I Got the Vaccine (and it Wrecked Me)

It's Friday morning now, just over 48 hours since my first dose of the Pfizer vaccine.

I've been begging to be vaccinated for months now; I've been on multiple lists for weeks and weeks. I've watched friends get their first and then second doses, all the time wondering why on earth I've had to wait. I have asthma, so I've been pretty anxious all the time since the pandemic got serious. I don't trust my lungs to withstand the coronavirus.

But finally last weekend, I received an email from Temple's Student Health Center informing me that I am eligible, whereupon I immediately registered for a vaccine appointment as early as I could make it.

I walked up to that vaccine clinic (in an empty dorm building) at 10:00 in the morning, more than ready to be stabbed in the arm. This vaccine is the light at the end of the tunnel! I'll be immune! And as the needle went into my shoulder, I smiled under my mask. Things are going to get better.

I've been hearing a lot about vaccine symptoms for a while; most people I know who got the Pfizer have been a little tired after their first dose and then the second dose has bulldozed them. I figured I'd be fine; I can handle a little fatigue.

For the first twelve hours post-vaccine, I was right. I was totally fine, maybe a little tired, but I don't have a good sleep schedule, so it would be hard to pin that entirely on the vaccine.

At 11:30 PM, things changed for me. Suddenly, the room was spinning. I was still in my body but it was like my brain was floating around inside my head. As I moved, my body felt very slow, like my brain was following my limbs. I was incredibly disoriented, and my stomach began to hurt, but not in a vomit way.

Usually I stay up getting work done until 1 or 2 in the morning, but on Wednesday night at 11:40 I knew I needed to get to sleep. I dropped everything, washed my face and brushed my teeth, and dragged myself into bed.

Two times in my life, I've gone to sleep genuinely wondering if I'd wake up the next morning. Wednesday night was one of those times.

The other time was when I was fifteen years old and had an asthma attack at my friend's house in the Bronx (at the time I had no idea it was an asthma attack). I was having a hard time breathing, to the point where every breath took immense effort, and I didn't know if my body would be able to put in that effort once I became unconscious. I thought I might not make it to the morning.

Wednesday night was a similar feeling, except with more dizziness and less respiratory difficulty; although I will note that it was taking some effort to breathe. I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, wondering if I was dying and, if I was, why I wasn't crying about it.

Thankfully, I woke up on Thursday, feeling fine. I really am thankful to be alive. I love myself and my life so much. I'm thankful to have gotten my first dose of the vaccine, and that we are hopefully nearing the end of all this.

I'm looking forward to my second dose, although I fear it might hit me rather hard once again, but I'll do what I can to keep myself and the people around me safe.