Adventures in Boosterland

With the seven-day positivity rate averaging 21 percent, I decided I needed to heed the counsel of a good friend, a nurse, who a month ago during a visit said, “Yeeaaah, you should get the second booster.” I am neither fifty nor immunocompromised; on the other hand, I’m traveling in a month, will face a classroom of students whose credit ratings are more easily accessible than their vax status, and live in a county which, from our mayor to the Lyft driver, has decreed COVID over, every man for himself. And we have plenty of vaccine to go around.

Making the appointment took less time than serving the hot, fresh word hash to the Walgreens pharmacist who asked about a preexisting condition: I muttered stuff about diabetes in the family, dirty college students, and some other twaddle. She looked skeptical, but then she had several pounds of vaccine to unload before the end of the day. The first booster, taken last September, got me like the first two shots didn’t, my readers may recall. Well, a mild fever awoke me around 2 a.m. today. Too hot to sleep, I pattered to my living room and sat on the sofa, passing out. I awoke again at my usual pre-dawn hour, still feeling lousy and, thanks to the tropical system hurtling itself on Florida’s west coast, useless. Because I couldn’t go on my usual walk, I took a Tylenol and returned to bed. I awoke before eight much better.

Gimme more boosters, I said on my second glass of lunch wine.

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