Relief in Action: What It Was Like Administering COVID-19 Vaccines
I joined a team of healthcare heroes at 7 a.m. around a table, laughing and chatting in Spanish. We had come to vaccinate Yakima.
Smiles and inside-jokes were exchanged as I was trained on how to administer the COVID-19 vaccine. Chatter began to build in the hall as I packed and cleaned my station; excitement was in the air.
The pandemic has taken a toll on us all, and immunity symbolizes a return to “normal;” a new freedom, of sorts. Yet, receiving a vaccine in such unusual circumstances is, admittedly, a bit disconcerting.
“When should I come back for my vaccination next year?” a burly man asked me in Spanish.
“When will I be fully immune?” asked someone else.
“When can my grandson get his vaccine?” asked a petit grandma.
I could only answer to the best of my ability, providing assurance and hope. Only together can this whole situation change.
Even I was nervous to receive my first dose. While our lives of adapted social distance have certainly helped to keep us safe, they have also put much of life on hold. How I have craved a birthday party, a night to the movies, or even a simple trip to the mall.
Wait… did I just say that I miss the mall!? I never thought I would write that one!
Now more than a year into the pandemic, I have volunteered a handful of times in a handful of ways, learning each time that there is much more that goes into the process than meets the eye.
From the scheduling to counting vials; from allocating doses all the way through the final observation after administration, the COVID-19 vaccination requires a team. I have worked side-by-side MAs, NPs, EMTs and RNs to help deliver as many immunizations as my time has allowed. While I have administered dozens of vaccines, I have also served in behind the scenes healthcare roles -- roles which I was previously unaware of. I have been humbled by my experience.
One of my first roles as a volunteer for COVID-19 relief was at the “education station.” You know, the table where you stand nervously, pretend to listen, receive your vaccination card for record and get handed some paperwork that you will likely never read. From behind the table, I could relate to the anxiety of those who passed. When I received my vaccine, I remember being so excited and nervous that my palms sweat and stained those handouts; gross, I know.
In other roles, I saw even more visceral reactions.
One woman went into a daze immediately after I swabbed her arm; her eyes seemed to go blank and she stumbled. She told me she was alright, but she was clearly excessively nervous. I sympathized with her, especially given the wild rumors behind the production of these life-saving medicines -- from microchips to monkeys to aliens, I’ve heard it all.
On Tuesday, April 6, I drove down to the Yakima Fairgrounds to volunteer with the FEMA-run vaccination clinic. This massive project reportedly vaccinates upwards of 1,200 people per day. Their max day was 1,300 on April 4 -- a record high for the area.
I saw all walks of life helping with the efforts: Men and women from retired military posts, battalion leaders and captains, husbands and wives of retired doctors, and current recruits. The security was especially tight because of the presence of some “VIPs,” I was told. Vice President Kamala Harris and Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff were on schedule to come and tour the project and observe the vaccination efforts of our town. I was ecstatic to hear this, and hoped that maybe I could see them, even if just from far off. “There’s no way secret service would let that happen,” assured my supervisor.
Regardless, I was excited to see that Yakima -- a profoundly underserved area -- was getting some national attention from top leadership. As I walked to my station, I ran into Mike Kreidler, the Washington State Health Commissioner. He nodded supportively as I passed by.
Sometimes, I feel like our efforts to help with the pandemic are small and unnoticed. Other times, they get that small nod. A reminder that the smallest progress is still progress in the right direction.
I look forward to helping the Yakima area for years to come, not only as a volunteering student doctor but someday soon, as an osteopathic physician.
Remy Arnot
Second-Year Osteopathic Medical Student (OMS II)
Pacific Northwest University of Health Sciences