Just after I gave birth to my daughter in July 2016, my world turned upside down.
In addition to the emotional whiplash that accompanies a new baby, I worked hard to stave off postpartum depression. When my maternity leave ended in October, I'd be returning to the classroom where one 120 high schoolers awaited me in my tiny, poorly ventilated portable.
Because my daughter's immune system was still so vulnerable, I knew I needed a flu shot. The day before my scheduled return, I did some grocery shopping. While there, I got in line at the pharmacy.
The pharmacist guided me to a chair next to the counter and pulled a temporary screen down to provide some makeshift privacy.
I carefully pulled my arm out from my sweater, exposing my bare shoulder and arm as the pharmacist peeled the plastic away from the needle and rubbed alcohol on my bicep. I looked away, never one to indulge in needles and blood.
Instead of the familiar prick and tightening of my bicep that one feels with any immunization, I felt the needle puncture the edge of my shoulder with a sharp pinch. I jolted slightly in my chair and glanced up at the pharmacist. He was casually reaching for a Band-Aid and shuffling back toward me.
I said nothing and furrowed my brow. "Um, thanks."
"Sure. Your arm will be a little sore but nothing too bad."
In retrospect, I know I should have questioned him. The injection was misplaced. The needle went nowhere near my bicep. Even the bandage he placed hovered just slightly over my shoulder. I poked my arm back through my sweater and took a breath. In my mind, my evening stretched before me. Alone, with a newborn baby relying on me for every need. My husband was in London for work, and I returned to the classroom in less than 24 hours. I didn't have time to worry about a rogue flu shot.
That night, as I carried my daughter in a wrap on my chest and rinsed the dishes, I could feel my shoulder swell slightly. It was hot to the touch and sore. Like any flu-shot I'd had in the past, I expected this one to make me sore for a day or two. I took three Advil, fed and bathed my daughter, put her to bed and, fell asleep.
When I woke, I knew something was wrong as I got up from my bed.
My shoulder was throbbing intensely, and I could not lift my arm above my head without experiencing searing, sharp pain. I tried to shower, but I'd break down in tears from the pain every time I reached for anything. I was a Division 1 Athlete in college and had a somewhat high pain tolerance, but I'd never felt something like this. Nonetheless, I cobbled myself together, kissed my daughter goodbye, and went to work, careful to hold my arm at my side, Advil rattling in my bag.
The next couple of days were hell. My pain incapacitated me on one entire side of my body, rendering my left arm useless. I was half a person, unable to complete any essential task requiring two upper limbs, including caring for my daughter. I left simple, mundane chores I once gave no thought to in the hands of my husband while I watched, wincing or crying at my impotence.
The flu shot partially tore my rotator cuff, an MRI later revealed.
I saw multiple orthopedists, each with new suggestions as to how to treat the injury. I'd spend months in physical therapy, on various pain medications, suffering both physically and emotionally. I fell into a debilitating depression and questioned my value as a mother if I could not care for a baby I fought so hard to bring into the world. I received countless cortisone shots, the only thing short of surgery that provided any relief.
I suffered in pain at work and as a coach, unable to demonstrate skills of a sport I cherished. I took countless days off chasing the opinion of yet another doctor. My students bought me a sling and volunteered to carry things or pull the projector screen down. I slept very little, constantly adjusting my position in bed to avoid exacerbating the pain. For three long years, I toggled back and forth from a doctor an hour away and my active role as a mother, teacher, coach, and wife. I modified my entire life to adjust to my injury due to the careless mistake of a pharmacist while doing my due diligence to maintain health for myself and, in turn, my daughter.
My story does nothing to aid the pro-vaccination movement and everything for the anti-vaxxers.
It aids the fearmongering narratives that vaccines will tarnish your health, give your children autism or turn you gay. Especially now, during the COVID-19 pandemic, when vaccines signal a return to pseudo-normalcy, many have been brainwashed to think that vaccines, in essence, are evil.
Yes, vaccine injuries or side-effects can happen; my case is proof. While it's horrifying, my incident is a rare one. People do not see the striking statistics that indicate that vaccines, for the overwhelming majority, are safe. The New York Times reported in 2019 that from 2006 to 2017, there were roughly 2 reported injuries for every 1 million doses of all vaccines distributed in the US.
As a result of a litany of conditions that can arise from misplaced or faulty injections, the government has created The National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program. It's intended to ensure that those injured by vaccines are provided with fair and just compensation for their injuries, paid out by Uncle Sam himself.
The Health Resources and Services Administration reported only 7,403 filed cases of injuries from the influenza vaccine alone from October 1988 to September 2020. This relatively low number shows that most flu shots render few side effects or reported issues.
The flu shot I received in 2016 sent a shockwave through my life.
But at a time when a deadly virus is circulating and a vaccine is available, I did not turn it down. All of us can expect bad things to happen to us in our lives from time to time. We take the good with the bad and learn along the way.
As Americans, we have a responsibility to make sacrifices for the betterment of other citizens, including risking injury or worse to become vaccinated from a pathogen that threatens the lives of those we love. There are risks, but a chance to live another day or gift another day to someone else is worth it a million times over.
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