I am now a double jabbee.
I went to ExCeL yesterday and received my second vaccine dose.
So that's excellent.
I had my first in March when things felt rather less upbeat. That feels like a heck of a long time ago but in fact it's only eleven weeks, one week shorter than the maximum recommended gap. I know the government's moved the goalposts since March and now prefers eight weeks instead, but nobody got in touch to hasten mine so I stuck with the second appointment I'd originally booked.
I also know I've been leapfrogged by a number of people younger than me, indeed I keep seeing vaccination cards on social media and wondering how these youngsters managed to nip ahead. But it's not too serious a delay - I was number 23 million and something getting my first jab and I'm number 24 million and something getting my second.
I wasn't especially nervous beforehand because I didn't get any nasty after-effects last time. A substantial number of people were laid low by their dose of the AstraZeneca vaccine, generally within 24 hours, but I didn't even get the basic dead arm let alone the full on headache and fatigue combo, so I'm remarkably grateful to my immune system for that.
I've had the date of this second jab in my calendar for ages - it's basically the only thing in there. Forgetting it was never an option, but I still wondered whether the NHS would remember to remind me just in case. Kerching, an email arrived exactly three days in advance listing date and time plus three things I needed to bring with me. They forgot one, but I remembered to take it anyway.
And so I found myself back at ExCeL yesterday morning, pleased that the sunny weather had permitted the wearing of a short-sleeved shirt. It looked busier than before, with several other people turning up around the same time as me, but venturing inside would soon confirm this notion to be false.
As last time the first thing they checked was that I had my booking reference and NHS number. Knowing your NHS number is essential, at least for those getting vaccinated via the national system rather than anything GP-related, but they still don't tell you to look it up beforehand or include it in the confirmation email which I consider a systematic failure. The number does appear if you get your invite by letter, apparently, but otherwise a faff with a QR code, a smartphone and the NHS website is required. Thankfully I'd prepared this time by writing all my important numbers in advance on a post-it note, a useful device which prevented me from reciting digits like a parrot on two further occasions.
The exhibition hall swiftly swallowed me up. Two vast queueing slaloms were laid out, only one of which was in use and there were never more than ten of us standing in it. The space should have been hosting Retail Supply Chain & Logistics Expo 2021 or Restaurant & Bar Tech Live or some other schmoozy meet-up for service professionals, but instead a few random local citizens stood in one small corner waiting to be ushered through by cheery volunteers.
At the check-in desk I got to confirm my name and that I was well, and wielded my post-it note again. I had to repeat a few things because a mouthful of cloth and a sheet of perspex don't make communication easy, but it was all fairly quick and painless. Now go off and join Queue 2, she said, despite the fact both funnels appeared to lead to the same place and both were empty.
The doctor who summoned me into the far pod was American, and unlike on my previous visit he didn't have an acolyte to help him out. He fitted the important questions into his smalltalk, remarked how pleased he was with my choice of short-sleeved clothing and patiently copied my very long number into his ledger. He also checked if I'd had any side-effects last time, and advised I might still be in line for adverse symptoms this time round because past performance is no guarantee of success.
I have no idea why medical staff insist on referring to injections as a "sharp scratch", when scratches tend to be tangential to the skin rather than poked in and left there for a few seconds. Still, that was me done, another citizen duly ticked off towards the government's national target. I was now the proud owner of a fully completed vaccination card, the second row just about legible in typical doctor-y scrawl.
I didn't get a plaster this time, for reasons unexplained. I also didn't get a sticker, so I was glad I'd received one last time or I'd have felt like I'd missed out. I resisted taking a selfie in front of the official selfie backdrop, which is now a thing. In a neighbouring cubicle I noticed shiny helium balloons spelling out EXCEL 100000, suggesting the site's now been responsible for almost 0.2% of the nation's jabs. And I was allowed straight out again because I was walking home, not driving, so the whole thing was over in fifteen minutes flat.
I'm not quite sure how I feel now I've had the requisite two doses. Relieved, perhaps, given that this time last year there was no guarantee anyone would find a vaccine let alone be able to distribute it twice to millions of people. Pleased, certainly, but not so pleased I'd show my appreciation by supporting the government without question. And also mildly confused, because nobody's ever specifically defined what benefits being 'fully vaccinated' brings.
I know several surveys confirm I'm x% protected, y% non-transmissible and z% safe from hospitalisation, where x, y and z are high numbers, but x, y and z always seem to vary. I know x, y and z for the Indian variant are probably lower but I don't yet know if that matters. I know maximum protection doesn't happen for another couple of weeks so officially I'm not there yet, but confusingly I do now have 'full course' status which would allow me to apply for a vaccination certificate, if only they were a thing.
I might feel safer, and I might now choose to act in a different way, but officially that second jab has changed nothing. Government advice still states "You should follow the guidance on how to stop the spread of coronavirus at all times, including if you have been vaccinated against COVID-19", so my new status brings no privileges whatsoever. Were this America I'd no longer have to wear a face covering in public, because that's their rule, but our government just witters on about common sense and continues to lump everyone in together.
I might now present virtually no risk to others, or technically I might not, but nobody's offering any nationally-certified opinion on my new status and it's basically left up to me to decide. I can see why nobody's keen to introduce a two-tier society essentially defined by age, because that could be unduly divisive, but being double jabbed is simultaneously bloody excellent and behaviourally pointless.
