I just got my COVID vaccination. Here's how | Column - Tampa Bay Times

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Aging is rarely your friend when you’re already old enough to collect Social Security. Except when any Floridian over 65 became eligible for a COVID-19 vaccination, and you’re only 62. Suddenly, being a few years older seemed like a fine thing. Just another example of how this pandemic has warped so much of our thinking and shaken our foundations.

My turn finally came Monday, when Gov. Ron DeSantis dropped the age to 60.

I was surprised both by how hard and how easy it was. As a fallback, I had pre-registered with Pinellas County with CDR HealthPro, so I wouldn’t have to fuss with digital forms on deadline. And I set bookmarks on my browser for CVS, Walmart and Publix vaccination sites so I’d be ready. Assuming Publix would be the easiest, I signed in before the 7 a.m. start on Friday hoping to snag an appointment on the following Monday when I would become eligible.

My wife was ready at a second computer, and three friends — Lotta, Ginger and Lori — agreed to seek a slot for me from their computers. I had my laptop, my iPad and my iPhone all in a row to up the odds. All told, we had eight screens working the problem.

Seven a.m. came and went. Sometime later on the Publix site, the “waiting” button became a “book now” button. I had butterflies. I clicked. I was in! I started entering all my personal and medical data, got an appointment for Tuesday at my local Publix. Life was good.

Until it wasn’t. Just before the final click, the form said I hadn’t filled in my medical data. But I had. I started arguing with my computer screen — it always wins. Before I could sort things out, I had timed out and was kicked out of the queue and had to start over. Arrgh. A form of this happened again and again for hours as the number of appointments kept dropping ... and dropping. I tried again and again. An appointment would apparently be available, but when I tried to pick a time, suddenly it was gone. I kept at it for what seemed like forever, more to see what would happen than out of any actual hope of scoring an appointment.

Fearing that I was going to miss my shot, I also tried the county website. I clicked. And I had a choice of appointments. Really? Could it be this simple? I picked the earliest time — 2:15 Monday. I got a QR code to prove I was registered. They also sent me a text message, an email and even booked my second appointment. Ronald Reagan famously said that “the nine most terrifying words in the English language are: I’m from the government and I’m here to help.“ Well, guess what? The government was here to help, and I got an appointment in a jiffy.

A friend once complained that a product’s assembly and operating instructions claimed that “they were so easy, a 5-year-old could do it.” After failing to assemble or operate the “product” in question she would retort, “Jeez, then, get me a 5-year-old.” I’m not tech stupid, but I was still daunted by the process of finding out when and where and how to register for a vaccine. I’ve got a high-speed internet connection, a slew of smart devices and a bunch of kind friends who were willing to get up early to offer their help — and their screens. Imagine what it’s like if you need an inoculation and you have none of that. I am privileged, and it wasn’t a breeze.

Older people, poorer people, many people of color, thousands and thousands of people who have no choice but to work at jobs that can’t be done remotely — these are many of the folks who really need access to vaccinations and reliable information about how to obtain them. There need to be more programs to reach all of these vulnerable communities and get them the vaccinations they need. They should be a priority. And there’s a point where it is fruitless to argue who is most deserving of a shot right now. Is it the 25-year-old who just had a kidney transplant or the 50-year-old diabetic? A vulnerable senior who almost never goes out and therefore has little exposure? Or a gregarious college student who may get an asymptomatic case, appear completely healthy and yet pass it to elderly grandparents? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin is not worth debating. More shots in more arms now is the right answer.

Some of us are lucky. My wife, by virtue of being a Hospice volunteer, is already fully vaccinated. Most of my friends are, too. Hey, we’re older, so what can I say?

Monday afternoon, the scene at the Center for Health Equity in St. Petersburg couldn’t have been smoother. Police directed traffic, and the check-in was simple. The jab came fast, and I didn’t feel a thing. I was ushered to a waiting area so health officials could watch for 15 minutes for any adverse effects. Then I went home. The second shot comes the day after Easter.

I have now entered that weird netherworld of being vaccinated — relieved but worried about everybody else. However, the sharp point of that spear is a bit blunted now that I’m one of the fortunate ones. The world actually feels a bit different, now that hope is not theoretical but real. And yet, my personal luck hasn’t changed the inequities of who can and will get vaccinated, how this pandemic has laid bare the stratifications of our society and magnified, not minimized, them.

What have I learned? On a personal level, keep all options open. Look for every available opportunity to get vaccinated. The best bet one day might be Publix. The next? It might be the county health center.

I worry about how the numbers have numbed us. We keep talking about death tolls of 500,000 Americans and 30,000 Floridians. That’s old news. The actual number of dead Floridians is now 32,959, and the number of dead Americans is 535,227. Those newer, higher numbers are far more than rounding errors. They are thousands of dead Floridians and tens of thousands of Americans. Each one will be missed by friends and families. About 1 in 5 Americans say they have lost a relative or close friend to COVID-19. We mustn’t forget.

This pandemic is not over. We still need to wear masks and keep our social distance. It’s spring break week, and hordes of young, healthy people are hitting Florida’s lovely beaches — and bars. They may well catch COVID-19, not even know it and spread it to loved ones who will get sick — or die. On the day I was vaccinated, the deaths of another 99 Floridians were announced.

Vaccinations are coming ever faster. Don’t do stupid stuff when the end is near. If you haven’t been vaccinated, your chance is coming soon. Take it! So far, 4,252,250 Floridians have been vaccinated. Whoops. I almost forgot. Make that 4,252,250 plus one.

Times editorial writer Jim Verhulst can be reached at jverhulst@tampabay.com.

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I just got my COVID vaccination. Here's how | Column - Tampa Bay Times
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