Welcome to this week’s editorial,
It is six days since my AstraZeneca jab and the soreness in my upper arm has now subsided. It wasn’t too bad, not enough to keep me awake if I slept on it but enough to ask for the next jab to be on the other arm in twelve weeks time.
I was fortunate to see a social media invitation to attend a weekend vaccine clinic in Narooma encouraging me to book a fifteen minute window. I arrived, filled in a form, waited around five minutes, walked into a practice room, rolled up my sleeve and received a totally painless jab. Simple.
After a nice lunch soon after I drove home to await the onset of expected side effects that I had Googled. I was ready for my 24 to 48 hours of tiredness, headache, muscle pain, fever and chills. Google also warned me of possible nausea, feeling unwell, joint pain, possible enlarged lymph nodes, dizziness, decreased appetite and stomach pain. Ido accept that Dr Google can be a bit of a pessimistic hypochondriac at times.
I must say here that I was well prepared. Knowing there was a very rare risk of death due to bloodclots I had ensured my will was in order, that my Health Action Plan was up to date reflecting my wishes in the event I didn’t die but was no longer able to function, and that I had backed up my laptop files and my 75,000 photos along with all the instructions for my powers of attorney, my updated passwords, and all the other instructions one might like to offer in the event of karking it.
This might sound over dramatic but for me the task was straight forward as I had done it many times in the past before setting off to places that are less than hospitable. On those trips I would have my ever present passport, some $US dollars stashed in my shoes and the expectation that I could lose it all. Again this might sound dramatic but it wasn’t. It was just a matter of being prepared, inspired by the old American Express TV advertisement that featured “Mr Wong” saving the day for a hapless traveller in Hong Kong who had lost everything. I often played out in my head if I was ready to lose everything and how to recover. An odd game that kept me amused during long hours in transit.
There was one thing that I relied on, on those trips that encountered some of the best slums in the world. My secret weapon was the force field of my vaccinations (I kept a full list at the back of my passport with their dates and due dates). Although the local variations of gastro often found their mark, and the occasional virus rendered me a fever ridden mess for days on end the big nasties were kept at bay via my vaccinations. But generally I was prepared, as best I could be, knowing I was in a developing country but that my “house” at home was in order with my paperwork and my instructions up to date should I not return.
As I sat in the waiting room for my AstraZeneca jab last weekend I looked around at the twenty or so who were also there playing their roll in the vaccination production line and wondered if they had prepared for the occasion and like me, anticipating everything from bloodclots to being out of action for two or more days. I also wondered if they had their home made chicken stock already prepared for restorative soups or have a stash of therapeutic bananas at the ready. I could only hope, and assumed they did.
I then thought of the 3,717,000 others around the world who had contracted Covid and then, within a week or so, died. They didn’t see it coming. There was little time to prepare. If only they had been immunised. If only they had been given the chance to have a jab. Behind every one of those deaths is a family, friends, and paperwork. So much paperwork. The unpaid bills, the loans, bank savings, assets to be sold, assets to be distributed, lawyers, funeral arrangements and the grief of a life cut short, most likely without any final goodbye. The millions of goodbyes that remain unsaid.
While the jab last weekend was for me it was also for my family. It was for my friends and for those I might meet on the street. It was for every person who might come within 1.5m of me or touch something I may have touched. I enjoy life so I owe it to myself to be vaccinated. But I also realise that behind every face I see there is an equal complexity of a life that, in most parts, remains unfinished.
I chose to have the vaccination for the sake of me, for my family and for all of those in my community that I might meet or interact with including you. Let’s roll up our sleeves for ourselves and each other.
Until next—lei
