Peace of Mind

 Tomorrow I will be exactly two weeks out from my second Pfizer shot. For those who are still on the fence about whether to get it, here are my experiences with the process:

I received the first shot at the Hy-Vee in Jefferson City. I grew up in Jefferson City and Hy-Vee was “our” grocery store, so going back there for the first shot was trippy. They have a Starbucks now. Also, you can buy Freddy’s Fry Sauce there. That, plus a stomachache, is all that stands out for me after the first shot. Oh, also, the pharmacist told me she liked my pink shoes and I told her they were Dr. Scholl’s, on account of my gnarly bone spurs. We both agreed that it’s surprising orthopedic shoes can be so cute.

For my second shot I got super dressed up and wore my leopard print orthopedic shoes (just in case I saw the same pharmacist again). My dad insisted on driving me to Jefferson City. Road trip!!!!!!!!! If you think going back to your hometown and your hometown grocery store is trippy, let me tell you, going there with your dad for a life-changing vaccine “in these unprecedented times” is super trippy. Being the gentleman that he is, he dropped me off at the door and told me he’d meet me in the liquor aisle when I was done. Like the first shot, the second one was super quick and easy, so when I was finished I headed to the liquor aisle to wait for my dad, who overestimated how long the process would take. I wandered up and down the liquor aisle looking for him. Worried shelf stockers kept asking if they could help me find anything. “No,” I kept assuring them, “I’m just looking for my dad. He promised he’d meet me in the liquor aisle.” And he did.

After Hy-Vee we headed back to St. Louis. I asked my dad to go through a drive-thru for a Sprite in case I got a tummy ache like the first time. He wanted to buy me lunch but I assured him I couldn’t possibly eat anything. Except 12 chicken nuggets and a large order of waffle fries. I passed on the dipping sauce because I didn’t want the inside of my dad’s car to look like the inside of my dad’s car looked when I was 5.

After a little rain, a lot of traffic and some discussion of politics, we finally made it home. My dad dropped me off, I answered numerous questions from my kids about the day, and I settled onto the sofa for the night. A few hours later, I started not feeling 100 percent, so I decided to “treat myself” to a little online shopping. I spent a considerable amount of time browsing the Old Navy website for a new top that would accurately reflect “Post-Pandemic Kathy” and her new take on life. Reader, the blouse I purchased arrived two days later (Old Navy must have sensed that this was an emergency), and it’s a plain white button-down shirt. What was my post-pandemic persona going to be? Activities director for the Love Boat? But I digress.

Sometime after everyone went to bed, the other side effects started to settle in. All that stuff they tell you that you “might” experience, I did. I remember my cat sitting in a chair next to my bed all night keeping watch. I also remember being really angry that I have so much hair and it’s itchy and hot, but Fauci didn’t mention that.

Anyway, most of it lasted about 12 hours. I had planned everything ahead—work, meals for the kids, laundry, everything—in case I needed to stay in bed. My kids, God love ‘em, did their best to take care of me and themselves, as always. At some point in the morning I heard a large THUD, followed by “OWWWWWWWW!,” and then my son screaming, “Are you OK? Do you need me to ask you concussion questions?,” so at least this experience has taught me that he has a vague idea what to do in case of an emergency. The highlight of the day was an unexpected power outage. I knew that it was area-wide and there was nothing we could do about it, so I didn’t bother getting out of bed, but my three kids + cat went down to the basement to investigate anyway. Once they got down to the dark storage room something spooked the cat, so he took off back up the stairs, with all three kids right on his tail. When they reached the top of the stairs I could hear my 11-year-old saying, “I wasn’t scared until Sunshine got scared, but then I got to thinking, maybe a murderer cut the power to our house?” Note: It was noon. Broad daylight. It’s like I’m trapped in an episode of “Scooby Doo.”

Anyway, by around 24 hours after the second shot I was well enough to get out of bed. Still a little tired, some headache, but much better. I came in the living room and turned on an Adam Sandler marathon (something I had promised myself I’d do as a reward for getting through the process), and my son cuddled up on the sofa next to me.

“Thanks for getting the shot, Mom,” he said, throwing a blanket over me. “I’ve been so scared this past year that we’d lose you, too. I’m so relieved.”

If you’re still reading this because you’re curious about my experiences, that last part is the part that counts. My kids know what it’s like to lose a parent. My family knows what it’s like to have an empty chair at the table every night for the rest of your life. I can’t tell you that I didn’t have any side effects, because I did. They lasted all of about 12 hours. Needless to say, that feels like a small sacrifice to give my loved ones peace of mind. Every single one of us has someone who would be heartbroken if we were gone tomorrow.

So if you haven’t done so already, go get your vaccine, and remind someone you love to get it, too. When it’s all over, you can splurge and buy yourself the world’s most boring white shirt.