Timothy Cole: Louis Pasteur (1925)

"We are not nothing, but we're never entirely anything, either."

It wasn't until the height of the recent pandemic that the concept of being for or against vaccinations became a public question. There had always been certain conservatives who refused their shots, insisting they disrupted God's plan or bespoiled the arms of man, but most just rolled up their sleeve when asked. It had become a form of civic pride, a demonstration of fealty, and even evidence of sanity. Who in their right mind would expose themself, let alone their children, to some contagion if the means existed to avoid it? I always thought of the issue in black-and-white terms until antivaxxers emerged.

Then came stories of measles parties, where self-proclaimed rational parents would take their kids to mingle with some who were exhibiting symptoms of the most contagious disease around. They reasoned—if I dare characterize their excuses as reasoning—that contracting the disease would provide more robust antibodies against contracting it in the future, a let-the-horse-escape-the-barn-to-protect-it strategy. The responsible parents acknowledged that rationalization as horse shit and prayed that they'd gotten their kids Vaxxed before the irresponsible helped expose them to contracting it. Lots of ill feelings began overtaking school district meetings as policies proliferated, preventing the unvaccinated from attending classes.

Then came the damned pandemic, where early on, no vaccine had yet been invented. We experienced the cost of not being able to receive a vaccination. Our President at the time worked hard to muddy the waters, insisting that those vaccinations were optional and that it might even be better for most to decline the opportunity once the vaccines arrived. Many died. The Muse and I dutifully signed up to receive our jabs as soon as they became available. So anxious were we to protect ourselves that we eventually consented to receive our doses in the meat department of a local Safeway after snaking through the aisles checking out specials on the shelves. We would have gladly received that Moderna miracle in an abattoir.

We've continued receiving updated boosters as they've become available, though the initial zeal where it seemed as though we were on a war footing has waned. The county health department initially organized mass vaccination sites staffed by volunteers. Now, our physician's office cannot even get access to the latest booster. We're forced to schedule through another meat department in a different Safeway. I'd never imagined that a significant part of our healthcare system would gravitate into the lap of some grocery chain. Still enthusiastic Vaxxers, The Muse and I have nonetheless become more lax. We are not nearly the first to line up for the latest. We're apt to lapse into inaction rather than rush to the head of any announced line, partly because scheduling has become so complicated. I still wear my mask in public, though I finally became current with the latest vaccines just yesterday. There seem to be so many now: Moderna Covid Booster, RSV (whatever that might be), pneumonia, and flu (which comes in both regular and supercharged.) I've taken two in the same arm twice recently, a bit much even for this avowed Vaxxer.

Over the past few years, at least since they started promoting the necessity of receiving a Shingles vaccination, I have steadfastly avoided it. I still declare myself a staunch Vaxxer, yet I still decline to schedule any action. It's become like flossing, the lack of which never fails to elicit some scolding from the dentist. Have I partaken of the Shingles vaccine yet? No, I haven't. A brief encyclical follows, extolling the virtues of avoiding Hellfires. The buzz on the street has always claimed that the Shingles vaccination tends to bring on side effects. I had Shingles once, but not even that memory has driven me to schedule that jab.

My behavior, if not exemplary, qualifies as at least nearly normal. We each extol some characteristic that we might not ever one hundred percent embody. We're primarily trustworthy, but certainly no more than mostly. We tend not to be pure anything; we cut our truths with sincere fiction. We line up on one side of the latest controversy, even though we understand that the argument could never be quite that clear-cut. We hold our ambivalences lightly, hoping nobody notices our occasional glaring exceptions. We are not nothing, but we're never entirely anything, either.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #iAlogue , #PureSchmaltz