My Covid Vaccination Story

 PART I

The first Covishield jab at a private hospital on 5 March 2021 was an interesting experience.

The hospital was placed, as it were, at the top of a wide and tall staircase that led to a narrow lounge with a reception desk. When I scrambled up the steep stairs and caught up with Shanthi, she pointed to something. I gasped in horror at the sight of another staircase, this one sloping downwards.

When we descended that ill-lit staircase, we stepped into a dark, tunnel-like corridor lined with different doors – and a parking lot! Not knowing where to go, we turned right and moved into a gloomier tunnel that led to the OP. We retraced our steps to the bottom of that dingy staircase and turned right. In front of us lay an overcrowded recess, and we had reached our destination: there was a makeshift arrangement in the alcove under the staircase, and that was the registration counter!

The registration mocked all norms of physical distancing. We were jostled, poked, elbowed, bumbed, and stepped on, but, after all those physical distancing tests, we accomplished the purpose of our visit.

We were now herded into a narrower but well-lit tunnel in which broken panels of the false ceiling almost touched one’s head. That was the vaccination centre. The tunnel was lined with five doors on either side. In the last of the cells, the vaccine was administered and beyond that was an air-conditioned observation room with pathetic-looking sofas.

When the ordeal was over, it was refreshing to be outside with the hot sun and the warm air touching us.

I opened the vaccination certificate one of the young men at the counter gave me. Mr Modi was smiling at me from the bottom of the sheet.

PART II

Shanthi and I had our second Covid shot at high noon on 26 April 2001, and thereby hangs a tale.

When we had our first jab on the 5th of March, we were told that the second was due in 28 days. Since then, one epidemiologist after another had asserted in television interviews that the ideal gap between doses is 8-12 weeks for Covishield. In March-April came the government’s advisory of 4/6-8 weeks, and we settled for that gap.

But it turned out to be a mistake. The appointments we scheduled for a second dose in private hospitals were getting repeatedly cancelled amid rumours that there was a vaccine shortage. On 25 April 2021, a kind friend offered to help us through a government official. The arrangement was that Shanthi and I could get a second shot at a primary health centre (PHC) in Vijayawada.

I was still like that Tenali Rama’s cat after the “treatment” given at a private hospital for the first dose. If a private hospital was so bad, how would a government hospital be? But we had no option. In any case, the government official had sent an assistant whose job was to deliver a hassle-free vaccination. The deliverer was a big, burly, self-assured young man called Ismail (name changed) who, with a mask-covered chin, came to lead us like Moses to the promised land of vaccination.

At the PHC, I was shocked and petrified by what I saw. Between us and the building was a tidal surge of humanity waiting to be vaccinated. ‘We’re going back,’ I said to Ismail when I came back to my senses, but he wouldn’t listen. He stretched out his hand and spoke to the sea in a thunderous voice much like Moses. But the waves didn’t part. Then he did something Moses never thought of. He walked into the sea pushing the waves aside with his mighty hands, and, within minutes, he was on the first floor where vaccination was taking place.

Five minutes passed. I called the government official, explained the state of affairs, and said my wife and I were going back home. Then something unbelievable happened. I received a message from CoWin which read as follows: ‘You have been successfully vaccinated with a second dose. You may download your vaccination certificate…’ Next it was my wife’s turn to receive a similar message. We had been “vaccinated” without even entering the PHC and without experiencing any TLC!

I felt foolish. I had already been vaccinated according to the government records. It would be impossible to go to any other hospital for a second shot. But, at the same time, it would be impossible to get into the PHC without taking several dips in the sea of humanity. I was mulling my options over when the deliverer descended from the clouds above. ‘What’s this?’ I asked him showing the message. He grinned.

Ismail forced the waves to part again, but the sea closed in behind him. Riding on the crest of a tidal wave, I safely landed in a small jetty where the vaccine was being administered, and when a rolling wave crashed against the shore after three or four minutes, I was in front of the PHC again with a Covishield jab in my left arm.

The iphone rang now. It was Chakri, a doctor from a corporate hospital. ‘Uncle,’ he said, ‘the vaccine has arrived. Come over.’