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All writers in Op Ed are here to inform and acknowledge issues of importance to our communities, however these writings represent the views  and opinions of the authors and not necessarily of The Advertiser.

By Jack Reece

I got my COVID vaccination last week.  The vaccination site was running like a well-oiled machine when I arrived, completely opposite of what I expected based on all the whining and ringing of hands on TV.  A very large police officer greeted me at the door and told me to stand in front of a robot with a little red eye scanning me.  Out came “normal” in the very best robot speak.  “Go get in that line”, said officer T. F. Moolah.  I did.  I was handed a clipboard instructed to complete another form.  I did.  A lady watching me quickly grabbed me up and told me to follow her.  I did.  I immediately recognized that no matter what happened from that point the trip had been worth it.  Suddenly, there before me, was the little room with institutional green curtains with who knows what behind them.  I am 72 years old and I still get dreadfully scared when I approach little rooms with institutional green curtains hiding what is to come.  The lady that was nice enough to let me follow her turned right and there sat a medical person with more syringes on her stainless-steel table with wheels than I had ever seen before.  In an effort to head off any misunderstanding I immediately said, “You don’t look like you would ever hurt me.”  She laughed and said, “which arm?”  “Right arm,” I responded.  “I bet I am the first left hander you have vaccinated today.”   “Actually, you are the third.” she said as she approached me with that which is number 7 on my scaredy cat list.  A very long needle.  As I rolled my shirt sleeve up, I apologized for the abundance of muscles she would have to navigate.  Both she and the lady I followed in giggled.   “I should warn you that I have been known to break and run down hallways screaming before receiving injections.  Do you have very large people here to hold me down?”  “Yes we do”, she said as she began applying a band-aide to my right shoulder.  They continued giggling as I realized it was over!  The lady escorted me to the “sit here for 15 minutes room” and when I asked her if she would wait with me and hold my hand, she politely informed me that she had to get back to work.  “When I come for my booster will you escort me to the small room with institutional green curtains,” I whimpered.  “Of course,” was her reply.  I can’t wait to go back.        

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