Steve Smulders
There is some noise further down the hall and the moment I look to the side, I see a man slowly slumping forward from his chair as if he is about to kiss the ground. But he's not doing a funny pope impersonation, there's clearly something wrong.
"Signore, signore!" calls his neighbor and some other people present to help. A few nurses also come out of the injection rooms to see if urgent medical assistance is needed. Fortunately, the man has regained consciousness. He babbles reassuringly but is forced into a lying position by the helpful bystanders despite his protest. A little while later there will be one cot, stretcher rolled over and a pair of white coats carry off the unfortunate victim.
And then the whispering starts in the hallway. I can't follow it all, but the word Astrazeneca plays a leading role in the conversation, that's for sure. The rest I can guess because I have the same question: was this man already vaccinated and was that with Astrazeneca? And is that why/because of that he didn't get well?
We, future vaccinators, sit as a group of those condemned to the electric chair on our seats in the hallway and look at each other anxiously. Yet no one dares to get up and walk away, for the shame of such cowardice is too great. The fear of losing face is greater than the fear of a possible death. Fatalistically we await fate, like inveterate sinners in the portal of hell. My left neighbor gives me a pitying look and declares: 'Non si scappa.' Running is no longer possible.
A week or two ago I was still happy. Finally I was able to book for the corona vaccination! I loved the Corriere della Sera and keep a close eye on the provincial newspapers to strike immediately as soon as reservation was possible. And there it was: from Thursday, April 22, people over 60 could make a reservation via the website of the Lombardy region.
Fortunately, I knew that this method was stress-free and streamlined because Nico had successfully completed the procedure as a nearly 70-something a week or 2 ago and received his first injection. Pfizer, he said when he got home, visibly reassured. About what the over-60s were going to get, Pfizer, Moderna, maybe Janssen or, oh no, Astrazeneca, many different, completely worthless messages have been sung for days.
Impatiently I visited the region's website a few times a day, but became none the wiser. It was not yet stated that people over 60 could make a reservation from the 22nd, nor was it from what time that could be. Two days before the 22nd, the Courier however that it could be from midnight. Midnight? I thought. What kind of start time is that? Why not just start at 8 a.m. like with the previous campaigns?
And was it the midnight of the 21st on the 22nd or the midnight of the 22nd on the 23rd? And if it was the latter (as it turned out to be), then wasn't the start date actually Friday the 23rd (0:00 AM) and not Thursday the 22nd? How much confusion can you create over something so simple?
On the 22nd I checked the website a few times just to be sure and at 21:30 the expected announcement suddenly appeared. It was already possible! Quick quick, hoppekee, number health insurance card en fiscal Code filled in and there was already a list of dates to choose from. Hooray, I could go on May 10, that was not disappointing. I also immediately informed Roberto's wife Antonica because she is the same year as me and wanted to go with me.
A few days later I got a text from Roberto, who is 2 years younger than his wife.
Ho prenotato per il vaccino. I have reserved for the vaccination.'
Hey? But it wasn't his turn at all, was it? I was slightly indignant.
'Why?' I asked him.
"Just tried and it worked."
The villain! He had done what I had secretly considered but had not dared.
'And when can you?'
'3rd of May.'
'What?'
Well, potterdepotver. Would you like to make a reservation while it is not your turn, days after I have reserved and then also a week earlier? I didn't feel pricked, but I did feel screwed. My only revenge was that I kept telling him he was going to get Astrazeneca.
'Stop it,' was his answer, 'my daughter asks me that 100 times a day, if I already know.'
On the 3rd of May he still didn't know.
"And what are you going to do if it's Astra?" I asked with a villainous smile when I ran into him just before he left for the vaccination center.
'Ancora non lo so. I do not know yet.'
An hour later I got a text message:
'Astrazeneca. I took it even though many others left without a shot.'
'I knew it. Astrazeneca gives them on purpose to those who have pushed ahead, haha.'
'Vai a cagare.'
And this morning it was Antonica and me's turn. I ignored the address given in the confirmation of our appointment and assumed the signage would lead us to the hospital without any problems. That turned out to be true, only we got to the north entrance while we had to be at the south. A long quest over the enormous obscure terrain with countless pavilions built up was our part.
For a moment we thought we had reached our goal when we arrived at a party tent with seats that had actually been announced as the Centro Vaccinazione Covid. However, no one was waiting to be pricked. Was this the post for Astrazeneca and was it shunned like the plague? A nurse approached us. No, we weren't supposed to be here. This point was for second vaccinations. Apparently there was no need (yet) for that? Or had all the candidates not survived the first shot?
Finally we got where we needed to be. Mine health insurance card, the number of which I should have passed on when making the appointment, had already been scanned 5 times by as many officials. The Pentagon entered you faster. First Antonica and I ended up in a waiting room that clearly served as a classroom in normal times.
All the over-60s to be vaccinated sat like immature students in cramped benches with folding desks. At the front, a stern lady directed novices to their seats. All the while the anxious question buzzed through the nervous ranks:
'Are we getting Pfizer? Or is it Astrazeneca?'
When pronouncing the sacred word Pfizer, the tone kept rising in hope, only to fall disastrously afterwards at the dreaded name Astrazeneca. No one wanted the thrombosis shot, but we understood there was nothing to choose from. To Astra we were condemned and we would remain condemned. Go on then, for God and fatherland, or 'Siamo pronti alla morte' as the Italian national anthem asserts a little too firmly for my taste.
We slowly move up and eventually end up in the corridor near the injection rooms where a dead silence has set in after the previous commotion. What about the deported man?
'prossimo!' it suddenly sounds loud. It is my turn and with reluctant knees I enter the scene of the disaster.
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