Rowan and I both got seasonal flu shots last week. Mine took 10 minutes at my university's student health center, and Rowan's took 5 minutes at his pediatrician. I wanted to get us both H1N1 flu vaccines as well, but interestingly, this vaccine is being distributed by the Federal government and can only be administered by government facilities. Our county government had no vaccines available. I checked their web page daily so that I would know when they had received a vaccine shipment. They got one on last Thursday and posted the news that the H1N1 vaccination clinics would open on Monday morning at 9am. Rowan and I arrived at 8:30am; I knew there would be a line, so I came prepared with books, toys, snacks, warm clothes, and my laptop with a Dora the Explorer DVD! I was sure I was way overprepared, but alas, that was NOT the case. Here's how it went down.
When we arrived, it looked like there were a fair number of folks in front of us. A 30 minute line, I guessed, once the clinic started going, so I calculated that meant we were probably in for an hour or so total at this place.
Boy, was I wrong. Turns out there was a line winding all through the inside of the building already, but we couldn't see it through the reflective glass. So we stood outside for 2 hours and 15 minutes, slowly creeping toward the doors. It was pretty cold (in the low 40's) but we were dressed warmly enough and actually being outside was great because Rowan got to run in the grass, climb on benches, and generally have a nice time.
While we were out there we also went through a snack, half of his juice, and a couple of books. Once we made it inside, we thought we were close to being done. Nope. We spent another two hours inside, winding our way through cramped hallways overflowing with young children. I was apparently the most-prepared mom in the place, and when I broke out Dora the Explorer on my laptop, you'd have thought I was saving the world. (Well, I was saving our sanity, so I guess that's pretty close!) We went through two episodes there in the hallway, me standing in front of a growing group of toddlers, holding my laptop, while they were utterly fixated on the screen. Every few minutes I'd have to inch backward because the line was moving; one of the other parents pushed Rowan's stroller since I had my hands full.
Now, let me tell you that overall, this experience was not torture for me nor for Rowan. He only complained right after the shot, which is completely understandable. All in all, he was an absolute trooper. And honestly, I impressed myself with how well I held up (emotionally and physically) in that line for so long, on my feet, no food for myself (how's that for good planning, huh?) However, there is a trauma that has transcended the actual physical experience of that morning. It stems in part from the fact that after only 30 minutes in line, I saw all the arriving people from that point on being turned away because there were already more people in line to get the shot than there were shots available. I guess, though, even more striking was that I felt victimized and powerless in this situation. It might not make sense at first, but think about it: Tom and I work hard and pay not-cheap insurance premiums for our health care. Did that matter to anybody in this situation? No. The government is distributing these shots at their discretion, and I don't think I could have purchased a vaccination for my son even if I were willing to pay a high price.
This situation has raised for me a heightened awareness of the tension that exists when anybody proposes health care reform, which of course is Topic #1 in the news these days. Feeling so victimized and powerless here, my first reaction is to say, "This is wrong! People who work hard should NOT have their ability to obtain good health care removed from them by their government!" (And, as you might imagine, I did say this quite a bit.)
However, as I have reflected more on how I felt, I have also experienced a profound awareness of what it might be like to live in poverty and, for different reasons altogether, have no power to obtain good health care. To be honest, as a Christian, I have difficulty seeing a clear moral answer to the health care question. Overall, though, I agonize when government directly prevents its people from obtaining important services that they would be able to obtain (morally and ethically) but are rendered unable to do so because of legislation. And, as a mother, I don't just lament. I am furious.
Perhaps my anger is heightened by the fact that Rowan, because of his age, will require a second dose of the vaccine in one month for it to be effective. I wonder how many hours we'll spend in line to get that one? And I wonder if any amount of hard work, planning, and sacrifice on my part will be sufficient to get us in the door before the supplies run out.