Vacu nación

I've been told by family that in the U.S. they're giving away vaccines like candy right now, and few people are taking them. You can even choose what vaccine you want – and you might win a bunch of money. Here in Mexico, things are different, and the vaccines are still being rolled out to different age groups.

For the most part, though, things are moving ahead steadily and efficiently. Mexico has public health care, but it isn't exactly the kind of public health care you get in the UK or Canada. Still, for basic stuff, its fine and free. If you get a serious disease (like you need a respirator because you have COVID serious), and you aren't wealthy, you probably have a much better chance of dying than if you lived in many "advanced" countries. Perhaps that's why so many Mexicans want the vaccine, and there is far less reluctance here than up north.

There is a system to register online, and the vaccines have been made available throughout the country. In Guanajuato, they started vaccinating people age 40-49 this month. We finally got our first shot this week, and here's how it went down ...

People were encouraged to download their vaccination form from the registration site. The three locations in the capital were publicized in the days before vaccines would be made available. We opted for the Centro Acuático location – a facility with indoor swimming pools, as well as a few outdoor playing fields. It is a bit above the dense part of the City, and we thought it would be difficult for a lot of Guanajuatenses to get there, since a lot of folks don't have cars here. That may have been true, but we didn't drive by the other locations to check. 

There were plenty of people at the Centro Acuático anyway, including a number of folks arriving by bus and taxi. A line outside formed a long, compressed "s" in front of the gate. There were maybe 150 people waiting. We walked up to the end and looked around, wondering how long it would take, and comparing our appearance to the other 40-somethings standing around. Or at least, that's what I was doing: Do they have more or fewer wrinkles, more or fewer grey hairs; are their clothes equally wrinkled?

The line moved quickly. They took 72 at a time, for some reason. 

A camouflage hummer arrived with Mexican military dudes. The military is helping with the distribution of the vaccine here. I'm really not sure how. These guys just kind of stood around. But their presence was oddly reassuring – this was the real deal, they weren't going to just be giving out expired vaccines and asking for bribes.

Within about 40 minutes we were through the front gate. We walked through a parking lot, and passed a woman giving out numbers – she probably had only as many numbers as available vaccines – they didn't seem to determine any order to receiving the shot. We continued beyond a rock-climbing wall, to sit in some bleachers facing a playing field. Then our group of 72 was moved to a second set of bleachers at an adjacent field. Finally, we were directed to the big show.

It was simple and well organized. A young woman at a folding table, set out on a tennis court, took my form and filled out the brand – "Pfizer" – and some other information. She struggled to tear it in half – kept one part and handed me the other (I would need that when I returned for my second shot, I was told). She then directed me to a different table, where a different young woman stabbed me with a needle about 20 seconds later. Holding a cotton ball against my wound, I was then directed to an area where we were told to sit for fifteen minutes. There appeared to be some medical personnel around, and an ambulance was parked outside, so I think they were ready for any medical emergencies. But I felt fine; and we were done.

I almost enjoyed it, or at least felt compelled to write down what I remembered. I felt a sense of community as we walked out of the Centro Acuático, among hundreds of people I did not know, most of whom grew up in a different country, with a different culture. Women, men, people with disabilities, and most, I judged, with more wrinkles and grey hair than I – we were all at risk, and all willing to wait our turn, and then line up together to do something about it. A year-and-a-half on lockdown, and most people hadn't lost hope. Indeed, many of us had gained something: an appreciation of our loved ones, yes, but an appreciation even beyond our immediate friends and family. Those of us who hadn't doubled down on our individualism and distrust had learned, or had this reinforced: We are all in this together.