In lieu of boxing: An account of getting the Coronavirus vaccine

By Bart Barry-

SAN ANTONIO – Wednesday evening I received the first of two Moderna SARS-COV-2 vaccination shots in my left arm.  As there’s nothing to come in our beloved sport for some time, and as I’ve now little interest in revisiting anything that happened last year, what follows will be an account of the experience of being partially vaccinated for COVID-19.

A few years ago, round about the time both my parents passed and an inheritance came my way, I realized there is no grater virtue than generosity.  To those who would counter gratitude is a greater virtue, as I might have before, I would ask: Is generosity possible in an ungrateful person?  This renewed devotion to generosity manifested itself mostly in regular donations of money or time to various local charities and causes.  One such cause was San Antonio Report (formerly Rivard Report).  It is a small website that holds local officials to account the way newspapers used to do.

A perk of donating to this organization, early last year, became weeknightly updates on our city’s Covid situation.  Usually accompanied by some light editorial remarks, this weeknightly newsletter, The Curve, provided a trustworthy barometer during a time the head of the executive branch of our federal government, and our state government for that matter, had proved themselves deeply untrustworthy.

On New Year’s Eve at 7:30 PM a San Antonio Report email came in my inbox with a subject line that read Here’s how to get the COVID-19 shot starting Monday.  I’d not thought about it till then.

I can gratefully report my life has been minimally disrupted by Covid.  I had worked from home for 10 years already when everyone else in my industry, let’s call it “data analytics” to save words, got remanded to their home offices.  What recreational activities I most enjoy, anymore, happen in state parks.  Through the spring and summer and fall, I left my home only to make biweekly trips to the supermarket and have picnics with my daughter in city parks.

I have also been on a weightgain program unintentional as it is successful during lockdown (and I wasn’t svelte to begin with).  I have never placed stock in body mass index (BMI) as an indicator of health – it labeled prime Mike Tyson “obese” after all – but when I clicked from the CDC’s revised guidance to NIH’s BMI calculator I found I qualified for a Bexar County tier-1B inoculation more decisively than I’m pleased to admit.

I went to the registration website as much out of curiosity as intent, after reading vaccinations would be happening in a partially defunct mall five minutes away.  I clicked on a few time slots, got through registration then landed on an error page, indicating I’d failed to make an appointment.  Then I got caught up in the technical challenge of it.  Soon enough I was registered for day 3 of tier 1B.  I’d given the site minimal non-public information, nothing more invasive than the last four digits of my Social Security number, and added a comment about my BMI – as there’d been no other place to indicate why an otherwise healthy and happy 46-year-old should be registering.  

Wednesday evening I arrived 30 minutes early with only a hardcopy of my confirmation email and drivers license in hand.  I was nigh whisked through onsite registration; there was only one person in line before me.  I was assured my being early was no issue, handed a stamped CDC COVID-19 Vaccination Record Card and directed down a hallway.  A minute later I was in a small conference room with five nurses performing injections.  A nurse asked me if my left shoulder was an acceptable target, I said sure, and that was that.  A minute later my record card was stamped with a follow-up-appointment date and time, and I was directed to a 10-minute-observation room.  Ten minutes after that I was out the door and walking to my car.

My left arm was a bit sore for a couple days.  That is the only physical side effect I can report.  The entire experience was effortless bordering on pleasant.

Wednesday night I registered for the CDC’s v-safe program, tweeted a picture of my #WeCanDoItSA certificate and went to sleep.  The next morning, unexpectedly, I did experience a psychological side effect: Almost euphoric relief.

That’s why I’m writing this column.  I was more frightened by Covid than I realized.  The caveats: I’ve not had a Covid scare, no one I love has tested positive, I live more comfortably today than I ever have, and I have meditated for about an hour every morning for seven years; I had no empiric reason to be scared of Covid and every reason to believe I’d know if I were.  And yet.  Thursday morning brought a sense of openness and possibility for which I was unprepared.  I now believe the psychological toll this pandemic has exacted and continues to exact on every one of us is something we dramatically underestimate.

My unsolicited advice goes: Get vaccinated soon as you are eligible, be patient with one another in the meantime, and prepare for everything to lift as infection rates drop.

Bart Barry can be reached via Twitter @bartbarry