The strangest “side effect” I felt after Modena’s photo.

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

I had been waiting for the text message for months when it arrived: “Click on the following link to schedule your appointment.” I screamed like a cartoon character.

I had registered for the coronavirus vaccine in January on the New Jersey Department of Health website, after the state said it would progressively rank residents in order of risk of infection. I imagined: doctors and the elderly first, and healthy young adults last.

I clicked immediately, assuming I would be one of the last to get it. I have family members who work in hospitals and everyone has been vaccinated, so I was looking forward to joining them. I have moderate asthma that doesn’t normally affect me much, but I checked this on a list when asked.

Then the message came on March 8. I was thrilled. I signed up and got the last appointment available for March 15th, a week later. I came ready for the consultation ready to answer questions about my medical history. I found out the exact date I was diagnosed with asthma, in case they needed to corroborate my records. But none of this happened. I signed a waiver giving the hospital staff permission to poke me with a needle and another acknowledging that the vaccine was an emergency FDA approval. That’s it.

Within minutes, I was assigned to a nurse, who nudged me on the shoulder and gave me a bag of vaccine, with information on how to report significant side effects and a sticker that said “I got the injection!” Suddenly, I took my first of two doses of Moderna, and I was one step closer to leaving COVID behind forever.

Even so, I didn’t feel what I expected to feel. I certainly wasn’t happy. I didn’t have any physical side effects (and I still don’t), but a different and strange one took over: guilt. I stuffed the sticker in my coat pocket and left.

What was wrong with me? Well, I thought of my parents and so many vulnerable people I know personally, who are still waiting patiently for their vaccines. After I got my chance, which was incredibly easy thanks to the hospital staff and nurses, I tried to call my mom and give her the good news. I could not. She is in her 60s, has a medical history that makes her prone to disease and is still waiting. I was so obsessed with quarantine, especially out of caution with it. It seemed wrong to have ended up ahead of her in the vaccine line.

The balance seemed unbalanced. I felt like I had shot too early. I’m 31 years old and I’m healthy, in addition to asthma. About a quarter of the children who grew up where I grew up in Newark have, one of the highest rates in the country, possibly because of the terrible air pollution caused by garbage stations, the airport and the steady flow of truck traffic in residential areas. . It really only becomes a problem for me when I’m swimming or trying to sing in karaoke. I was officially diagnosed when I was 16, but I thought the inhaler was stupid, so I never used it.

I only qualified because New Jersey qualified me. In the vaccine eligibility questionnaire, people with cancer or liver disease are in the same category as people like me, as are smokers. It was especially worrying because there is currently little solid evidence that people with asthma are more likely to suffer from serious illnesses with COVID.

I understand the urgency to vaccinate as many people as possible at this stage of the pandemic. I have heard more than once from my friends and family who work in medicine that now it all comes down to “vaccines”. I had no problem receiving the injection, of course, because now I am much less likely to contract and spread the virus. I do not regret it. I would just feel better if my mom caught it first.

When I finally talked to other people about it, more than one person vaccinated at almost my age told me that he felt exactly the same way. They knew they shouldn’t – that was just a good thing – but here we are.

I think that, as a child of immigrants, I am conditioned in a different way than many to feel responsible for my parents’ well-being. I was my mother’s unofficial translator in several settings, including the hospital where doctors and nurses may forget to explain things without using medical jargon that she doesn’t understand. I witnessed how experts can lose their temper and raise their voices in condescension, instead of trying to explain things in different terms. It has been widely reported that language barriers can directly lead to worse hospital care. I have always helped her in confusing and frightening situations and, as with many other people, I have helped her and my father sign up for their vaccines as well. I finally realized that I felt selfish, as if I should have given up my appointment for them.

I know. It is not how it works.

I finally told my mom that I took the first chance recently. I was worried that she would be a little hurt, as if she had been tricked by the system. Instead, she looked very happy. She said, “OK, I’m going to make fish this weekend.” She grew up in Alexandria, Egypt, so a fish dinner is as good as a cake. In two weeks, I will have my second dose. I hope it will be safe enough soon to give you a kiss on the cheek.