Vaccinations

Last night I went over to my parents house. We had dinner inside, played some Rummikub, ate too-decadent dessert, rubbed the dogs’ bellies. It as great. Talking on and on about diversity, equity and inclusion is much easier in person, I found! We got to do this all without masks on thanks to my parents’ getting their second doses of the vaccine three weeks ago.

It’s weird to be around my parents and know that now I am the one who is high risk. Technically I should be wearing a mask around them, but since they don’t do anything day-to-day that would expose them and put me at risk, I don’t worry about it.

At one point early in the visit I walked up to my Dad and realized I could hug him. So I did. And we both laughed.

The evening was so nice, but it also felt really normal which I appreciated. I wasn’t nervous all night about where I was sitting in relation to them or whatever. It made me hopeful about returning to normal behaviors without too much trauma when it’s possible to do so.

A lot of people are proudly posting photos of their vaccination cards online these days. I am glad people are being vaccinated, but it bothers me from a different perspective. Not the perspective of “that person shouldn’t be allowed” although sometimes I do wonder why a person who looks so healthy managed to get it, but that’s just not my business. I have to hope that they came about their shot honestly. My perspective is simply from that of a high-risk person who isn’t being recognized as such by the CDC. They have not added T1 to the list of comorbidities (but they have added Type 2).

I know someone who got in line at a clinic in hopes of getting a leftover dose at the end of the day and he proudly shared photos of his card when he got one. All I could think was, You are a privileged, healthy, white, non-working (and as such not at risk) because-you-can-afford-it piece of shit who may have taken a vaccine from a person two spots behind you who really needs it because while they are “healthy” they also work in a grocery store and live paycheck to paycheck.

I’m not sure how one can live with themself after doing something like that. You know how that’s actually done? You take yourself to the clinic, sit in line all day because you are wealthy and have the time, and when a clinic employee comes out and says “congratulations, you’re one of the people who can get the leftovers!”, you get on the phone to your friend who’s a teacher, or a minority, or who works in a population-facing job and lives paycheck to paycheck and say “I have a shot for you but you have to come quick for it!”

You do good for others because THAT’S WHAT WE NEED RIGHT NOW. Goodness, not greed.

Now I’m just ranting. Forgive me. I’m just really salty because I really have a hard time with lack of fairness and it just feels really unfair that Type 1 Diabetes isn’t listed as a comorbidity and as a result, I’m basically just going to be waiting for a shot along with a bunch of healthy young people in the general population.

I also feel a lot of guilt for my complaining because I know full well how privileged I am. Last night I said to Mom and Dad that it seems like a miracle that we know of no one who has died of COVID. It feels so unlikely considering the high number of deaths, until I remembered that in states where Black communities make up only a relatively small portion of the population, nearly half — if not majority — of all COVID-19 deaths are members of the Black community.

I think to myself that there is no escaping the inequity and racism in America. Even disease – which isn’t even a human with biases – targets minorities unfairly because of the culture in which it exists.

{sigh}