The United Kingdom is currently conducting a mass vaccination of the population, prioritizing certain groups. The age criteria are clear, but there may be variations with other groups. Mass vaccination against coronaviruses is taking place around the world, and it is likely to reach you eventually.
Three BBC journalists in three different countries share their experiences of being vaccinated: Yana Litvinova in the UK, Oleg Boldyrev in Russia, and Anastasia Zlatopolskaya in Israel.
Яна Литвинова
For me, it all started with a phone call from the hospital, where I had to go for another absolutely necessary procedure to live a relatively normal life. “Mrs. Litvinova? – said a pleasant female voice. – You were supposed to come on February 19th. So do not come. Let them vaccinate you against the coronavirus first, and in four weeks – welcome, but don’t forget to let us know when it’s done”. A little hesitant, I finally mustered the courage to ask if this meant I was on some kind of priority list, because if the airborne coronavirus is incompatible with my treatment, then perhaps I should be vaccinated as soon as possible. “This is not our area of expertise,” the voice remained pleasant and cheerful, “vaccinations are handled by another department, not even a department, but your local clinic, please contact them.” Considering that this clinic relentlessly bombarded me with text messages insisting that I not call them with questions about vaccinations and that they would let me know when it was my turn, the advice of a pleasant voice was completely useless.
Since it is completely unclear what exactly to illustrate these personal notes with, here are some objects near my house. The pub “Greyhound”. It is very nice inside, it has been around since the time when this area was not part of London, but a separate village. However, it is currently closed, like all the other pubs. But then I was very lucky because our doctor, an English equivalent of a family doctor, who knows our family very well, called me to clarify when a nurse could come to us to vaccinate my mother. Because of her age, my mother definitely fell into the priority group. I took the opportunity to ask the lovely Dr. Caroline what I should do. Caroline pondered: “With the medical indicators, it’s still unclear, we ourselves don’t really know who needs to be prioritized and who doesn’t. As for you, there seems to be no question, but the process may drag on. But I will put you on the list as the main person to take care of your mother. You are the main person?” I hastily replied, “Yes. About a week later, my phone beeped: I was invited in for the coveted injection. Caroline’s tactics were clearly working.
The building of the town hall. Now only the registry office (ZAGS) and some archives are left. Right in front of it is the bus stop I use (or used to use) to go to work. You stand, wait and watch brides and grooms… At the appointed time, I arrived at the designated address. It was another small local clinic, though not the one we are all assigned to. There was an orderly line around the clinic. The people obediently kept a two-meter distance and froze grimly. In London, minus one is almost a catastrophe, and they decided not to let us in to minimize the chances of accidental infection.
The Royal Air Force Museum is the perfect place to take young children and sit quietly in the corner. Between us, trying not to get too close, a young man in a bright yellow vest, usually worn by road workers, walked back and forth, breaking asphalt in the middle of a high-speed highway. His job was to check the names against the existing lists and give us two sheets of paper with questions to be asked just before the injection. The line obediently called out names and birthdates, asking only one question: what vaccine will we get today? Hearing that we will have AstraZeneca in the near future, everyone expressed deep satisfaction.
Church of St. Mary. On the left – “Grayhound”, on the right – vicarage. Our medical center is located right behind the church. The line was moving pretty fast. Once inside, I discovered why: a small vestibule was divided into eight booths. Medical personnel were in the booths, with a pile of ready-to-use syringes lying next to them. This was the last “checkpoint” before the finish. They took my temperature, asked if I had received a COVID-19 vaccination or any other vaccinations in the past week, if I had any unexplained coughing fits, and if I consented to the upcoming procedure.
Another pub. A medical center where I got vaccinated, a little further down the road. Unable to bear it, I asked the nurse named Muhammad: “Are there people who, after all this, get up and proudly leave without being vaccinated?” Muhammad pulled the dark glasses over his eyes and said that the computer program would not allow him to document my vaccination if any of the questions were left unanswered. After pulling a needle out of me, Muhammad asked the last, not so stupid question: “Did I drive here? Because if so, he had to wait 15 minutes to make sure I didn’t have a terrible seizure and crush innocent citizens. There were no cramps. No side effects so far. I am sitting and waiting patiently for the second dose of the vaccine. Because the normal healing process of my body can only resume four weeks after the second dose. Which they forgot to tell me at first. Well, that’s not so scary: at least half the distance is already behind me.
The first time I was given AstraZeneca. I wonder what I will get the second time?
Oleg Boldyrev
“Shcheglov – to room 321! Is Shcheglov there?” the nurse called in the corridor, where about 20 people were sitting next to me. An elderly man in a black sweater stood up. Mr. Shcheglov, I and all the others came to the Moscow clinic for the first “Sputnik” vaccine.
We explain quickly, simply, and clearly what happened, why it matters, and what happens next. The number of episodes should remain the same. End of Story Podcast Advertising After almost a year of speculation and guesswork about the coronavirus, after restrictions, quarantine measures, masks that almost grew into our faces, and liters of spent antiseptic, after alarming calls from infected relatives and friends, after discussions with experts and scientists about how to find a way out, the first step toward possible liberation from danger turned out to be discouragingly prosaic. Why did I choose to be vaccinated? For personal reasons. Circumstances have changed and I have to spend a lot of time with a chronically ill disabled person. In mid-December, it seemed that no one in Moscow wanted to get vaccinated. I checked – and the next available appointment, according to the Gosuslug website, was in 15 minutes. I did the same as everyone else – I decided to wait. My calculation was not very scientific, but empirically understandable: with thousands of “stings” outside of clinical trials, it will be difficult to hide significant and severe side effects. The same goes for the wave of diseases – God forbid if “Sputnik” turns out to be completely useless. And the long-term effectiveness of the Russian vaccine, as well as all other vaccines, is still a matter of belief, not fact. It has been three weeks, and I have not seen any mass reports of any extraordinary consequences of the injection for the body – so I decided to go for it. While I was waiting, the number of people willing to be vaccinated increased significantly – the next available opportunity was only two weeks away. And so, after waiting as required, I went to the clinic, filled out a questionnaire about the presence of colds, allergies, and anything else that might interfere with the shot, and joined a short line. From there, I went to see a therapist who took my blood pressure and confirmed that I was not sick. The doctor told me that the number of people queuing up for vaccinations had increased significantly after the authorities allowed people over the age of 65 to be vaccinated. I still have a long way to go before I reach that age, but the fact that practically everyone in Moscow can get a vaccination was true long before vaccination centers opened in shopping malls. “What do you do for a living?” the procedural nurse shouted through the noise as she sat behind the computer. “In the mass media,” I replied, while her colleague wiped my left shoulder with alcohol.
“Why is that?” the nurse asked. After some thought, I told her the real reason: “I take care of the elderly. “In a nursing home, right?” she replied. Mentally reflecting on the circle of my current caregiving duties, I answered in the affirmative. A rather painful injection followed. I sat in the corridor for another 20 minutes to see if there were any unusual effects of the vaccination. Opposite me, 40-year-old Yekaterina, a general practitioner, was resting after the injection. Her decision, like mine, was not the result of unbridled enthusiasm. After a race to create this drug, a scandal involving tests on scientists themselves and the involvement of soldiers in the research, after victorious statements about the start of mass vaccination as early as September, publications of interim results of clinical trials that raised questions among Western scientists, Yekaterina was not absolutely confident that the Russian vaccine would defeat COVID-19. It should be noted that the conversation took place before the creators of “Sputnik” published new research results in the journal Lancet, which were much more favorably received by the scientific community than the previous ones. And on the other side of the scale, she had someone she knew who had spent a whole month in the hospital with COVID complications. She didn’t want such problems for herself. “The potential harm is less than the potential benefit” – that’s how Yekaterina formulated it. Like many others who have described their experiences with the vaccine, I had pain all over my body the night after the shot. Paracetamol easily relieved it. The following three weeks passed without any consequences – and here I am again, on Sunday evening, for the second injection. The line moved from the fifth to the first floor of the polyclinic, and the security guard in the lobby said that the elevators could no longer handle the influx of people. I got in line behind three young people from Central Asia. They understood Russian poorly, so there was some confusion in the line. The next procedure was similar – more questions in the questionnaire, another non-binding interview with a therapist, this time accompanied by a measurement of the oxygen level in the blood. The doctor went down the hall to the procedure room with my paperwork – not a very efficient use of her time. This time the injection in the right shoulder went completely unnoticed, but the consequences a few hours later were much more painful. The pain, without fever, lasted for almost a day and a half, and painkillers were only partially effective. Well, if you believe the creators of “Sputnik,” I am a few weeks away from maximum protection against coronavirus. But – with or without vaccination – I will continue to ride the subway wearing a mask and try to avoid long periods in crowds as much as possible. In addition to antibodies against COVID, the vaccine offers hope. But unfortunately, it does not provide unlimited confidence that I will be able to live according to the “pre-COVID” rules.
Anastasia Zlatopolskaya
In Israel, anyone over the age of 16 who has not yet received Covid can now be vaccinated. To register for a vaccination, you must either call your local medical clinic or make an appointment through a mobile application. Vaccination centers are open throughout the country, and you are likely to find one within a few miles.
They are located not only in hospitals and clinics, but also in specially converted administrative buildings, stadiums, drive-through centers (where you can get vaccinated without leaving your car), and other locations. Some time ago, a mobile vaccination center was even opened in the main square of Tel Aviv, where protests usually take place. Mobile centers are popping up in markets, parks and parking lots. I signed up through the app. I chose a convenient time and found a vaccination site literally a few hundred yards from my house. A few days later, I went for my first dose.
Even before entering the clinic, I saw signs for “vaccinations. After walking through several corridors, I found myself in the vaccination room. There was only one person in front of me and after a few minutes I was told to go inside. The office is divided into several parts, and 3-4 health workers work simultaneously.
The whole procedure took about five minutes: a few questions from the questionnaire – whether she was pregnant or not, and whether she had any allergies. And then it was clarified whether she was left-handed or right-handed, and the injection was administered immediately.
They are vaccinated with Pfizer vaccines, the vaccination takes place in two stages. The second injection is given after 21 days. After the injection, they asked me to wait about 15 minutes in the fresh air and gave me a pamphlet with the date of the second vaccination and information about the vaccination in three languages – Hebrew, Arabic and Russian. A few hours later I was already on the set and felt hardly any side effects from the vaccination. Just a slight feeling of fatigue and a slight chill at one point. However, during the night, my arm where I got the shot started to hurt quite a bit, but the pain was gone by morning.
Israel is vaccinating its population against coronavirus faster than other countries. How do they do it? I naively believed that I could go back to work after the second vaccination. In the same office, they promptly gave me the second dose and asked me if everything was okay after the first one. This time my hand started to hurt almost immediately and it was difficult to overcome the fatigue with just a cup of coffee. In the evening, new effects of the injection began to appear: muscle and joint pain, headache, nausea, heartburn, and high temperature. By midnight I was feeling really bad: I was shivering with cold, then I suddenly felt hot. At the same time, my back ached and my stomach hurt. At some point I tried to get up and go to the bathroom, but it was almost impossible to move. I remember my very pale reflection in the mirror, I almost fainted. The condition has worsened to the point that I started to consider in my head what to do if it gets even worse: wake up the neighbors (house owners), call a friend, or still try to call an ambulance myself. It was so bad that I didn’t really know where to call. I searched my eyes for the paper the nurse had asked me to take from the printer before leaving the office. My last hope, it must be an emergency contact number, but it turned out to be a vaccination card. I only managed to fall asleep in the morning, and not for long. A few hours later, I woke up feeling like I had been spun in a centrifuge all night. My whole body ached and went numb in places. In the evening it became easier, and by the third day I felt more or less normal.