A month ago I was ecstatic to find a Covid vaccination available at our local hospital. I had been searching the internet for weeks without success. I had heard stories of people who had driven to pharmacies fifty miles away and others who had waited in line for hours, and I was ready to sign up for any appointment I could find, regardless of inconvenience. I secured appointments for my husband, my friend and myself and we eagerly awaited the date, about a week away. All went according to schedule, we were vaccinated, bragged about our sore arm and minimal side effects, and began counting down the days until our next scheduled appointment to get the booster shot.
Spirits soared with the anticipation of some return to normalcy in our lives. I booked an appointment with my hairdresser for a long over due hair cut (I’m still debating whether to go back to coloring) for April, and I purchased airline tickets to attend my great-niece’s wedding in June. And best of all, I anticipated a camping trip to Valley of Fire with family and friends.The relief was startling to me since I hadn’t thought that I’d been that preoccupied with the limitations Covid had placed on my life.
Immersed in preparing the garden for spring planting, the days passed happily, until the day before the anticipated booster shot. Then, a call from the hospital informed me that they didn’t have the vaccine available and would have to reschedule the second shot. I was devastated. Everything I had heard and read, indicated that all available vaccines would be managed so that everyone who had received the first shot would be assured of having the booster available when needed. I’ve found no information about the repercussions of not getting the second one within four weeks of the first. I’m trusting that supplies will be available by next week when we are scheduled again and that five weeks will be good enough. Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
So, it’s back to the garden for some renewal therapy. There’s something about watching seeds turn into little green sprouts, indiscernible from weeds at first, that can’t help but inspire hope. The joyful blossoms on the apple tree, tell me that all will be well. The marble-sized nectarines promise a sweet, juicy treat in a few scant months. And the piles of dog poop tell me I have immediate purpose.