to vax or no to vax

            To be vaccinated or not to be vaccinated. Whichever you choose, someone will declare it wrong. In January, my husband had Covid. We both quarantined. For three weeks, he laid around the house coughing, totally drained of energy. I rested with him for a couple days and then made a quilt.       During those weeks, vaccines slowly trickled across the nation for certain folks given “first dibs.” As the list of approved recipients grew, hubby, 81, weighed the issue back and forth. With his recovery so recent and his body full of anti-bodies, he decided, “I have already had it. Besides I haven’t a flu shot since my one and only shot in the 1960s.”

         Some reports suggested waiting to be vaccinated if you had the Covid. He chose to wait. He felt confident that he had immunity.

         As Covid variations crept into the headlines this summer, he again debating vaccination. Weary of the discussion I emailed three sons: the pharmacist, the avid researcher and the one who works in social work every day. They all wrote back, “Get the vaccine.”

         “I think I’ll get the shot before we go to Texas,” hubby announced bravely. He hates shots.

         “You should wait until we return. Sometimes people don’t feel well for a couple days after a vaccination.” I explained. We traveled. Then he went to the County Health Unit.

         “The needle was so small, I did not even feel it,” he announced when he returned. He pulled out a large card and said, “I could have had $20 toward another fishing license, but I already have a lifetime license.” He handed me a million-dollar scratch off ticket. “I debated accepting it. Then I realized I didn’t buy it, so I would not be gambling. Do with it what you want.”

         He is a statistician. He knows the odds of losing the lottery.

         I googled “How to play” and watched a YouTube video on what to do. Holding a pair of blunt scissors, I scraped just enough of the symbols to see if anything matched or had a symbol that meant, “look closer you might have won.”

         “Looks like you might have $50 for this spot,” I mumbled.

         I carefully matched all the top numbers with the bottom ones and found one match. “I think you won $50 for this match.” I held out the ticket.

         He blandly looked at it. “Now what?”

         “Take it to the corner store. They should cash it.”

         “Okay,” he headed out the door.

         Fifteen minutes later he returned, grinning, laughing and waving a $100 bill. “Look! At this!” He looked like the kid who just grabbed the brass ring on the merry-go-round.

         “The man asked if I wanted to buy more lottery tickets with it,” he laughed. “Of course not. That would be gambling. This is an unexpected gift.” He really had only expected the shot and the band-aid on his arm.

         I snapped a picture of his huge grin, the crisp $100 and the band-aid. I posted it on Facebook. Some liked it. Some didn’t. He missed all of it. The next couple days he slept round the clock as his body adjusted to the vaccine. The third day he hopped out of bed, “I am going to mow the lawn before it gets hot.” And he did.

         In a month or so, he will do it all over again: the lawn and another vaccination. He is not planning on winning another lottery prize. He does however plan on doing what he can to avoid a bout with Covid for another three weeks like he suffered in January.


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