I’m not angry
I’m not scared.
I’ve no regret for what has happened.
But I am feeling a bit gobsmacked to learn that after all these months of carefully distancing myself from Covid, swiftly arranging for a vaccine as soon as I was eligible, and powering through a few hours of decidedly unpleasant side effects, I have now fallen into the crevasse of concern regarding blood clots.
Yep, last Saturday I received the Johnson & Johnson version, just three days ahead of the CDC’s decision to pause distribution because of a possible if mostly implausible link to blood clots, as discovered in six U.S. women. Granted, they are all considerably younger than me, which is good to know.
But did I mention that my eldest daughter also got the J&J jab, just a few days before me, and she’s smack dab in the middle of the affected women’s age range?
Yeah. That does not make me happy.
At least the good news is that my third- and forth-born were headed off to get their own J&J vaccines on the morning that the story broke, so thankfully, their appoints were clancwlled and they remain unvaccinated and waiting for an all-clear before they move ahead.
In the meantime, I will happily cross every passing day off my calendar until the two-weeks danger period has passed, and my first-born and I are in the clear.
And then, I suppose, I shall wait for the next lurking danger to snarl menacingly from the shadows. Because, despite the pretty pink flowers on the trees and the promises of spring, the world still feels rather unsafe.