My week of horror and joy after I received my second dose.

Vaccine Diaries is a series of dispatches that explore the implementation of COVID-19 immunizations.

“That’s it?” “That’s it.” The woman who injected my second dose of the Moderna COVID-19 vaccine quickly bandaged my arm when the injection started to inspire and inspire my immune system. I was directed to the 30-minute observation area – the one for people with allergies – and waited.

At first, I sat there with a vague sense of accomplishment. I finally got vaccinated – I felt good. Then I started to feel bad, because of all the people who may need the vaccine, but still can’t. (I am a private school teacher during the day, and I have been teaching in person, without the option of not, since August, so I qualified early.) Soon, a admittedly irrational anxiety started to seep into me: if my throat was in any way I could stop, if anaphylaxis suddenly suffocated me and threw me to the ground. I hadn’t had a serious allergic reaction to my main attacker, nuts, before, but that’s where your mind goes.

However, the waiting period came and went, and I was still breathing. I went home, had dinner and felt normal. Just like after my first dose. I felt a little convinced about it, in fact, strong in my immune response.

Then I woke up in the middle of the night with a fever, pain and chills. When morning came, I was still feeling bad, now with a fever of almost 100 degrees. I sat on the bathroom floor in case I got sick. The side effects were intense.

Around noon, with a little ibuprofen, they just left. Poof! I felt good again. Maybe too good. It is also very strange. I had a burst of energy and decided to go for a walk and have coffee. I tried to internalize that I was vaccinated now and, soon, I would have maximum protection against the coronavirus. I was feeling confident again.

Then, three days later, I was gesturing about something in the book that my class and I was reading when I noticed that my arms were covered by an elevated and expanding rash. My right forearm looked like a pinkish-red archipelago and more islands were popping up quickly. They even seemed to be pulsing. There was also a red ring forming around the base of my neck. And my face under the mask was also starting to swell. When I took the mask off in the bathroom, I was horrified to find that my face was swollen and tilted to the side, as if someone had just gotten the best of me in a fight.

I told my director that I needed to take a break. I went to an immediate care clinic during my students’ recess. Not knowing what was going on, the students waved to me while I was driving, in what seemed like a gesture of solidarity towards their bloated teacher.

Once at the clinic, they injected me with Benadryl, gave me a COVID test in case I actually contracted the virus and kept me under observation. I was dizzy, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my arms, as the clusters of eruptions on top of me had risen, like small volcanoes.

Finally, the clinic released me and I went home to sleep. For a few more days, I would have more crises, with eruptive mounds all over my body appearing and coming down.

On the second day, I started to think (and fight) more irrational thoughts about what had happened to me. Perhaps it was not so crazy to fear the shot. But that is part of the deal, I told myself. “But … but …,” my weakened body protested, always living in the moment. I couldn’t even say with certainty that my rash was the result of the vaccine. But even if it was, it was okay – because it was still definitely worth it. I would do it again, if I had to. And then again.

I was still worried, so I decided to go to an allergist to ask about what could have happened. The doctor said she was not sure what exactly caused my rash. Some have reported skin rashes, or the so-called COVID arm, after receiving the vaccine, but I cannot be sure that this is what happened to me, since most of these skin rashes occur at or near the injection site, and mine do not. I have a problem called dermatography, or “writing on the skin”, in which even very light scratches on my skin appear as papules, as if someone had written on me with a red marker. Maybe it has something to do with it? (According to my doctor, I have my volcanic eruptions to thank for one thing: after repeating the test, I found out that I am not allergic to all nuts, and I’m enjoying a pistachio while we talk.)

In any case, much of my emotional roller coaster that week was because I to meet that vaccines are safe and that, for the vast majority of people, side effects are mild. I may never know what really caused my reaction. But now I am vaccinated and I am allowing myself to recognize how scary and wonderful it was. At school, I continue my role as a polished, but diligent enforcer of social detachment, often reduced to an imploring phrase: “six feet!” I also mastered the art of not losing my breath when reading aloud with a KN95 mask. If vaccine distribution continues quickly, perhaps in a short time, I will no longer need it.