I’ve heard lots of comparisons between getting a Covid vaccine appointment in NJ and The Hunger Games. But those are wrong. It’s more like living The Lord of the Flies.
The first problem is with the state’s registration system. And the second was with the changing CDC recommendations on who should be vaccinated. The third problem? New Jersey residents.
I was invited to “preregister” for a vaccine some time late last fall. I couldn’t wait to register, despite being cautious since the process to create the new vaccine seemed too quick. But my physician has made it clear that I would have negative outcomes if I did come down with Covid because of asthma, being overweight, and being fifty. None of this was reassuring as I went back last Fall into the classroom for our district’s hybrid schedule. Case numbers rose, and within a few weeks, I was teaching remotely again.
After the holidays, I was supposed to return to the school building. So I jumped at the chance when NJ got the first vaccine shipments, and I believed that I qualified because of my medical challenges and being an educator.
But the rules changed just before Trump left office. Smokers were granted access before those of us who have asthma. Educators were no longer on the list. The CDC stated that schools could open without vaccinating the entire school staff. To say I was pissed was an understatement. So I jumped into the fray of trying to get a shot, taking my fate into my hands.
First, I registered with all the mega sites and each independent provider I could find. Also, I reregistered with the state. Others I knew started to get appointments, and my deadline to return to the school building was fast approaching. My stress levels increased.
At this point, CVS and Rite Aid had vaccines. I found this really great group on Facebook called New Jersey Covid Vaccine Info. There I learned about staying up past midnight for CVS appointments, and getting up before 6:00 a.m. for Rite Aid. I spent hours and hours refreshing screens and checking numerous websites. Some nights I stayed up until midnight. Others I went to bed early to be awake by 5:30 a.m. The quest for an appointment became addictive. My phone was always within a few inches of my hand so I could grab it and look. Then friend offered to help me. She and a few women were booking for others. I felt a ray of hope and we came close to securing an appointment, but failed. Finally, I received an email from the state with a lucky link.
But by that time you couldn’t cross county lines to get a shot. Most of the sites with appointments were blocked to me. Shocked, I lashed out online. I called the state hotline. They did little to quench my rage. My county’s board of health indicated that they get 600 doses a week. There are over 235,000 people who live here. The only place I could go was a mega site nearly two hours away. I accepted an appointment, but continued to search.
A week before my two-hour trip, I received another email, one with a link to get the vaccine in two days at a site forty minutes away. I jumped at the chance and canceled the first appointment. In a few weeks, I will have my second shot.
So why Lord of the Flies? Because I’ve learned that while some people are helping others, especially the elderly, get their appointments, others are just securing spots for all their family members and friends, whether they are eligible or not. I’ve heard stories of people walking into sites at the end of the day to get leftover doses. There are tech savvy citizens who can use back doors to see available appointments. I heard that others lied on the forms because the sites don’t ask for proof. And there are rumors of pharmaceutical companies injecting their staff, no matter whether they qualify or not. There was a scandal reported about Hunterdon Health Care vaccinating their workers and their families before patients. And these are just a few of the ways how people used nepotism to get vaccinated.
Once I got my shot, I worked on getting one for my husband. While he works from home, he does travel to job sites every once in a while. The last time he went, he was told to quarantine because of possible exposure. A few of his co-workers have had the virus. One infected other members of the household. Luckily, I was able to get an appointment through Rite Aid for my spouse, who was feeling desperate since many of his co-workers had gotten the vaccine, one of which lives in an especially affluent town.
But a friend asked me how DH qualified? And I threw back, how did her friend’s husband qualify? She explained that he was involved with pharmaceuticals. Since when do pharmaceutical sales reps qualify more than teachers? Getting vaccinated has gotten political. It is also suggestive of social status. Instead of looking at the process as a community effort, it has become who gets it first matters most.
Getting vaccinated in New Jersey is a game with unspoken rules. You need to know when the state might get a new shipment of vaccines. Being tech savvy is a must. You need to follow the sites on Facebook and Twitter that let you know which platforms are open when. Better be ready to give up sleep. From my perspective, it was better to do this on my own rather than wait for my district to attempt to get doses, or to wait for the state. I spent hours searching for appointments, and I am grateful I got one.
Because now I can see my family at Easter for the first time in 18 months. I will go to work feeling a bit more protected. Even better, I see a glimpse of light at the end of a very long, dark pandemic tunnel. I am grateful for my good fortune.
Good luck to you if you choose to try an get an appointment.
Meandering Through Midlife 