The most beautiful picture I've taken lately is that of my husband receiving his first CoVid shot.
He was dressed in his work clothes, ready to work at Habitat for Humanity as soon as the timer said he could leave. I was there alongside him, getting my shot, too, waiting my fifteen minutes of medical observation for the just in case...which didn't happen.
The whole process was a joy, from the minute the scheduler called to set a shot appointment until that timer dinged a few days later and I was on the way out the clinic door. There were smiling greeters in the lobby of the medical center, taking our temperatures and directing us to happy clerks checking us in on the computer. We stood in line for the briefest of time, waiting until the person ahead of us was sent the next available station. We answered questions about our current health and bared our arms.
While the serum was entering my body I prayed. Mine was not only a prayer of thanksgiving for the shot itself, but for those who created it and those who administered it, painlessly I might add. I thought about those four hundred thousand fellow Americans who didn't live long enough for the privilege of sitting in my spot. I thought about the teachers and other essential workers who so desperately needed the shot and yet had to wait their turns.
My cup runneth over. My happiness abounded.
Best of all, no money exchanged hands. No insurance cards required. I have the immunization card in hand, with the appointment for the second dose penned on the back by yet another worker at the clinic.
The light at the end of the tunnel is not as dim as it was a week ago.
Catch of the day,
Gretchen
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