A bit of background about me and my immune system: I have a very … overprotective immune system. My body has a scorched earth policy when it comes to antigens, so when I get, say, the common cold, it’s basically like I have the plague. When I get the flu? Oh, I’m out for two weeks, at least, with another month or so of recovery. Like last February, around the time Covid was presenting itself like a coquettish first-time debutante, I contracted what was called a flu-like virus. I coughed for three months straight, ran a fever basically every day for about two and a half weeks, lost my voice for nearly three weeks, and was quarantined from work until I could prove that I didn’t have the coronavirus. I didn’t, as evidenced by two negative tests, but part of me always wondered if the test was incorrect.
And then I got The Shot.
The first dose wasn’t too bad. I was fatigued the next day, and my arm was sore at the injection site for about 72 hours. Other than that, it was a breeze. My tetanus shot from earlier this year hurt worse, and honestly, I had a worse reaction to the flu vaccine I got in September. I’d heard that the second shot was exponentially more difficult to get through than the first and that I should set aside at least a day to take it easy, and of course, my overly optimistic ass was like, “So like … watch movies all day? I mean, that’s fine.”
By the end of the day on Friday, literally only hours after I received the shot, I was exhausted. Like … I could barely keep my eyes open and focus on anything for more than a minute or two. I had homework I needed to complete, so I went to Starbucks to get the most caffeinated drink they could create. After I ordered, I stood over in the pickup area for a period of time. I don’t even know how long it was. I had forgotten what I had ordered and wondered if I had actually ordered or had dreamed it, and after that indeterminate amount of time, the barista said, “Ma’am, your order has been finished for a bit. Are you okay?” Normally, I would have apologized profusely and made some sort of sense out of my words, but instead, I shook my head and blinked a lot, grabbed my order, and walked out of the store mumbling to myself about … something. I think I was complaining about the shot? I remember complaining about something. Anyway, this is why you shouldn’t judge people – you don’t know if their brains are working correctly.
So Saturday was my parents’ 39th anniversary, and I was supposed to go over to their house and watch my grandmother while they went out to celebrate. That didn’t happen. Instead, I literally slept all day. I would get up to pee and grumble about feeling unwell, which was honestly exhausting. I had a fever, body and joint aches, major brain fog, and an angry injection site. Turning over in bed was a chore, and even the thought of having to use energy to figure out what movie to watch just seemed insurmountable. So I just slept. Luckily, my parents were understanding, and I’ll be taking over grandmother-sitting sometime soon, but I still felt terrible. You know, on top of feeling physically terrible. But you know what? My immune system was working its magic … its mean-spirited, over-the-top magic, but I suppose it’s consistent. And judging from anecdotal evidence, the likelihood that I had Covid back in early 2020 is slight, seeing as my reaction to the second dose aligns more with people who didn’t contract it.
About 48 hours after I got the second dose, I felt way better. I wasn’t operating on all cylinders, and taking four physiology tests was a ton of fun, but I could at least walk around my house without feeling like I was just going to collapse on the floor and fall asleep wherever I landed. I’ve got a busy week ahead of me, so I’m hoping that this trend continues and that I’ll back back up and running by, like, tomorrow.
And there goes my overly optimistic ass being all overly optimistic again.