Phase 1 Vaccine Recipient.

How quickly things can change.

In an unexpected chain of events, I learned late Tuesday night thought I could receive the vaccine during phase one. Reading the words in that email took my breath away. I wasn’t expecting this news–I thought I would be receiving the vaccine in phase 2. I was eligible through the Alaska Native Medical Center, which meant driving to Anchorage, but that was a small sacrifice to have the opportunity to protect my health.

Zac and I sat in complete shock looking at the list of available appointments. It was just past 10 PM, and I had been getting ready to go to bed. We decided to sign up for the 7 PM appointment option on Thursday, which meant we would need to drive to Anchorage the following day. Learning I could get the vaccine in 48 hours created a buzz in the air and sleep no longer seemed like it would be possible for me.

My caregiver Kiley got to my house 9 hours later at 7:00 AM to get me ready for the day, not knowing the news we had to share with her. When she found out I scheduled for an appointment the next evening, she and Zac celebrated with a high five, and we started packing. She didn’t even flinch when I asked her if she would be willing to drive to Anchorage with us later that day for two nights. If I’m perfectly honest, the excitement was too much for me, and I sobbed as I asked her to go to Anchorage with us. My body felt overwhelmed with excitement and anxiety, and the only way to get it out was to break down in tears.

I’m so thankful for her commitment to my health and willingness to do whatever it takes to keep me healthy and free from this virus. For the last year, she and her fiance have been practicing strict social distancing and masking to reduce my exposure. She has also repeatedly changed her work schedule to accommodate whatever would work for supporting us as we tried to navigate this last year. In March and April, she worked for 52 days straight as we reduced down to only one caregiver, just her. It’s people like Kiley who decrease the stress of being in the vulnerable population during this pandemic. She has been so good for my physical health, and my mental health.

By 5:30 PM, we were on the road to Anchorage. We got there at about 11:30 PM. Waking up in our hotel room Thursday morning, there was an overwhelming sense of anticipation. It may sound corny to some, but the feeling really reminded me of the anticipation I felt as a child waiting for Christmas. It was a feeling of knowing something good was going to happen, but not knowing all of the details.

I kept myself busy throughout the day at the hotel bouncing between audio conference meetings and other work tasks. Still, the excitement and anticipation were at the forefront of my mind all day. However, I was also feeling lingering anxiety that it was too good to be true. Part of me did not want to accept that I would be getting it until it was actually happening because I didn’t want to have my hopes pulled out from under me. Maybe it was a mistake that I was on the list? Maybe they were going to decide that I shouldn’t be on the list when I got there? I was like a volleyball going between the hopeful side of the net and the anxious side of the net all day.

We pulled up to the main hospital doors 30 minutes early. The doors were locked and had signs posted notifying us that all visitors should use the emergency room entrance and that only those with scheduled appointments or emergencies are allowed in the hospital. The hospital was eerily quiet. The usually busy sitting areas and hallways were empty. Every time I’ve been to Alaska Native Medical Center, there are always greetings of hugs and smiles as traveling patients excitedly cross paths with each other. Instead, I only saw 4 other patients and a few medical staff in the hallways.

As we got closer, we came across a large sign reading “COVID-19 Vaccine,” pointing toward a hallway. The floor down the hallway was marked with further signs directing us toward the conference rooms where the vaccines were being given.  

When we entered the conference room, we immediately came to a desk where we had to sign in. There were approximately 15 small tables throughout the large room, each with a healthcare worker seated beside it. An individual at a check-in desk asked for my name and confirmed I was on the equipment list for that evening. Another desk of individuals shuffled paperwork behind him. At the same time, another person updated a whiteboard on the wall with how many vaccines each table still had available. Although it was mostly quiet in the room, the energy was exciting. I was given information about symptoms to watch for, told I would need to report any symptoms I had each day via text message for the next seven days, and directed to choose which table I would receive my vaccine.

Overall, the steps from there were not anything outside of the experience of receiving the regular flu shot. I chose the table I would receive my vaccine at; Kiley rolled up my left sleeve. As always, I asked the healthcare worker if she could not let me know when she would administer the shot. Even though I was excited to be getting the vaccine, I still wasn’t looking forward to the feeling of a needle in my arm. I’ve always been a little wimpy when it comes to getting shots. It wasn’t any more painful than the regular flu vaccine.

I received my sticker with the date range for my second dose, and we began to make our way back out to the parking lot. Physically, I haven’t had any side effects, not even soreness at the injection site. Emotionally though, I feel lighter, with a renewed sense of relief and hope. The biggest relief for me personally is that I can safely begin to bring a full staff of caregivers back into my home to provide my caregiving services. There truly is nothing else like being able to floss your teeth or get dressed whenever you want to.

A few things I learned:

I now have 40 to 60% immunity.

I will have 95% immunity after the second dose in January.

Side effects are more common after the second dose.

I can do safe check-ins with the CDC utilizing an app where I can report any side effects, and they will text me back if needed.

For someone who has a weak immune system and fragile respiratory system (see my blog post titled “The experience that was worse than the 1992 car accident that left me paralyzed”). This new feeling of hope regarding my health is overwhelming. Hope is an amazing feeling. It is such an overwhelmingly strong emotion, but it’s so peaceful at the same time.

If you’ve ever had a renewed sense of hope about the health of you or one of your family members, you will know exactly what that feeling is like. It’s a different kind of hope. It’s one thing to hope for something like a good job offer, a good opportunity, a certain outcome. It’s a very different experience to have hope for the future of your health.

My family and I will remain vigilant in our mask-wearing and social distancing. Even after the second dose, I won’t be increasing my socialization or interactions with others beyond Zac and my caregivers until the medical community and scientists tell us that enough people have received the vaccine for the community to be a safe place.

While my immune response might be strengthened, I realize that the reality is that the majority of people have yet to receive the vaccine. I refuse to be a part of the spread of a virus that is robbing us of so many of our elders, vulnerable citizens, and others.

I grew up with a strong sense of community–a community in which daily life practice reflects the understanding that “What is good for the community, is good for the individual.” I don’t know any other way to be, and I’m thankful for being raised that way.

Thank you to those of you who have contributed to our community’s health and safety by wearing masks, social distancing, and making sacrifices throughout the year. Thank you for being a part of the solution and not a part of the problem.