Day of the needles
When I still lived in the Bay Area, I was married to a librarian. His library served one of the richest communities in America, and an alarming percentage of them chose not to immunize their children. This was long before Covid; the school district had an outbreak of measles big enough that it made the papers.
Around the same time I read that news, I saw a post explaining that vaccinations older than around 1985 were likely no good anymore, and could use a re-up. Patently terrified, I asked my healthcare app if I could just get a measles shot the next time I was in.
The doc in the box said no, but they’d run my titers— a measurement of the concentration of antibodies— to see if another shot was necessary. When the tests came back the results were sobering: I had antibodies to almost nothing.
Determined to fortify myself against the contagious scions of wealth and supposedly pure blood, I asked for the battery of shots typically given to a toddler. Kaiser Permanente said yes.
The day that I showed up to be porcupined by modern medicine, I was in the middle of a series of vaccinations already: the HPV series and a planned hepatitis injection, so those two I knew to expect. When the nurse with my paperwork came back, there were 13 needles lined up on the tray.
Pulling up my sleeve on my left arm, I told him, “I should have asked for the flu shot while I was at it.”
“Don’t move,” he answered. “I’m going back to the fridge.”
Fourteen jabs later, I was hot and cold all over, running with the weakened viral load of measles, mumps, rubella, HPV, tetanus, influenza, and I lost track of what all else. Undaunted, I went to work.
The newsroom of America’s longest-running LGBTQ newspaper is small, and I sat with my back to my editor in chief. When she asked me a question, I turned to face her and give my answer.
“Jesus,” she said, blanching at the sight of me. “You look like Harvey Dent.”
Opening my phone’s front-facing camera, I saw what she meant. Exactly half of my face was bright red and splotched with a slightly-raised rash. I googled the measles.
“I’m not contagious,” I began.
“Get the hell out of my office,” she cut me off. “File your story via email.”
And so I went home to sweat it out as this battalion of infections ran my immune system through an obstacle course it had not seen since basic training. The next day I awoke, clear-skinned and well-rested, ready to ride BART with the folks who would be protected by my immunity, but might not do me the same courtesy.
The HPV vaccine is a life-saving measure against cervical and other cancers. The age cut-off to receive it was recently raised. If you’re sexually active and have health insurance, consider asking for it. Its efficacy is well-documented, and of all the shots I received that day, this one had no noticeable side effects.