Code Red

10-29-09

“Have you got it yet?” my boss asks after she returns from the campus-wide meeting of boredom.

I know exactly what she’s talking about. In fact whenever anyone asks if I’ve gotten it yet, I get it immediately. “The vaccine? No. I’ve been trying,” I say.

“You have to get it! We don’t want you to be out! Or worse!”

Yes, thank you very much. As if I needed to be reminded for the umpteenth time today that I, a pregnant woman, am in the high-risk category for the latest fear craze to sweep the nation: H1N1—or as my student worker calls it—the Piggy Flu.

“You should be able to get it, right? You’re first in line.” Another coworker says later that same day.

I restrain myself from flying out of my seat. “Just because I’m high priority doesn’t mean I can get it. There are a lot of pregnant women and children under 5 in the world.”

Trust me, I’ve tried. I call my doctor’s office almost everyday. I listen to the recorded message so many times that I can let anyone know the status report of the Richmond Clinic’s flu shot situation. (They don’t got any.) I start to wish that the anti-vaccine contingent had been more successful in spooking the general populace about the safety of the vaccine. At least then numero uno could get a dose no problemo.

A few days ago, after listening to the familiar recording tell me there is no vaccine to be had, I zero out to the receptionist to schedule my Glucose Tolerance Test.

“Dare I ask about the H1N1 vaccine?” I ask.

“We can put you on a waiting list.” He says.

Really? REALLY! Because your message could have said something about that. I don’t know what frustrates me more about this vaccine situation: the fact that people who aren’t on the priority list are getting the vaccine (sometimes lying to get the vaccine) or that the government isn’t handling the distribution in a more organized and coherent manner. At a clinic last weekend, one which my doctor had advised me to attend since her office didn’t have any, 1200 people showed up for 500 shots. Nice. No, I didn’t even try to go to that one as I had anticipated it would be the madhouse that it was. You don’t need to be psychic to see that mob coming from a mile away.

In my prenatal Pilates class last weekend, a newcomer starts out the “How’s everybody doing” portion of our class by announcing she had the shot.

“Where?” I and the other pregnant ladies ask in envious unison.

“At a clinic over on Albina. There were 400 shots. I was number 394.”

We look at her longingly. Oh to be so confident and free of H1N1 panic, to be able to not spend half your day washing your hands into cracked, leathery gloves.

“I can’t believe how much I wanted to be her,” I tell Mr. Crud over dinner. “I felt overwhelmed.”

And who wouldn’t with the horror stories of dead mothers and fetuses coming fast and furious? Yesterday a locker room buddy, who didn’t yet know I am pregnant, tells me of a coworker who came down with the flu and who, at 7 months pregnant, might have to have a c-section to save her baby and herself. My alert level rises.

My acupuncturist tells me that she is stimulating my immune system during my last appointment. Thank G-d. I wash my hands. I drink tea more than ever before after reading that the warm water will deactivate the virus and send it to my stomach where stomach acids will kill it dead. At night I irrigate my nose like a good yogi with my neti pot. I wash my hands again. I wonder if I didn’t have H1N1 to stalk me, if it would be something else. Premature labor, birth defects, Purvis not kicking as much as he did yesterday all linger in the background worry pit of my psyche. I’m sure that one of them would have stepped up had I not had the flu to widen my eyes in mortal terror every now and then.

This morning the swine flu report is that more vaccines are on the way. Maybe by the time I have my appointment next week, a shot will await me at the doctor’s office. Alert level: low.