What getting the COVID-19 vaccine felt like
We were listening to Cat Stevens’ “The First Cut is the Deepest” when she plunged the needle into my right shoulder. It didn’t hurt as much as it bothered my arm, the feeling more disturbing in its violation than its irritation.
And then it was over. The nurse smiled from behind her mask and filled out a small white card, then led me through a curtain and into a large second-floor waiting room overlooking the parking lot.
It was snowing outside. Another woman gestured to several open chairs (separated by six feet each) and told me I could wait there for my 15-minute observation period. I took a seat near the window and instinctively grabbed for my phone.
Before I could open any apps I noticed a woman two chairs over was crying. The man sitting next to her asked her if she was okay.
“Yes,” she said. “I just didn’t expect to be this emotional. It’s kind of overwhelming.”
A woman observing us walked over to her and confided in the crying woman that several of her family members had been badly sick with COVID. The crying woman said some of hers had, too.
I don’t know what I was expecting to feel, but I didn’t really feel much of anything. Probably the strongest feeling was one of relief. I feel relieved that things are going back to normal. Relief that I never got the virus. Relief that the world isn’t going to burn.
The vaccine I received was the Pfizer-BioNTech version. I have to go back in three weeks and get a booster shot. The biggest known side effects of the vaccine I received are arm soreness and possibly some headaches and sluggishness. The second dose is supposed to hit a bit harder. It’s been about four hours since I got my shot and I haven’t felt anything. My arm doesn’t even hurt.
I got my dose at the Southcentral Foundation, a nonprofit here in Anchorage, Alaska. The foundation provides health services to Alaska Natives, but earlier this month it opened its vaccine clinic to all Alaskans. Shortly after, it was announced all vaccine providers in the state would be offering doses to all adults — the first state in the nation to do so.
I’m relatively young and don’t have any preexisting conditions, so I feel incredibly lucky to live in Alaska and to be able to take advantage of this amazing opportunity. I know not everyone is yet in a position to receive the vaccine, and I’m hopeful my state’s successes are a harbinger of what’s soon to come elsewhere.
I signed up for my vaccine last week and the process was quick and painless — a five-minute online form. I needed to bring my driver license to the appointment for verification, but that was about all the paperwork there was. From the time I arrived at my appointment until the time I received my shot and underwent the mandatory observation period was about a half hour.
The feeling in the waiting room was different than any I’ve ever had before. It was like a religious experience; like what a funeral would be like if we had them when you were born — full of quiet hopefulness and solemn reverence. It was the quietest, most subdued simultaneous scream of joy I’ve ever heard. It was like the waiting room to get into heaven.
These were the thoughts going through my head the entire 15 minutes I sat in that room. I wasn’t worried about side effects from the vaccine or whether my arm was going to hurt. All I could think about was how happy I was to have lived through the past year and come out the other side looking toward a bright and hopeful spring.
One year ago this week we were staring into an uncertain abyss filled with unknown misery and unimagined danger. It was as if we were beginning a journey into a dark unknown where the only certainty was there would be trouble ahead.
And suddenly I felt that was all behind me.
As I sat there looking at the late winter snow falling slowly outside I wanted desperately to smile behind my mask, but all I could do was sigh; I was overjoyed but not happy, overwhelmed but unbroken. It’s a hard feeling to describe, emerging from a storm. I feel like part of you gets lost out there and a part of you grows stronger and a part of you just wants to forget.
I understood why the woman was crying. It’s been such a long, sad, depressing year. We gave up on hugs, we quit on kissing. We distanced. We zoomed. We got used to new normals that never felt right and accepted the inhumane burden of separating ourselves from humanity in order to save each other from ourselves.
It was exhausting, getting lost together. But now we’re finding our way back the same way — arm in arm. All is not lost. In losing what we most cherished we may have gained a greater and deeper appreciation for the things that truly matter in this short, sad, weird, beautiful, amazing, perplexing journey we share on this big flying space rock. I know I have.
What does getting the vaccine feel like? It hurts a little bit and it makes you smile a lot. It’s scary. But it’s worth it.
It’s love. Getting the vaccine feels like love.
Matt Tunseth is a freelance writer from Anchorage, Alaska. Write to him at matthew.tunseth@gmail.com
