Of Vaccines, Muddy Paws, and Joy

60: (April 2021)

I am fully vaccinated. I signed up for the Covid-19 vaccine the minute (literally) that it became available for my age group. Normally, I am someone who does not even like to take an aspirin, so the fact that I was very quick to get vaccinated was not a foregone conclusion.

I am often skeptical of mainstream medicine, having found nutrition and alternative medicine to be preferable paths to health on numerous occasions in my life. Last year, when I heard the first rumblings of a mad rush to invent a Covid-19 vaccine, I thought, “Well, I’m certainly not going to be in a hurry to get that! Who knows what the side effects will be?” My gut reaction was not to trust its safety, as I generally don’t place a lot of trust in pharmaceutical companies. But what a difference a year of this pandemic has made.

When I saw the number of deaths rise—and rise—the gravity of the situation and the urgency to do something became very clear; there were scores of healthcare professionals risking their lives every day as they cared for sick and dying Covid-19 patients. They are still out there doing their jobs, day in and day out, attending to people gripped by the virus. Those healthcare workers are the ones putting themselves on the line to comfort and care for Covid-19 patients, sometimes serving as proxy family members as patients take a final breath.

So I have taken the vaccine for the healthcare workers—may I never add to their workload by becoming yet another patient infected by this deadly virus.

Then there are all the people themselves who have become gravely ill with the virus and all those who have died. Their numbers started growing exponentially last year as pain and death swept around the entire globe with a growing fury. How many families have had to face the death of loved ones due to this pandemic? With no end in sight, the vaccinations have presented a way to turn the tide, to prevent so many from dying.

So I have taken the vaccine for our global community—for all the families who will get to enjoy being in this world a little longer with the people they love.

Now we get to my family. My children live abroad, my stepchildren and grandchildren live across the country, and my mother and siblings live a few states away. I want to be able to see them in person and celebrate birthdays and holidays together again. I wouldn’t travel to any of them without being vaccinated; I would never risk inadvertently spreading the virus to anyone whose path I might cross in my travels. And I would never risk exposing my family members to Covid-19.

So I have taken the vaccine for all of them—for my family members and all the people I might randomly encounter whom I would never want to unwittingly put in danger.

Maybe someday there will be side effects that emerge from the vaccination. I decided I was willing to take that risk. It’s worth it to me to protect others from the immediate danger that Covid-19 presents right here, right now. Sometimes you have to hedge your bets the best you can; I threw my cards in with the vaccination.

40: (April 2001)

One of my favorite memories is of a day I stayed home from school with a cold when I was about seven years old. My mother told me to stay in bed, so I lay there in my upstairs bedroom watching Leave It to Beaver on the black and white television set at the foot of my bed. Our family dog, a blond Cocker Spaniel, was not allowed upstairs under any circumstances, so it was an enormous surprise when I saw my mother walking down the hall toward my room with the dog in her arms. She was full of excitement and said she thought the dog would cheer me up.

“Cheer me up” was quite an understatement; seeing the dog enter my room was a wonderfully shocking and unprecedented event. But the next moment was the one that has been forever frozen in time. It is the vivid image of my mother lowering the dog onto my bed. I was truly thrilled and experienced pure joy and delight. It was a simple, clear moment, free of any complications, full of rejoicing. My childish spirit laughed with the universe. A dog on my bed! Sheer perfection.

It was the first and last time the dog was ever on a bed, or even in that part of the house, yet the memory never faded. After my childhood dog died, I was dogless for about 35 years, until we got our puppy two years ago. We fell in love with him so much that we got a smaller, female version of him a few months ago. Initially, I was not going to allow them into the bedrooms, but somehow they have managed their way into every room in the house, and they now enjoy free reign over all the beds as well.

Last night, I awoke at 2:30 a.m. to find a little, furry body snuggled against my shoulder, her head on my pillow. In the in-between state of being half awake and half asleep, I experienced that pure joy once again, and realized that the memory of that day so long ago often flashes through my mind in the night. But it is not simply the memory that is triggered by the dogs. It is as if they provide a direct avenue to that joyous, childish spirit that usually lies buried within me beneath layers of responsible adulthood.

You have to get your thrills where you can. For me, it’s worth the trade-off of having the occasional muddy paw on the blankets in order to have access to that state of pure delight. I fell back asleep with a smile on my face, thinking, “I have dogs—and they’re on my bed!”

60-40:

Remember joy? I think this year of Covid-19, coupled with the tragedy of George Floyd’s death and the protests and awakenings that unfolded from there have made me forget what joy feels like sometimes—the pure joy that was perhaps more easily accessible in childhood.

These are complicated times. Joy still sneaks in here and there, but I have to remember to be mindful not to miss it. The joy of birdsong in the morning. The thrill of seeing flowers pressing up and out of the earth after a long winter. The squeaking sounds made by infant grandchildren, heard over the phone. Hugging my daughter after so many months of separation.

The world has changed. None of us will ever be the same after this past year; we’re all on a collective adventure. May we care for each other the best we can as we walk into the future hand in hand.