Vaccine Lotto

The man in front of me mostly spoke Spanish. The man behind me mostly spoke Mandarin. This is a day in a LA overflow line. It was my second time trying to win the vaccine lotto. To get a shot of life saving prevention before it expired and went to the medical wasteland where healthy hopes die.

I got my first Moderna shot at Kedren Community Health Center. I learned about this resource from friends who posted online.

The first time that I went down around 2 PM, I stood against a pole in the basketball court for a few hours. The gates were closed, and I didn’t make it. For my second trip, I came earlier and brought better supplies. A sunhat. A foldable chair. Comfy workout pants with lots of pockets. And protein snacks. The line was twice as long.

Staff was incredibly gracious. Hundreds of strangers descend upon this complex daily, and they are still cheerful. Employees work the line to pull high risk participants. People in wheelchairs, people over 65, people with Cancer, etc..

I answered a nurse’s informal questionnaire: “High blood pressure and obesity.” She looked at me and said, “Baby, that’s not enough to pull you to the front.” I love that sentence. To this medical professional, I was alright. I spoke through two masks with gratitude: “Thank you so much. I will wait my turn, or come back another day to try again.”

Staff also look for residents in their zip code. The community center is in a Latino and Black area. During my visits, there were less than 10 Black people in line. At one point, a Black woman on her bike pedaled next to me to ask me what was going on. I explained that this clinic was giving out doses regardless of age to avoid waste — with a high priority to people in her area. She said, “I live two blocks away. I had no idea.”

The guy in front who spoke Spanish made an appointment to come back another day. He wished me well and left. We’d been random strangers in a line for the better part of the day. The smiling guy who passed the day by talking on his phone in Mandarin said that he’s staying until they close. Me, too.

Around 5 PM, my portion of the line got to cross to those gates into the premises of the building. There was music and media. We were amongst the last 10 shots of the day. Gratitude.

We filled out paperwork and waited some more. The agency had forms in English, Spanish, and Korean. I found a security guard and told him that there’s a language barrier. On autopilot, he shouted to the crowd to find someone who spoke Mandarin. A woman waiting to be vaccinated volunteered to help. I love diversity and community in action. This is one of those, “I love LA” jingle moments.

I got my shot and cried happy tears. My mom, who lives in a nursing home, was hospitalized with Covid 19. My father in law and husband were hospitalized. All survived. All of my kids have had it and are fine. My friends joke that I must be immune. But I am not testing fate.