My COVID-19 vaccination and the strange wave of side-effects
Even though I got COVID-19 immunity the hard way, I still wanted to get vaccinated.
The science isn't entirely sure how long the naturally acquired immunity lasts. We do know that antibodies won't necessarily protect people against variants, while vaccines seem to work just fine against all variants that have emerged so far. The vaccines are free, and after going through the actual COVID-19, it's not like it would hurt.
Plus, I was fairly certain that annanov wouldn't let me see my nieces unless I got vaccinated.
In February, the whole thing was kind of a moot point, since only a few categories of people (most notably seniors and some categories of essential workers) were eligible for vaccines in the first place. But in March, eligibility started to open up to more categories - first in the neighboring Indiana and Wisconsin, then in more and more parts of Illinois. But, until March 29, not in Chicago itself (save for certain neighborhoods). Anna got vaccinated in March because Wisconsin had broader criteria. Vlad got vaccinated because he happened to have a friend who worked a pharmacy that just happened to have one leftover dose (and only one leftover dose). Even my mom managed to get vaccinated by the end of March because she qualified as Grandma Nina's caregiver for vaccination eligibility purposes.
It's part of the reason why I didn't get too worked up over Trump Tower workers getting vaccinated. The longer March dragged on, the more ridiculous the restrictions felt. I mean, I knew why they were there - the city got its own supply of vaccines separate from the rest of the state, and if the city only had so many doses on hand, I could see why they didn't want a larger number of residents fighting over smaller doses. But when one could, theoretically, take a train to Carbondale (Illinois) or Kenosha, or Gary and get the vaccine they couldn't get in Chicago proper...
In fact, as more and more family members got vaccinated, my mom kept bugging me to do just that - try to get vaccinated where I could. And I did look into it. But, at the same time, given that the immunity would last until June, I felt that waiting until vaccination eligibility expands in Chicago wouldn't be too bad.
On March 29, the eligibility was expanded to more types of essential workers - including journalists. That's when I started looking for vaccination appointments at earnest. And I quickly learned first-hand why so many people who were eligible earlier were complaining about the appointment process.
The Cook County Health system sign-up let me register for appointments almost two months before I was actually eligible - but that didn't seem to give me any leg up whatsoever. The county would send alerts for when spots became available - and then, you get put into an online queue, where I watched as the number of available spots shrank while the number of people in front of me objectively exceeded the number of available spots. This happened even when I went into the queue within a minute of getting the alert. The whole thing seems to be purely luck of the draw - and bear in mind that Cook County Health system is supposed to prioritize lower-income people who may not be able to jump into an online queue seconds after getting the alert.
I signed up for another vaccination opportunity for journalists covering the South and West sides, but they were upfront about the fact that it was a long shot and we shouldn't count on that.
I got the appointment in, as my people would say, a fortunate convergence of circumstances. On April 7, at around 5:50 PM, I just happened to see a journalist acquiescence retweet a tweet by Ald Daniel La Spata (1st) advertising availability of vaccine shots at a clinic I never even heard of over on the west, still more Spanish-speaking edge of Logan Square. Given the mess that was the county appointment system, I broke on of my personal cardinal rules and registered using personal information over public wi-fi.
I booked an appointment for April 8, for 2:15 PM, just to reduce the chances that I would miss it. And I got confirmation within minutes.
Getting Vaccinated
I was able to make it to the clinic with almost 30 minutes to spare. Which was fine - my experience getting treated for cancer at what was then known as the Cook County Health and Hospitals System taught me plenty of patience. But the interesting part came at the reception, when I had to prove my journalist bona fidas.
I've been thinking about that for weeks. I'm not on staff at any publications I write for, so I don't have a press pass, or official business cards or anything like that. But I figured that bringing some clippings with my byline should be proof enough.
When the receptionist asked for proof of my eligibility, I presented the clippings - and he looked at me with the expression of "and what am I supposed to do with this?"
"Do you have any of your pay stubs?" he asked.
"I mean, I would if I knew I was supposed to bring them," was my annoyed response. "Your registration form thing didn't say a thing about bringing pay stubs."
The receptionist asked if I could show some pay stubs on my phone - which was a no-go, because the mobile I have isn't terribly smart and I wasn't going to pull any financial records up on my field laptop over an unsecured connection.
At this point, I did wonder if I wasn't going to get inoculated after all. Almost started preparing myself for it. But the receptionist told me that he was going to check with the head doctor.
Now, the head doctor was busy with patients that weren't here to get shots. I tried to be patient and wait, but I admit I was worried that I might fall through the cracks and miss the appointment window, so I was a bit twitchy in my waiting. But the head doctor did eventually came up to me and asked.
"So, you're a reporter? Is it for a newspaper?"
"Yes," I said, mustering up all of my patience. "Here are a few clippings."
"Oh, this is perfect!"
So she had the receptionist copies the clippings, highlight my name in the yellow marker, put them on file and hand me the paperwork.
Мать моя.
Now, as it has often been the case with vaccination sites, we weren't told what vaccine we'd be getting. The registration confirmation specifically mentioned a first-dose appointment. But, as I was reading the requisite list of side-effects, I saw an unfamiliar name - the Jassen vaccine.
"Have you ever heard of the Jassen vaccine?" I texted Anna. "Whatever it is, its [sic] the one I'm getting."
"That's Johnson & Jonhson!" she texted back. "Woohoo!"
One would think that, after all the reporting I've done on ins and outs of COVID-19 vaccinations, I would know that basic fact, but guess not.
The actual vaccination went fairly smoothly. I was honestly reminded of pre-chemo check-ups I used to get at the county hospital, in that they let in a handful of people at the time, had them wait and then invited them to the exam room one by one. Except there was only one exam room, not several.
I heard several people who got vaccinated say that they didn't feel anything at all. Wasn't the case for me. It felt more like a sting, following by something spreading through my shoulder. But while getting chemo, I've had my blood drawn on regular basis, I had chemicals piped into my veins, so this was honestly a mild discomfort.
The arm still felt a bit sore when I was directed to the post-inoculation observation area, but it didn't impair movement any, and the soreness was manageable.
Because I still had journalism work to do, I actually wound up doing interviews from the waiting area for not one but two articles. And after I finished the interviews (a bit longer than 15-minute observation window), I went to take pictures for that first article, since I was closer to Austin than to Rogers Park at that point anyway. Then ran an errand, while writing that first article on the bus on the field laptop.
Other than the arm soreness, I felt fine.
The side-effects
On the way back, I called my mom and mentioned that I was worried about the side-effects crashing down on me within a few hours. She also got a Johnson & Johnson, and said something along the line of "well, if you haven't felt anything in the past six hours, you probably aren't going to feel anything later."
Thing is, I had a reason to be worried. A reporter friend of mine, who got one of the two-dose vaccines, got slammed with side-effects the following morning and was basically out of commission for the rest of the day, and still had some side-effects the day after that. And I had to work.
But what was done was done.
The side-effects hit at around midnight.
It was kind of uncanny. One moment, I felt normal, save for sore arm. The next moment, I felt utterly cold, and my muscles started shaking, and there was muscle pain. The cold was the most unnerving. I've heard people describe chills, but this was the first time I experienced anything like that first-hand (that I can remember, anyway).
I was trying to finish up an article, but after the side-effects suddenly hit, I knew that trying to power through just wouldn't do any good. So I went to bed, deciding to sleep and try to power though in the morning (I mean, I hoped I'd wake up with side-effects gone, but after my experience with actual COVID-19, I knew the odds weren't in my favor on that one). I got out the warmest blanket and went to sleep - but not before tweeting about the side-effects.
Suffice to say, side-effects didn't go away the next morning (April 9). I mean, the chills went away, but I felt tired and sleepy, muscles still felt sore and my arm and leg joints sometimes hurt when I tried to bend them. I still managed to shower, brush teeth, heat up some microwavable pancakes and make instant coffee for breakfast. I finished the article, but honestly, much like when I was sleep-deprived the day I got all-clear Hodgkins-wise and still wrote articles, I can barely remember a thing I wrote. Still can't bring myself to actually read... whatever came out of that. As soon as I sent the article, I went back to bed and mostly slept for the rest of the day, waking on for a few brief stretches. In the evening, I washed an apple and ate it, just to have something in my stomach, but getting from bed to fridge to sink and back to bed took effort, and after that, I was basically out for the rest of the night.
The next morning (April 10), I woke up at around 8:00 AM. While bending the arms hurt a bit, there were no muscle aches, but I still felt tired. I spent the next few hours lying in bed and listening to Internet radio of the drama/audio book/literature/comedy kind. Thankfully, Winamp makes switching stations pretty intuitive.
I started noticing the difference within a few hours. It was almost like going through something flu-like on fast-forward. The pain in the joints vanished by afternoon. While I did end up napping around 5:00 PM and felt some residual weakness in the evening, after 9:00 PM, I felt well enough to make dinner (by which I mean I boiled spaghetti and heated up sausages, but it was way more than I managed to do a day before). Honestly, by late evening, I felt almost normal.
The next morning, I felt completely normal. So, all and all, I would recommend getting the vaccine over getting the immunity the old-fashioned way.
All this, of course, was before the Johnson & Johnson vaccines were suspended and then resumed. Did I have any second thoughts about getting it? Not at all. For one, it's not like I can get uninoculated. For another, the reports of blood clots were so rare that, while there was nothing wrong with investigating it closer, just in case, it didn't seem much of a danger.
Besides, I do feel like, just as there are people who downplay the risks of COVID-19, some people go too far in the other direction, and let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
Having gotten the vaccine... It does feel different, even compared to how I felt after I recovered. It's kind of hard to explain. Let me put it this way. Last Friday, I went to Andersonville after taking some photos for work purposes, and the crowds felt.. different. People sitting at the tables unmasked felt different. It's like the feeling I get the few times I go outside without my usual messenger bag. I don't notice its weight when it's there, but I definitely feel lighter when it's not. Maybe walking around in these pandemic times bothered me more than I thought, and I just managed to compartmentalize it.
Sure, the vaccine isn't a 100% defense against COVID-19, and there will probably be booster shots in the future, but it isn't as if I haven't been facing more risks than an average white-collar professional throughout the pandemic. It's just that now, the risk has gotten much, much lower.
The science isn't entirely sure how long the naturally acquired immunity lasts. We do know that antibodies won't necessarily protect people against variants, while vaccines seem to work just fine against all variants that have emerged so far. The vaccines are free, and after going through the actual COVID-19, it's not like it would hurt.
Plus, I was fairly certain that annanov wouldn't let me see my nieces unless I got vaccinated.
In February, the whole thing was kind of a moot point, since only a few categories of people (most notably seniors and some categories of essential workers) were eligible for vaccines in the first place. But in March, eligibility started to open up to more categories - first in the neighboring Indiana and Wisconsin, then in more and more parts of Illinois. But, until March 29, not in Chicago itself (save for certain neighborhoods). Anna got vaccinated in March because Wisconsin had broader criteria. Vlad got vaccinated because he happened to have a friend who worked a pharmacy that just happened to have one leftover dose (and only one leftover dose). Even my mom managed to get vaccinated by the end of March because she qualified as Grandma Nina's caregiver for vaccination eligibility purposes.
It's part of the reason why I didn't get too worked up over Trump Tower workers getting vaccinated. The longer March dragged on, the more ridiculous the restrictions felt. I mean, I knew why they were there - the city got its own supply of vaccines separate from the rest of the state, and if the city only had so many doses on hand, I could see why they didn't want a larger number of residents fighting over smaller doses. But when one could, theoretically, take a train to Carbondale (Illinois) or Kenosha, or Gary and get the vaccine they couldn't get in Chicago proper...
In fact, as more and more family members got vaccinated, my mom kept bugging me to do just that - try to get vaccinated where I could. And I did look into it. But, at the same time, given that the immunity would last until June, I felt that waiting until vaccination eligibility expands in Chicago wouldn't be too bad.
On March 29, the eligibility was expanded to more types of essential workers - including journalists. That's when I started looking for vaccination appointments at earnest. And I quickly learned first-hand why so many people who were eligible earlier were complaining about the appointment process.
The Cook County Health system sign-up let me register for appointments almost two months before I was actually eligible - but that didn't seem to give me any leg up whatsoever. The county would send alerts for when spots became available - and then, you get put into an online queue, where I watched as the number of available spots shrank while the number of people in front of me objectively exceeded the number of available spots. This happened even when I went into the queue within a minute of getting the alert. The whole thing seems to be purely luck of the draw - and bear in mind that Cook County Health system is supposed to prioritize lower-income people who may not be able to jump into an online queue seconds after getting the alert.
I signed up for another vaccination opportunity for journalists covering the South and West sides, but they were upfront about the fact that it was a long shot and we shouldn't count on that.
I got the appointment in, as my people would say, a fortunate convergence of circumstances. On April 7, at around 5:50 PM, I just happened to see a journalist acquiescence retweet a tweet by Ald Daniel La Spata (1st) advertising availability of vaccine shots at a clinic I never even heard of over on the west, still more Spanish-speaking edge of Logan Square. Given the mess that was the county appointment system, I broke on of my personal cardinal rules and registered using personal information over public wi-fi.
I booked an appointment for April 8, for 2:15 PM, just to reduce the chances that I would miss it. And I got confirmation within minutes.
Getting Vaccinated
I was able to make it to the clinic with almost 30 minutes to spare. Which was fine - my experience getting treated for cancer at what was then known as the Cook County Health and Hospitals System taught me plenty of patience. But the interesting part came at the reception, when I had to prove my journalist bona fidas.
I've been thinking about that for weeks. I'm not on staff at any publications I write for, so I don't have a press pass, or official business cards or anything like that. But I figured that bringing some clippings with my byline should be proof enough.
When the receptionist asked for proof of my eligibility, I presented the clippings - and he looked at me with the expression of "and what am I supposed to do with this?"
"Do you have any of your pay stubs?" he asked.
"I mean, I would if I knew I was supposed to bring them," was my annoyed response. "Your registration form thing didn't say a thing about bringing pay stubs."
The receptionist asked if I could show some pay stubs on my phone - which was a no-go, because the mobile I have isn't terribly smart and I wasn't going to pull any financial records up on my field laptop over an unsecured connection.
At this point, I did wonder if I wasn't going to get inoculated after all. Almost started preparing myself for it. But the receptionist told me that he was going to check with the head doctor.
Now, the head doctor was busy with patients that weren't here to get shots. I tried to be patient and wait, but I admit I was worried that I might fall through the cracks and miss the appointment window, so I was a bit twitchy in my waiting. But the head doctor did eventually came up to me and asked.
"So, you're a reporter? Is it for a newspaper?"
"Yes," I said, mustering up all of my patience. "Here are a few clippings."
"Oh, this is perfect!"
So she had the receptionist copies the clippings, highlight my name in the yellow marker, put them on file and hand me the paperwork.
Мать моя.
Now, as it has often been the case with vaccination sites, we weren't told what vaccine we'd be getting. The registration confirmation specifically mentioned a first-dose appointment. But, as I was reading the requisite list of side-effects, I saw an unfamiliar name - the Jassen vaccine.
"Have you ever heard of the Jassen vaccine?" I texted Anna. "Whatever it is, its [sic] the one I'm getting."
"That's Johnson & Jonhson!" she texted back. "Woohoo!"
One would think that, after all the reporting I've done on ins and outs of COVID-19 vaccinations, I would know that basic fact, but guess not.
The actual vaccination went fairly smoothly. I was honestly reminded of pre-chemo check-ups I used to get at the county hospital, in that they let in a handful of people at the time, had them wait and then invited them to the exam room one by one. Except there was only one exam room, not several.
I heard several people who got vaccinated say that they didn't feel anything at all. Wasn't the case for me. It felt more like a sting, following by something spreading through my shoulder. But while getting chemo, I've had my blood drawn on regular basis, I had chemicals piped into my veins, so this was honestly a mild discomfort.
The arm still felt a bit sore when I was directed to the post-inoculation observation area, but it didn't impair movement any, and the soreness was manageable.
Because I still had journalism work to do, I actually wound up doing interviews from the waiting area for not one but two articles. And after I finished the interviews (a bit longer than 15-minute observation window), I went to take pictures for that first article, since I was closer to Austin than to Rogers Park at that point anyway. Then ran an errand, while writing that first article on the bus on the field laptop.
Other than the arm soreness, I felt fine.
The side-effects
On the way back, I called my mom and mentioned that I was worried about the side-effects crashing down on me within a few hours. She also got a Johnson & Johnson, and said something along the line of "well, if you haven't felt anything in the past six hours, you probably aren't going to feel anything later."
Thing is, I had a reason to be worried. A reporter friend of mine, who got one of the two-dose vaccines, got slammed with side-effects the following morning and was basically out of commission for the rest of the day, and still had some side-effects the day after that. And I had to work.
But what was done was done.
The side-effects hit at around midnight.
It was kind of uncanny. One moment, I felt normal, save for sore arm. The next moment, I felt utterly cold, and my muscles started shaking, and there was muscle pain. The cold was the most unnerving. I've heard people describe chills, but this was the first time I experienced anything like that first-hand (that I can remember, anyway).
I was trying to finish up an article, but after the side-effects suddenly hit, I knew that trying to power through just wouldn't do any good. So I went to bed, deciding to sleep and try to power though in the morning (I mean, I hoped I'd wake up with side-effects gone, but after my experience with actual COVID-19, I knew the odds weren't in my favor on that one). I got out the warmest blanket and went to sleep - but not before tweeting about the side-effects.
Suffice to say, side-effects didn't go away the next morning (April 9). I mean, the chills went away, but I felt tired and sleepy, muscles still felt sore and my arm and leg joints sometimes hurt when I tried to bend them. I still managed to shower, brush teeth, heat up some microwavable pancakes and make instant coffee for breakfast. I finished the article, but honestly, much like when I was sleep-deprived the day I got all-clear Hodgkins-wise and still wrote articles, I can barely remember a thing I wrote. Still can't bring myself to actually read... whatever came out of that. As soon as I sent the article, I went back to bed and mostly slept for the rest of the day, waking on for a few brief stretches. In the evening, I washed an apple and ate it, just to have something in my stomach, but getting from bed to fridge to sink and back to bed took effort, and after that, I was basically out for the rest of the night.
The next morning (April 10), I woke up at around 8:00 AM. While bending the arms hurt a bit, there were no muscle aches, but I still felt tired. I spent the next few hours lying in bed and listening to Internet radio of the drama/audio book/literature/comedy kind. Thankfully, Winamp makes switching stations pretty intuitive.
I started noticing the difference within a few hours. It was almost like going through something flu-like on fast-forward. The pain in the joints vanished by afternoon. While I did end up napping around 5:00 PM and felt some residual weakness in the evening, after 9:00 PM, I felt well enough to make dinner (by which I mean I boiled spaghetti and heated up sausages, but it was way more than I managed to do a day before). Honestly, by late evening, I felt almost normal.
The next morning, I felt completely normal. So, all and all, I would recommend getting the vaccine over getting the immunity the old-fashioned way.
All this, of course, was before the Johnson & Johnson vaccines were suspended and then resumed. Did I have any second thoughts about getting it? Not at all. For one, it's not like I can get uninoculated. For another, the reports of blood clots were so rare that, while there was nothing wrong with investigating it closer, just in case, it didn't seem much of a danger.
Besides, I do feel like, just as there are people who downplay the risks of COVID-19, some people go too far in the other direction, and let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
Having gotten the vaccine... It does feel different, even compared to how I felt after I recovered. It's kind of hard to explain. Let me put it this way. Last Friday, I went to Andersonville after taking some photos for work purposes, and the crowds felt.. different. People sitting at the tables unmasked felt different. It's like the feeling I get the few times I go outside without my usual messenger bag. I don't notice its weight when it's there, but I definitely feel lighter when it's not. Maybe walking around in these pandemic times bothered me more than I thought, and I just managed to compartmentalize it.
Sure, the vaccine isn't a 100% defense against COVID-19, and there will probably be booster shots in the future, but it isn't as if I haven't been facing more risks than an average white-collar professional throughout the pandemic. It's just that now, the risk has gotten much, much lower.