I Got the J&J Vaccine….And No, I’m Not Freaking Out….Well, Not Anymore.

On April 5, 2021, I confidently got my Johnson & Johnson COVID vaccine.

BONUS: It was administered by a super cute fireman at a drive thru clinic set up in a local fairground parking-lot….and I love super cute firemen, and also efficient drive-thru’s.

I’ll admit, that when I pulled into the very long line of cars, all full of people waiting to be vaccinated, I got a little teary eyed. It seemed like a very big thing to be among so many people, all of us hoping that the vaccine would bring some peace of mind, a sigh of relief and the hope that we were starting to maybe, just maybe, see the light at the end of the Coronapocalypse tunnel.

After the shot was administered, I pulled my car around to the waiting area, where volunteers walked up and down the rows of cars asking through windows, “How are you feeling?” “Do you feel OK?” “Any unusual sensations?” While pantomiming a simple thumbs up or thumbs down signal, not moving on until they’d been acknowledged and responded to.

After having waited the necessary amount of time to ensure it was safe for us to travel on, we were directed out of the parking lot and on our way. The entire event took no more than twenty-minutes and during that time, I watched as dozens upon dozens of other cars made their way through the process and out of the fairground gates without issue.

Once it was my turn to wait out the requisite safety check, I debated whether or not to share the moment with social media.

I’d seen plenty of images people posted to their own accounts in recent weeks, proudly holding up their vaccination card with some clever quip attached. But I had given up my Facebook about a month prior and while I still love Instagram, I ultimately decided not to hop onto that particular bandwagon. Instead, I sent my picture to select friends and family proudly proclaiming, “One and Done!” or “Vaccinated AF.” Depending on my audience.

I felt good, mother-f’ing great, proud and grateful that I’d gotten the vaccine. Leading up to it, I hadn’t been particularly concerned about which once I’d get. I’d just decided to abide by the wisdom of Fauci and just get what I could get as soon as I was able to get it.

So, when I learned I would be getting the one dose version, I was pretty thrilled. Knowing I would be getting it over with in one jab, felt productive….and I do so love feeling productive.

The rest of the day, post vaccine, carried on normally for me. But, by evening, I was beginning to feel a little worn down. Overnight, I had terrible chills, followed by a fever that left me drenched by morning. Throughout most of the next day, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, but a full 24 hours or so after I’d been vaccinated, the side effects had worn off and I was back to normal.

Then, it happened. Less than a week after I’d gotten the vaccine, the FDA put a pause on further doses, due to a rare, but serious clotting condition that had been diagnosed in six women, all of whom had been given the J&J vaccine.

My first instinct was to panic, and to then wonder if I could somehow have the vaccine sucked out of my body. Is blood letting an actual thing?

After that, I began to frantically Google the signs and symptoms of blood clotting and then, with my heart pounding out of my chest and feeling like I might crawl out of my own skin, I did what I always do when I can feel an anxiety attack beginning to mount. I started to move.

Exercise of any kind, whether it be an actual workout, or the physical act of cleaning and doing laundry, has long been the way I work out the toxic energy that overtakes my brain. Moving, while cycling through what I know to be true and what I understand I can’t control, and then figuring out a plan for how to marry the two in a way that won’t sink me, has always, more often than not, calmed me down and brought me back to a place of reason.

As a cancer survivor, I have no reasonable/reliable frame of reference anymore for what is “normal.” When I was diagnosed, I was twenty-two weeks pregnant with my rainbow baby. Cancer didn’t run in my family and I hadn’t lived the kind of life, or knowingly been exposed to the types of things I assumed caused cancer. Truthfully, I knew very little about the disease or that it came in hundreds of different types. I hadn’t realized what an equal opportunist it was.

Simply, cancer was not and hadn’t ever been, on my personal radar. But, I got it anyway. Worse, the type of cancer I was diagnosed with is an extremely rare and sneaky type of lymphoma that doesn’t typically show signs of its invasion until the patient is in the later stages of the disease.

So the fact that it invaded like a ninja, showing no signs that it was there until it had grown to the size of a softball and had begun to wreak havoc, made it all the more terrifying. And I was actually lucky. The fact that I was pregnant at the time, exacerbated my symptoms which led to testing and an earlier than typical diagnosis. My doctors theorized that by the time I had been diagnosed, the cancer had actually been growing for approximately six months, entirely undetected and without a single significant sign pointing to trouble.

Ever since, it’s been hard for me not to assume that every headache isn’t a brain tumor, or that every little ache and pain isn’t a sure sign of bone cancer. Cough? Must be lung cancer. Freckle? Mela-fucking-noma. I certainly can’t speak for every cancer survivor out there, but every survivor I know is plagued with this same, long-term side effect I like to call, Post-Traumatic Hypochondriac Syndrome.

So yeah, when I heard that there was to be a pause in any further administration of the vaccine until additional research and data could be collected, I may or not, I’m too much of a lady to say, have shit my pants. As I panicked, I took a Magic Eraser to the interior of my washing machine, cleaned my basement (which by the way is not a “finished” basement).

Side note: I live in a house that is literally older than America. When we bought it, the basement floor was still a dirt floor….I’m pretty sure there were still pilgrim tracks in a few dark corners. We had a concrete floor poured, but it still gets dusty down there. One of my OCD, anxiety calming tasks is to clean it on the regular. Right now, you could eat directly off that floor if you were so inclined.

Anyway, as I went about these random chores, I focused on being reasonable and applying some perspective to the situation.

At the time, it was six women out of millions of doses administered. Nothing about these women, their past medical histories, their current medications, etc., was publicly known. I’m not suggesting they, as people, weren’t important, or that it should have been ignored. I just needed to be rational in my point of view if I wasn’t going to end up curled, in a fetal position, sniffing my favorite aromatherapy scent, Cal-Stat (the medical grade sanitizer my doctors office uses that for some strange reason has the same calming effect for me as chamomile has on normal people).

As I worked, both physically and emotionally, I reminded myself of these few things I knew to be true:

  1. I had been more likely to both get the very rare type of cancer I had, and more likely to die from it, then I am/was of developing any serious/life-threatening side effects of the J&J vaccine.
  2. I am currently more likely to develop serious/potentially long term, life threatening side effects from the treatment I had to cure said cancer, than I am of developing serious side effects of the vaccine.
  3. More likely to be struck by lightening
  4. Three times more likely to be killed by a shark
  5. Definitely more likely to die in a car accident

And look, I’m not poo-pooing anyone’s feelings or apprehension regarding the vaccine at this point. I totally get it. Medicine and science are so confusing. There’s so much we don’t know about diseases that have plagued humans for decades, but we managed to whip up a vaccine for a new virus in a matter of months and sure, I get how that might make people feel a little shy about rolling up their sleeve.

When I was diagnosed, I remember the doctor explaining to me that I could safely begin CHEMOTHERAPY while pregnant. Essentially, the cells that make up the chemo were too large to pass through the placenta. (This is a very diluted explanation that is being recalled here from a conversation I had in a hospital room after finding out I had cancer nearly ten years ago, so I’m sure I’ve missed a bit of the nuance).

Anyway, I asked one question which was, “Wait a second. You’re telling me that I can’t take an Advil, or eat a salami deli sandwich, but a mix of poison being administered by a nurse wearing what is basically a hazmat suit, is fine?”

Science is weird, yes, but it also saved my life and the life of my son. I am grateful for it and I trust it, even though I also know that it’s so very complicated and there are no guarantees and it isn’t perfect.

Several days after the vaccine, a friend asked me how I was feeling. I explained that I was nervous about the clotting condition, I had a large clot in my subclavian vein at the time of my cancer diagnosis, so I couldn’t help but wonder if it made me pre-disposed. But, I told her I knew what to watch out for, I’d talked to my emotional support animal (my oncologist) and I wasn’t going to make myself crazy(ier) over it.

“Yeah,” she said, “But, what about the rest of it?”

Me: Huh? What do you mean, the rest of it?

Her: Aren’t you afraid you’re now infertile?

Apparently there have been some conspiracy theories circulating that indicate the government is using the vaccine as a way of sterilizing the general public or something?

First of all, I’m in my 40’s, so if I’m now infertile, halle-freaking-lujah. Also, in case anyone is wondering, my period also came, right on time, just like she always has, ruining a week out of every month of my life until menopause.

So, while I can understand the vaccine apprehension to a point, I draw the line at all the internet doctors with degrees from Web MD and Google, who are spreading misinformation that could tip the scales from “maybe/probably going to get it” to “hard pass.”

Now, I have no business telling anyone what they should, or should not do or, how to feel. I’m not a doctor, a scientist, or a therapist and none of this is meant to serve as advice or a directive. It’s just a take on my own experience and if it helps, great!

Or, if you think I’m an idiot who’s been injected with some kind of top secret government agent that will allow “them” to track my every move, whatever, I’m not that interesting.

If THEY really want to follow me around to Target….and watch me curse my neighbor and shake my fist at the direction of his house because he keeps letting his guests park on a portion of my lawn….and watch me do battle with a my nemesis, Bernie Sanders, the squirrel who won’t stay out of my bird feeder….and listen to me bitch about the parking situation at school pick-up/drop-off with my mom friends, well, LOL, they are in for some serious suburban intrigue, but that’s about it.

So yeah, I still I felt good, mother-f’ing great, proud and grateful that I’ve been vaccinated.

No regrets.

It’s Over Facebook. It’s Not Me. It’s You….

“Facebook is like a jail. You sit around, waste time, have a profile picture, write on walls and get poked by guys you don’t really know.”

~Unknown….I saw it on Facebook.

Over the years, I’ve had an on-again/off-again, love/hate relationship with Facebook.

I’ve loved that I get to watch the children of my childhood friends grow-up….without having to actually visit any of them.

I’ve hated when my childhood friends get way too invested in all the “Mommy Wars” nonsense.

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I’ve loved when elderly people I know post pictures of themselves road-tripping across the country and ticking off bucket list goals. Like, ride a mechanical bull without breaking a hip.

I’ve hated when they post stuff like this:

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Come on…

Really?

If you are practically old enough to remember the smell of the sea from the bough of the Mayflower, you’re also old enough to know that nobody hopped off that boat and was like, “Awesome!  A new and valuable culture! Teach me your ways while I’m here for this short visit.”


I’ve loved the links to Mommy Bloggers who manage to write about the trials and tribulations of parenting without being judgy and self-righteous.

I’ve hated the links to the Mommy Bloggers who write things called: The 347 Things You Should Never Say to Your Child Unless You Want Him to Grow-Up to be a Piece of Shit Who Hates You.

Seriously ladies, just because you’ve been a parent for five minutes, doesn’t make you Dr. Spock. So please, STOP.

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I’ve loved that I’m able to unfollow people who regurgitate ridiculous memes from sites called “Survive our Collapse” and “Conservative World Daily,” as though they are actual, reputable news sources, without those people knowing about it.

I’ve hated that during every presidential election, I find out that a ridiculous number of people I know and thought I liked, are REALLY big douche-bags and I have to unfriend them.

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I’ve loved that I can quietly stalk the accounts of people who were mean to me in high school, and then point and laugh at them through my screen when I find out that they peaked in the 12th grade and then rapidly PLUMMETED downhill from there.

I can’t think of a comparable thing I hate to include here.  Honestly, that….☝🏼might be my favorite thing about Facebook.


So, for years now I’ve been hovering over the delete button, wanting to cut ties, but then not actually pulling the trigger.

I’ve been so unsure about losing a platform that has connected me socially to family and friends I might otherwise…well, most likely…would never speak to again if it weren’t for this one common denominator that keeps us tenuously tethered.  Especially since I hate talking on the phone, and I’d rather lose an eye than attend a reunion.

But maybe that’s how life is supposed to go.  Back in the olden days, people just sort of came and went, didn’t they?  The people you really wanted to remain connected with, and who you wanted to share pieces of your life with, required effort.

Most of my Facebook friends are relationships that exist purely on the surface of the electronic page.  We like each others pictures, post the obligatory “Happy Birthday!” when FB reminds us it’s that time of year.  We give a thumbs up, or sad face emoji when appropriate, but that’s about it.

With just a few exceptions, I know only what these “friends” want to share on their news feeds and vice-versa.  Most of the time, those same feeds are the reason our relationships will never leave that space.  We have nothing in common.  Hell, I don’t even know half of their email addresses or cell phone numbers.

Our only shared history is that time we were in freshman biology together.  Our only shared story is when that kid Richard, who no one knows what happened to, ate the heart of the frog we were dissecting for $7.00 in mostly loose change a group of us pooled together.  

Can you die from formaldehyde poisoning twenty-years later?  

And I mean, how many times can you  even talk about that one thing anyway?

And yet, for years I’ve wasted my time and emotional energy scrolling through posts that annoyed me more often than filled me up, and accepted friend requests from people I could barely remember.  What was ever the point?

Then there are the constant ads I didn’t ask for.  

The invites to follow somebody’s third cousins, uncles, sisters, neighbors Lularoe page.  

Requests to attend 37 virtual Pampered Chef Parties hosted by people I worked with at the Kopper Popper at the mall in the 10th grade….or were in my Brownie Troop that one month I was a Brownie in 1986….or the girl I sat next to at the first professional conference I attended and never spoke to again.

Then there’s the barrage of unsolicited advice from all the doctors….who got their degrees from the College of Web MD and Google….and the uber-cringeworthy overshares.

And oh yeah, Russia and all of their shenanigans.

I don’t know about you, but I can honestly say that I have never been influenced to change my position as it relates to social issues, politics, medical choices, or any other major life decision due to something someone posted on Facebook.

I have occasionally asked for recommendations for the best local sushi restaurant, and if anyone knows a Disney vacation travel sorceress.

I have seen a pair of sneakers, or a cute haircut and felt inspired….and sure, I may have occasionally become too invested in certain newsworthy events shared socially. Like, the efforts of one Colorado community to flush out the Mad Crapper; a woman jogger who was captured on residential security cameras pooping on neighborhood lawns during her runs a few years back….BUT, I don’t turn to social media for actual education, or even news.

So for me, it no longer feels like a fun space where we show up, and show off our kids, houses, dogs, vacations, food, #OOTD’s.

Instead, it feels more like a wasteland of misinformation and shouting and conspiracy theory.

I just finished listening to a podcast called “The Opportunist” about a woman named Sherry Shriner who built a Reptilian Alien Cult nearly entirely online. There were no formal gatherings of the group, the majority of her people never even knew what she actually looked like, because not only did they never meet her, but she also apparently didn’t post pictures of herself.

Reptilian.

Alien.

Cult. I mean, WTF.

Remember the good old days when building a cult and perpetuating ridiculous conspiracy theories required actual effort, at least? Now, people have the ability to amass followers from all over the world and stir them up into action, all from the confines of a recliner.

And no. This world is now a hard pass for me.

So, a little over a month ago I finally pulled the plug, i.e., logged out and deleted the app from all of my devices.

I haven’t officially deleted my account yet, because how will I know if trash day has been moved after a holiday if not for my towns community page? Or, what day the PTO at my sons school has designated school spirit day?

It seems every important update I need to be made aware of is posted on either FB or Twitter, so for now, I’ve set up email alerts for posts I care/need to be aware of and I’ve ghosted the rest.

I didn’t even do that thing where you post about leaving Facebook in a lengthy prose outlining all the ways in which it’s gross and soul sucking, and then wait around to read all the comments about my announcement.

I just left.

Much like I used to do in the middle of dates with guys I wasn’t clicking with back in my twenties….no explanation or warning. I just got up from the table to “use the bathroom” and never went back.

And you know, I doubt I’m even missed, or that my absence has been noted. None of the hundreds of “friends” I’ve accumulated on Facebook have reached out to say, “You still alive? Everything OK?”

Yet, I’ve not been lacking in connections. I spend actual time, and talk and text almost daily with friends about nothing and everything in that way you do, in that language you develop, with people you’ve invested in knowing and who know you in return.

My circle is small, but it’s fulfilling. When I want to go in search of something or someone inspiring, educational, or need to know, I literally go in search of it….because that’s at least half the fun anyway.

And even though it’s only been a little over a month, the world is beginning to feel a little bit more interesting, but also smaller in some ways.

I’m not hiding from anything. Well….OK….I am; assholes. I’m hiding from assholes.

But aside from that, I just find that it feels different and far better to absorb the news and current events and life exclusively from sources I trust. To discuss thoughts and opinions directly with people I respect and admire….even when we don’t agree….and not through the lens of Facebook and the useless and distracting noise that comes with it.

These past several weeks, I’ve been rediscovering the simple pleasure of picking up an actual newspaper, watching the evening news on TV, and taking long walks with a friend as we discuss everything from politics to motherhood.

I’ve been reminded how much I like and appreciate the intimacy of reaching out to someone; a friend, a family member, I’ve been thinking about just to say hi. And the way that connection leads to conversation. This, rather than “poking them” or posting on their wall and then participating in the kind of stunted back and forth that is rarely meaningful….and inevitably invites a crowd I don’t want to hang out with….to join in.

So, it’s goodbye Facebook. You’re just too messy and cringey and loud. Like a friend who can’t hold her liquor and won’t shut up. The one who used to be cute and endearing and entertaining, but is now just exhausting and taking up too much space, but not in a good way.

Please don’t call me, or poke me, or sell my information to Vladimir. Let’s just part like the fair-weather friends we’ve always been.

Take Care….✌🏼