Vax-O-Matic

Yesterday we went to get the first of our two-part COVID vaccinations at OSU East Hospital, just off Broad Street between downtown and Bexley. We signed up for an appointment as soon as we became eligible under the Ohio vaccination distribution protocols — age hath its (few) privileges — and when we arrived at the site we immediately became part of a impressively well-oiled machine.

As soon as we entered the building — masked, of course — our temperatures were taken, the results showed that we were clear to proceed, we applied hand sanitizer, and we followed a marked trail to the vaccination room. We got there early, and there was no line, although the vaccination room itself was full. Outside the room we showed our drivers’ licenses, confirmed our identities by answering questions, signed some forms, and then were guided into an open spot for two at one of the tables in the vaccination room itself. Every station was identified by a circular sign, depending on its status: “clean,” for open spots, “on deck,” for people who were waiting to get their shots, “COVID-19 warrior in training,” for people who were getting the shots, and “antibodies in training,” for people who had received the injection and were in the midst of the 15-minute post-vaccination waiting period to see if they had a bad reaction to the shot. As soon as the 15-minute period ended, the newly vaccinated left their spots, their areas were promptly and thoroughly disinfected, the signs were changed, and a new person came in as the process started all over again.

The person who guided us to our vaccination station changed the sign for our station, gave us an overview, and advised us to hold on to our vaccination confirmation card for dear life and “treat it like a passport.” Then we were met by a cheerful woman who asked us additional medical history questions, retrieved some forms that we had signed, gave us our timers, and then scanned some stickers that were placed on our vaccination cards to show which lot and dose we were receiving, distributed the vaccinations themselves, and changed our sign. Next up was our vaccinator, who entered more data, started the 15-minute period on the timers, and deftly gave us our shots after we rolled up our sleeves and bared our upper arms. The needle is long, but the shot was totally painless. After the vaccinator left, yet another staffer came by to change the sign, fill out our vaccination cards, and schedule us for our second shot in three weeks — which helped to fill up the 15-minute waiting period. We had no reaction tto the shots, so after our 15-minute periods ended we left our seats, which were then immediately sanitized for the next patient.

Kudos to the friendly folks at OSU East Hospital, who handled the entire process without a hitch and in very impressive fashion. All told, we were there for less than an hour, which is pretty amazing when you think about it. And we’re going to take very good care of our vaccination cards, too.

One other point to make about the vaccination room: everyone involved in the process was cheerful to the point of giddiness. I asked our vaccinator how she was dealing with the steady stream of arms to be injected, and she said that she believed what she was doing was the single more rewarding thing she had ever done in her entire medical career. All of the other OSU East people were seemingly thrilled to be playing a key role in the fight against the pandemic and the process of getting the country back to normal — and we were too, and so was everyone else who was there to receive their jab.

I don’t remember being this happy about getting my booster shots as a kid, but a pandemic has a way of changing your perspective.

Vacci Nation

In the history of modern medicine, there probably have never been as many people talking about vaccination, or as many news stories about vaccination plans, or as many charts and updates on the number of vaccinations, as is happening in America right now. When I was a kid and regularly went to our family doctor to get the next vaccination on my personal vaccination card, for example, I don’t remember there being much talk about it. You needed to get vaccinated, you went to the doctor and got your shot, and that was all there is to it.

But that’s not the way things work in the world these days. Between the extraodinary impact that the coronavirus has had on the world, and the hope that the vaccine will not only protect against the vaccinated individual getting COVID, but also finally move us to achieving “herd immunity” and getting back to normal — whatever that might be right now — people can’t help but talk about vaccination. And, thanks to social media, we’re being treated to lots of pictures of masked people getting their shots in real time or proudly displaying their upper arm punctures. The social media frenzy is so great that some people are actually posting “selfies” of their COVID-19 vaccination cards — leading the Federal Trade Commission to warn people that doing that isn’t a very good idea, because fraudsters could take the information from the cards and use it to achieve identity theft.

I had a virtual happy hour with some friends from the firm on Friday, where the conversation is typically limited to office chatter, sports, bad attempts at humor, and general bitching about the world. But on Friday, vaccination crept into the conversation, too. It’s safe to say that it is the first time this group has ever talked seriously about vaccination. What’s next on the agenda — the importance of dietary fiber?

It’s understandable that people are talking about the vaccine, and when they will be getting their shots. But for me, we’ll know that we’ve really returned to normal when people have stopped talking or posting selfies about getting vaccinated — or COVID-19, period.

Old Shots

Measles has been in the news a lot lately, from a recent New York City public health order requiring mandatory vaccinations in an attempt to stop a measles outbreak in Brooklyn that is (inevitably) being challenged in court, to reports of cases of measles in various places in the U.S., to scary outbreaks in other parts of the world like Europe and the Philippines.

measles-vaccine-gettyimages-544419442Although measles is typically viewed as a childhood disease, getting it as an adult can be serious business.   And, because measles is a highly contagious condition that can be readily communicated from one person to another through airborne droplets sneezed and coughed out by random strangers in public places — like airport terminals — it’s a concern for people who do a lot of traveling.   Health care officials uniformly identify vaccination as the best defense against contracting a case of measles.  But what should you do if, like me, you got that painful measles shot in the arm or the butt when you were a kid long ago, and your childhood vaccination and immunization records are God knows where?  Do we all need to get another shot?

Here’s some good news:  according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, if you received the Measles, Mumps, and Rubella (MMR) shot that every kid of my generation got as a matter of course, you’re in good shape.  The CDC says that the measles component of the vaccine provides lifelong protection at 93 percent efficiency even if, like me, you got your shot more than 50 years ago.  And if you were born before 1957, you don’t need to worry about the measles, either, because the vast majority of people living in the pre-1957 world were exposed to measles as kids and have natural immunity to the disease as a result.

It’s weird to think that, in the 21st century, Americans should be worrying about diseases like measles that can be readily controlled by vaccination, but that’s what happens when parents start getting lax about vaccinating their kids — or believing quacks who raise unproven claims about side effects of vaccination.  If you’re not sure about whether you’ve been vaccinated, you really should talk to your doctor.  When it comes to communicable diseases, we’re all in this together.

Vaccination And The Downslope

Sometimes you wonder whether civilization has passed its peak and is regressing.  I’ve had that feeling recently, reading about vaccination and outbreaks of preventable infectious diseases, like measles, at places like Disneyland.

Ohio, unfortunately, has the lowest measles vaccination rate in the country.  According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, only 86 percent of 19- to 35-month-old children received the measles, mumps and rubella vaccine in 2013, tying Ohio for the worst performance in the U.S.  Even worse, only 61 percent of Ohio kids have received the full set of childhood vaccinations, which includes shots for diseases like polio, chickenpox, and whooping cough, also among the worst resuts in the country.  Those large numbers of unvaccinated kids can turn into unprotected adults who could be ravaged by an epidemic.

In Ohio, some of the unvaccinated children are part of groups, like the Amish, that oppose the shots for religious or cultural reasons.  But there is no doubt that Ohio’s performance is growing worse in the general population, too.  Statistics from the Ohio Department of Health show a steady decline in immunization rates from 2006 to 2013, to the Buckeye State’s current dismal standing at the bottom.  It’s embarrassing.

Why aren’t Ohio kids getting their shots?  Obviously, because parents aren’t insisting on it.  Some parents justify non-immunization because they’ve heard that vaccinations may be linked to autism — a finding in a since-discredited British study — but even autism advocacy groups reject that link and encourage childhood immunization. Some parents may just be lazy, and others may believe that non-vaccination just won’t affect their kids.  Regardless of how it is characterized, there seems to be a disturbing, anti-scientific feeling at work among American parents.  It’s unimaginable to those of us who remember our mothers marching us to the doctor’s office to roll up our sleeves, smell the fresh, cold scent of alcohol being rubbed on our arms (or butts), and feel the sting of the needle.  They insisted that we get those shots because that was the modern, scientific way to avoid disease.

Now that widespread view apparently has changed, even in educated parts of our society.  How have we reached the point where a significant percentage of parents aren’t protecting their kids by employing proven methods to avoid potentially devastating diseases?  Are other parenting basics being forsaken by these people?  Are we on the downslope here?