I don’t think there have been many more times in my life when I’ve struggled to write as now. Covid 19 is taking its toll on all of us and I am no exception. Even though I have more time on my hands (the pandemic has cut my income by two thirds!) and I can’t travel anywhere (indeed, the country in which I live has now closed both its airport and land borders) but I’m having to drag myself out of bed on certain days, since I’m lacking in enthusiasm for almost anything.
But hold on - hold on! There is a glimmer of hope in all of this. Amidst the despair, the human trade-dies that lie behind the figures each day (deaths rising, seriously ill rising, infection rates rising) I’m one of the lucky ones. That’s because I live in Israel and Israel has the honor of being the world’s number one vaccinator.
There are many things about living here that drive me nuts but, at this moment, I have never been more proud - because last week I received my second vaccine and, in a few days, I will be given a ‘green passport’ - and whilst it won’t let me leave my country, it will let me visit a few friends and perhaps even journey outside of Tel Aviv for the day (something I have not done since last September).
The health funds here have been remarkable. Established long before the state of Israel came into being, they’ve done an incredible job to date - partly because they’re digitalized, partly because they had fast access to supplies of the Pfizer vaccine and partly, I think, because they’re just very organized.
After the elderly, those in care homes, front line workers, appointments opened up pretty fast. Three weeks ago I took my first shot at my local clinic. The whole thing was run with military precision. My appointment was at 8.32 am…I was seen at 8.34 am and out of the room three minutes later (and only that long because I had a chat with the nurse, who I know well).
Three weeks later, I was back. This time, it didn’t even take that long. It really was an ‘in and out’ job - I walked in, three questions were asked as they looked at my details on a screen, the needle went in and I was told to rest at home with painkillers, if necessary. Outside, a room had been set up where everyone inoculated was to sit for 15 minutes, just as a precaution. I took out my book and settled back in my chair.
When the time had passed, I strolled back to my apartment, feeling an enormous sense of relief - psychologically. I had an unpleasant 24 hours (complete exhaustion) followed by 24 more hours of general weakness but awoke two days later feeling incredibly chipper. And why not? This vaccine is going to make my life a little but more bearable. letting me at least see friends - at a social distance - after months of near solitude.
I know the world’s eyes are on Israel, that we are the guinea pigs of Pfizer and that our data is being handed over for careful monitoring. But I really don’t care. We don’t live in a perfect world and after almost a year of exhaustion, gloom, fear, insomnia and occasional despair, I am ready to take my chances.
It’s baby steps I know - it will be a long time before I can pick up my backpack and head off to South East Asia, Latin America or Europe but, nevertheless, the palpable sense of relief I have, at this point, is hard to describe. Yes, I miss my old life - I miss wandering the globe, exploring new places. taking photographs, and writing on this blog. A year ago, much like most of it, I could not imagine a situation like this. But here we are, and it’s going to be a long time before we have even a smidgen of our old ‘freedom’ back. The virus is here to stay, this much I’m sure, and adjusting is the name of the game. But in the meantime, those two jabs in my arm were a good start.
Thanks to the bottom of my heart to every doctor, nurse, frontline worker and scientist, whose sterling efforts have made my ‘semi-freedom’ possible. And hoping my relief will be replicated across the globe, by tens of millions of others, in the not-too-distant future.