“Can you talk about anything other than vaccines?” my friend Jeff said on the phone.
I think he could think of something else because he lives in California, where the vaccine distribution is smooth and he can just wait for his doctor to call when it’s his turn.
But I can’t talk about anything else, not in New York, whose system is so labyrinthine that it forces people to compete for nominations like “The Hunger Games” or simply give up on frustration. There is the state website, the city website, separate apps for Rite Aid, CVS and Walgreens, not to mention hospitals, smaller pharmacies and mysterious websites that seem to release hundreds of doses in the middle of the night.
During the pandemic, some people were baking bread, others organizing their cupboards, but now, an increasing number of people are trying to help strangers secure vaccine appointments.
For me, it all started in January, when I found out that people over 75 would qualify in New York. I tried to help my mother in Riverdale, my father-in-law in Queens and my brother-in-law’s father-in-law in Washington Heights to find appointments. It was a good thing, because in a few days the system opened up to people aged 65 and then to people with comorbidities – a positive development, certainly, except that it left the elderly in New York and people without computers (or computer knowledge) without a shot.
I soon joined a Facebook group called New York / Connecticut Vaccine Hunters and Angels, or VaccineAngel.com, started by Joel Leyden, who helped hundreds online and dozens offline.
“I created VaccineAngel.com because I had cyber and social media training to reach thousands,” said Leyden about making appointments for eligible people (with priority for seniors and first responders), as well as helping others to seek excess vaccines that can otherwise, it will be discarded.
“I knew that a professional group would save vaccines and save lives.”
Groups like these not only share links to websites and available vaccines, but also tips and tricks: like the exact time the state releases appointments (three minutes every half hour) or which automatic update extension should be installed on your browser to that you don’t have to break your thumb by pressing the same “update” button.
After I started making appointments for eligible Facebook friends – one with a heart condition, another who was a cancer survivor and had a father hospitalized with COVID – I realized that I knew how to navigate the system and could do that for other eligible people as well. (My biggest hit among the 30 strangers: vaccinating an 85-year-old couple from the Bronx.)
I am not a hero. I just want this pandemic to end. And, as a journalist / crusader who likes to fight the system and institutions to improve them, I also have immense satisfaction in fighting for the little boy – and by “little boy” I mean everyone in New York who is waiting for hours just to know that there are no commitments available.
And I am not the only one.
“In the middle of a pandemic, when life is slow, it is incredibly rewarding to find something beyond my everyday life that is challenging and useful,” said Dana Siegal, a vaccine hunter who helped dozens of people, including some elderly people women who cannot travel far.
“It’s the most I have talked to strangers in a year … I would like to find more people to help!”
This rush – receiving gratitude emails from strangers, seeing photos of vaccinated people, finally having a sense of purpose and urgency – is indeed satisfying … and slightly addictive.
Some “Vaccine Angels” report having dreams of automatically updating a website page, others say that they think any phone call other than a vaccine hotline is a waste of time and some admit that helping people is becoming one. sport competitor.
“Don’t you think you should stop now?” my husband said when he came home and found our daughter having dinner in front of the TV … and me still talking to someone on the vaccine hotline.
“I’ll stop,” I promised my husband, while continuing to look for someone’s father, who lives on what we call “The Fearful Long Island”, due to the lack of availability.
“I just need to try one more time.”
Amy Klein is a writer who lives in New York. Follow her on twitter @AmydKlein and on Instagram.