For several weeks I have been involved in drive-through shootings.
Working in
the UAB-Highlands parking deck, 8 RNs are giving approximately 2000 COVID
vaccine injections a day. As I drive home every day, I talk to my friend Linda,
who got me this job. As she says, I “debrief” her about my day.
Since I’m
not in charge of anything or anyone except myself, and since I have ONE JOB, it
follows that everything else is NOT my job. Almost everything – except stepping
to the car, giving the injection, and applying a bandage – is, LITERALLY, above
my pay grade.
So what do I
tell Linda during a 20 minute drive every day? Well, most of them can’t be
printed here, because the tale itself could identify specific people, and that’s
not fair, since I have 50 years experience, and some of them have a year or
less experience… but it isn't rocket surgery to give an IM injection into a
person’s deltoid, so…
But… when a young
nurse told me that back when she worked at UPS, they had to use not only
military hours, but also military “minutes”, I had to ask wtf she meant by
that. She told me that, for example, if it is 4:30pm, the military time would
be 1650, if you used minutes too. I had to smh. She said she had all those
military minutes memorized back when she worked for UPS, but has forgotten most
of it now. I really wondered how she got through nursing school, and I had to
tall Linda about that, but I digress…
Aside from
working standing up for 5 hours in 35 degree weather, the job itself gets
rather routine, rote, and frankly boring, until this happened:
A car drove
up, stopped, and the driver indicated that the “patient” is in the back seat on
the passenger side.
When she
rolled down the window, there was an elderly (our patients right now are 75+)
lady with a pretty, hand-made pink lacy mask.
I said, “Please raise your sleeve and hold it.”
I cleaned
her deltoid with an alcohol wipe, waited 10 seconds for it to dry, and injected
the needle. For some reason, I looked at her face. Her eyes were red, and big
tears were rolling down her face onto her mask. This injection is a tiny
needle, and only 0.3cc, so we don’t get many criers.
“OH! Did I
hurt you?” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”
“Oh no! I
didn’t even feel it, Hon. These are tears of JOY. After 10 months, now I will
finally be able to hug my grandchild.”
I cried too,
and now, retelling it, I am crying yet again.
There are many
stories similar to this one. As you go about your day, ZOOMing with your clubs
and organizations, fist-bumping your friends, watching the skewed news, or
wondering and worrying about the weather, you need to know how very much this vaccine means
to so many people.
For many,
this is not as much about being able to go back to church or to meetings or
taking off your mask at the grocery store … it is about LOVE.
