the six

Two weeks ago, I finally scored! I felt like I hit the jackpot; not once, but twice actually - I mean, what are the odds? I had been attentive, but not vigilant, for weeks. I checked early in the morning and late at night; I registered and confirmed and signed up for numerous accounts which now fill my inbox with coupons and savings and retail enticements of all kinds. I even joined a Facebook group that offers tips on navigating the system and securing an appointment.

I have always had my concerns about vaccinations in general. By the time our fifth child was born, I had worked with our pediatrician to spread out their immunizations; I didn’t believe that a tiny newborn needed to be inoculated so quickly and with so much. And to be completely honest, I don’t love shots (I rarely get the flu vaccine; thankfully, I have been fortunate). But this background notwithstanding, I made my peace with the COVID-19 vaccination. I was committed and convinced that getting it was the right thing to do.

But I also had done my research. I read up on the three available vaccines, I listened to the accounts of friends who were “jabbed” early, and I spoke to a doctor or two. And I settled on the J and J.

I liked the fact that it was similar to the tried-and-true vaccines that had always been administered. One professional told me that when COVID-19 vaccinations become available to children, they will most likely receive the J and J. I liked the idea of one-and-done. I rationalized that I am healthy, and that a 75% efficacy rate would be just fine. And, maybe less rational, the company behind the vaccine elicited memories of our young children at bath time, and the smell of baby shampoo, and that was comforting.

The morning of my vaccination appointment, I prepared like I was going off to war, and in some ways that felt about right - I was doing “my part” against the virus that had held our world hostage for over a year. The experience in a small pharmacy in a city close to my hometown was easy and uneventful; the actual shot was, in fact, pain-free. The atmosphere was friendly and celebratory; patriotic, even. And after I sat for my fifteen minutes of observation, I left. There was no “I Got My Vaccination” sticker or step and repeat banner, no fanfare whatsoever, and that was just fine.

I was in the security line at an airport when I received the news alert - J and J had been put on pause. It had been five days since I had received my dose; as I write, it has now been seven.

I don’t love to fly; the neurotic part of me always wrestles with the idea that maybe my plane will be the outlier, the one in a million, a statistically small number, that will have engine trouble or mechanical issues. In flight, I study the other passengers for signs of distress and imagine the headlines, “Flight 5606 from Westchester to West Palm went down just after takeoff,” or, “We are searching for the black box from Flight 5606.” I know, it’s a little demented.

And like the relatively small chance that my flight would be the unlucky one, I am now sitting with the fact that I too could be one of the unlucky ones (out of seven million) adversely affected by the J and J vaccine.

But as I consider my own fate here on Day 7, I’m also thinking deeply about the six women. Sadly, we know from the news that one has passed away and that one is in critical condition. And that all of them are women between the ages of 18 and 48.

I am sure that each of them is connected to family; maybe they are mothers or daughters or sisters or aunts. They have jobs and interests and concerns of their own. Like most women I know, they probably have loved ones who depend on them for care and nurture. And they have people in their lives who are at this moment worrying, grieving, and seeking out the best medical care.

Did they settle on the J and J vaccine for the same reasons that I did? Or did they show up for their vaccination, any vaccination, to “do their part”, because it was the right thing to do to keep themselves and those in their communities safe? Did they feel patriotic, a part of the fight, and victorious when they “scored” their appointment?

We are a nation focused on statistics, and this is particularly evident in our attempt to make sense of the havoc created by the pandemic. What is the current positivity rate? The forecasted number of new hospitalizations? The data on confirmed deaths? Percentage vaccinated in a particular demographic? Statistics give us important information and allow us to make informed decisions, but they lack a certain element of humanity; they neglect the stories and the faces behind the figures.

I look at the six who developed a severe and sometimes deadly blood clotting disorder - if it is in fact related to the J and J vaccine (we still don’t know for sure) - as six more victims of the pandemic. Their experience is personal and real and deserving of much more than a number.

If this disease has taught us anything, it’s that we are in need of far more humanity, not less. I have been heartened by the pictures of patients exiting hospitals after long stays due to COVID to the sounds of celebration and merriment, the increase in help and support to care for individuals, the empty animal shelters, the memorials (albeit small or virtual) during this past year given to remember the lives lost, and even the angels who have made it their mission to help others find vaccination appointments. This disease has shown us that when we consider the person or people behind a statistic, our hearts engage, and we respond with compassion.

Once again, I am doing my research and trying to keep abreast of the latest news on the J and J vaccine. Six people out of seven million vaccinations is a relatively small number, and that gives many of us the confidence that we will be okay, even if we are innately a little neurotic. But for the six negatively and fatally impacted, those odds are not small and without significance.

To the four women hospitalized, we wish you health and Godspeed. To the one woman in critical condition, we stand with the rest of the country in prayer for you, and to the woman who passed away, we mourn your passing like we do all of the others who have soldiered the weight of this war.

In the pause now afforded to further investigation of the J and J vaccine, we too can pause and consider the year, the unprecedented speed in which vaccinations were created and administered, and the countless individual lives transformed by a virus felt across not only our nation, but worldwide. We can use this pause to recognize the immeasurable ways that our communities have stepped up to answer the call for help - displays of humanity and selflessness that have touched our hearts and stirred a sense of patriotism usually reserved for times of war. For many of us, there are faces attached to the victims of this pandemic, and we, the lucky ones, will continue to honor them long after the positivity rate has reached a triumphant zero.