-term care staff, and their residents.
It makes sense to get the people caring for the health of our community vaccinated first. But, like packing your own parachute, you have to feel confident to take that first big step. While I’d never be willing to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, I’m grateful to take the plunge with the vaccine.
I got quite a few questions from people when they found out I’d had my first shot. They wanted to know how I felt afterward or if I knew of anyone who had serious side effects. It was no big deal for me, I told them, other than feeling like a schoolyard bully punched me hard in the arm for a day or two. A couple of people I knew had a rash around the vaccination spot on day eight, but it faded. One friend felt a little queasy and had a headache.
Many people I talked to were anxious to get theirs, trying hard to nab an open slot at local vaccination sites for the next round. Others had the opportunity to get theirs through their work. Some were nervous but were going to do it anyway. A few were on the fence or not going to get it.
I wish I could say the four weeks between the first and second shots flew by, but they didn’t. Many things happened in the world that made waiting for my second dose of a vaccine seem like small potatoes.
I got my second shot last Thursday. It feels good to know it’s done. I took a photo of my vaccination card and sat in the lobby for the prescribed amount of time to make sure I didn’t have any reactions to it. As I write this, I’m wondering if the stories about side effects kicking in with the second dose are true. I’ll know soon enough.
Maybe I’ll have flu-like symptoms for a day or get that punched arm feeling again. I’m okay with feeling miserable for a little while, considering the alternative. In two weeks, I’ll be at peak immunity.
It’s the best Valentine’s Day gift I could give my family and our community.