Last Thursday following a meeting, I fulfilled a promise to my mother and drove her to get the COVID-19 vaccine. She had held out as long as her conscience would allow.
When I pulled into the meter, I got out of the car, too. My mom said, “You don’t have to go in there with me if you don’t want to.” I replied that I was going, too. “You’re going to get vaccinated?” The way I saw it was that if I didn’t go when I was there then I would never go.
The fact that I didn’t get vaccinated until September might surprise some of you. There’s this automatic assumption that takes place where I’m involved that lays odds in favor of me doing the “liberal” thing. Sometimes that assumption is correct and sometimes it is not. I don’t like to tamp myself down into a box for any reason because I live by doing what I feel is right. My oldest daughter quite often mumbles, “You’re such a Republican” at me when I offer a sentiment that isn’t as kind and gentle as she feels the moment deserves.
Sadly, the vaccine has become political.
And let’s be real, folks. I would have become enemy #1 if the world would have known I wasn’t vaccinated. Now don’t get me wrong, I never lied about it. If someone asked me, I told them the truth. If they didn’t ask me and just assumed, I didn’t volunteer the information, and that went both directions. I’ve had a couple of friends beg me to get vaccinated. I appreciated their concern. One was so adamant and refused to give up on me. She sent news stories about friends of hers dying from COVID-19 who were unvaccinated. She relayed stories about them, and she prayed for me fervently.
A couple of things happened that changed my mind. The first was my kids’ fear they’d bring it home from school and either my mom or I would catch it. They talked to me about it daily and were (are, actually) concerned with students’ lack of masking in school. The other thing that made me change my mind was that I was starting to move around again for my job and social distancing wasn’t always possible.
My hesitation with the shot was that I haven’t been able to afford health insurance for years. A $7,000-$10,000 deductible doesn’t sit well and, even when I had insurance, I rarely used it. I trust that my body knows what it needs. We don’t take the flu shot or the pneumonia shots. My kids have always been up-to-date on vaccines, but something about this one made me feel uncomfortable. Not as uncomfortable as when I found out while waiting for my vaccine that the man beside me had been exposed to COVID-19 the day before and understood nothing about it.
Not receiving the vaccine worried me because I haven’t received routine health care for so long and don’t know what’s going on in my body. Not having insurance also means there’s no way to pay for health care if the vaccine stirred something up. Not to mention the fact that if I had to choose between the government and one of my exes to keep me alive, I’d choose an ex.
I don’t like that places won’t mandate masks and allow everyone to walk around as though they are vaccinated when we know they aren’t. I don’t like that places are making vaccines required for certain events. I also don’t like being made to pay extra for a federal i.d. or seat belt laws, just to be clear. But I don’t like that people feel as if they can talk to or about me and other unvaccinated folks as if we’re idiots. Hardly anyone stops to ask why and jumps straight to the name calling and assumptions.
For me, the vaccine backed me against the wall. I felt the pressure to get it from everywhere. My kids, their school, my friends, my co-workers … but it was my only parent status without insurance that really decided for me. Because if I can’t work then my family is screwed on levels, probably to the point of no return.
I’ll tell you what being vaccinated hasn’t done for me. It hasn’t made me call anyone names. It hasn’t caught me throwing insults or acting as if I’m smarter than someone else because I finally agreed. It hasn’t made me share articles with big scientific terms I probably don’t fully understand. And it for sure hasn’t made me wish death or the lack of hospital care on someone because they chose differently than I did.
Take care of yourself. Be smart about it. Stop the name calling.
Onward,
Amy Jo
