| General Non-Fiction posted November 9, 2021 |
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Retrospective tweak to the memory banks
Self-Fulfilling Recollection
by Elizabeth Emerald
In January 2021, my friend Chuck was amongst the first cohort to be vaccinated. Despite that he did not meet the minimum age requirement (though d@mn close!), Chuck was offered the vaccine at the assisted-living facility in which his brother resided.
Chuck, though reluctant, felt obliged to take the vaccine by way of providing added protection to his brother during their visits.
Notwithstanding that he has no history of allergies, Chuck was in dread of having a severe reaction that would progress to his throat swelling to the point of closure, thus rendering him unable to breathe.
Chuck's baseline state is one of generalized anxiety. Specifically, he is plagued by a fear of fiberglass (!), a phobia unique to him. At least, amongst the living: google found a case, cited in 1950, of a woman--permanent resident of a mental ward--who suffered from (my coinage) "fiberphobia."
When the vaccine came along, Chuck, for no apparent reason, conjured a companion to fiberphobia; let's call it "vaxiphobia."
It is ironic that Chuck does not suffer from what I've dubbed "coronaphobia"; like me, he is fatalistic as to contracting corona and doesn't fret in the meanwhile.
I explained to Chuck that in the rare event he were to go into anaphylaxis, he would be promptly treated at the scene. Should such an extreme reaction occur, it would do so within minutes of vaccination, well within the post-injection observation window.
Nonetheless, Chuck persisted in his fear; he was terrified that his throat would constrict in the middle of the night, when he'd be alone. I offered to stay overnight; he took me up on it.
The night passed without incident. About 10:30 the following morning, 23 hours post-injection, Chuck developed the usual side effects of fatigue and slight fever, which abated by evening.
Last week, my friend Gale joined Chuck and me for dinner. The conversation turned to the current controversy over vaccination.
Chuck regaled Gale with the tale (how's that for wordplay!) of his maddening rash (long since invisible), which for these past ten months Chuck continues to attribute to his vaccination.
After his rant, turning to me for corroboration, Chuck said:
That isn't the worst of it; remember, Liz, how afterwards I couldn't breathe?
* * * * * *
Chuck has ceased his diatribes this past week, ever since my unvaccinated daughter came down with corona last Wednesday.
Moreover, the day prior, whilst the coronavirus, unbeknownst to us, was incubating, Lauren sat in the passenger seat, windows closed, as Chuck took her to a treatment facility, an hour's drive round-trip.
In January 2021, my friend Chuck was amongst the first cohort to be vaccinated. Despite that he did not meet the minimum age requirement (though d@mn close!), Chuck was offered the vaccine at the assisted-living facility in which his brother resided.
Chuck, though reluctant, felt obliged to take the vaccine by way of providing added protection to his brother during their visits.
Notwithstanding that he has no history of allergies, Chuck was in dread of having a severe reaction that would progress to his throat swelling to the point of closure, thus rendering him unable to breathe.
Chuck's baseline state is one of generalized anxiety. Specifically, he is plagued by a fear of fiberglass (!), a phobia unique to him. At least, amongst the living: google found a case, cited in 1950, of a woman--permanent resident of a mental ward--who suffered from (my coinage) "fiberphobia."
When the vaccine came along, Chuck, for no apparent reason, conjured a companion to fiberphobia; let's call it "vaxiphobia."
It is ironic that Chuck does not suffer from what I've dubbed "coronaphobia"; like me, he is fatalistic as to contracting corona and doesn't fret in the meanwhile.
I explained to Chuck that in the rare event he were to go into anaphylaxis, he would be promptly treated at the scene. Should such an extreme reaction occur, it would do so within minutes of vaccination, well within the post-injection observation window.
Nonetheless, Chuck persisted in his fear; he was terrified that his throat would constrict in the middle of the night, when he'd be alone. I offered to stay overnight; he took me up on it.
The night passed without incident. About 10:30 the following morning, 23 hours post-injection, Chuck developed the usual side effects of fatigue and slight fever, which abated by evening.
Last week, my friend Gale joined Chuck and me for dinner. The conversation turned to the current controversy over vaccination.
Chuck regaled Gale with the tale (how's that for wordplay!) of his maddening rash (long since invisible), which for these past ten months Chuck continues to attribute to his vaccination.
After his rant, turning to me for corroboration, Chuck said:
That isn't the worst of it; remember, Liz, how afterwards I couldn't breathe?
* * * * * *
Chuck has ceased his diatribes this past week, ever since my unvaccinated daughter came down with corona last Wednesday.
Moreover, the day prior, whilst the coronavirus, unbeknownst to us, was incubating, Lauren sat in the passenger seat, windows closed, as Chuck took her to a treatment facility, an hour's drive round-trip.
Chuck, though reluctant, felt obliged to take the vaccine by way of providing added protection to his brother during their visits.
Notwithstanding that he has no history of allergies, Chuck was in dread of having a severe reaction that would progress to his throat swelling to the point of closure, thus rendering him unable to breathe.
Chuck's baseline state is one of generalized anxiety. Specifically, he is plagued by a fear of fiberglass (!), a phobia unique to him. At least, amongst the living: google found a case, cited in 1950, of a woman--permanent resident of a mental ward--who suffered from (my coinage) "fiberphobia."
When the vaccine came along, Chuck, for no apparent reason, conjured a companion to fiberphobia; let's call it "vaxiphobia."
It is ironic that Chuck does not suffer from what I've dubbed "coronaphobia"; like me, he is fatalistic as to contracting corona and doesn't fret in the meanwhile.
I explained to Chuck that in the rare event he were to go into anaphylaxis, he would be promptly treated at the scene. Should such an extreme reaction occur, it would do so within minutes of vaccination, well within the post-injection observation window.
Nonetheless, Chuck persisted in his fear; he was terrified that his throat would constrict in the middle of the night, when he'd be alone. I offered to stay overnight; he took me up on it.
The night passed without incident. About 10:30 the following morning, 23 hours post-injection, Chuck developed the usual side effects of fatigue and slight fever, which abated by evening.
Last week, my friend Gale joined Chuck and me for dinner. The conversation turned to the current controversy over vaccination.
Chuck regaled Gale with the tale (how's that for wordplay!) of his maddening rash (long since invisible), which for these past ten months Chuck continues to attribute to his vaccination.
After his rant, turning to me for corroboration, Chuck said:
That isn't the worst of it; remember, Liz, how afterwards I couldn't breathe?
* * * * * *
Chuck has ceased his diatribes this past week, ever since my unvaccinated daughter came down with corona last Wednesday.
Moreover, the day prior, whilst the coronavirus, unbeknownst to us, was incubating, Lauren sat in the passenger seat, windows closed, as Chuck took her to a treatment facility, an hour's drive round-trip.
 Recognized |
#28 November 2021 |
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