Canada, Cuba and Covid 19

I am sure all heard the great advice given by our medical experts.

"All very old people over 60 years old should have a flu vaccination". Of course that advice is always metered out by young Doogie Howser doctors, straight out of medical school. In what universe are people over 60 now classified as "very old" ? And where on earth are we meant to get the vaccine in the first place ?

I had already tried local doctors and pharmacies before leaving Melbourne. Their response was always the same little two letter word - NO. Apparently the vaccine is about as common as hen's teeth. Even genuinally ancient people like myself can ask, but we can't actually have.

When we moved down to Inverloch I tried ringing the local clinic, thinking that supplies of the precious elixir might be more common in the country than in the city. I soon found out that the vaccine was not available anywhere. Each time I saw one of those rotten adverts on the TV advising us to immediately get vaccinated, I felt more and more like a sitting duck. At any moment I was sure to be struck down by a wandering flu, followed almost immediately after by a dose of the deadly coronavirus.

I had heard that the local council has free immunization sessions for such incredibly old and frail people like myself. I rang the council and was soon informed that "all the vaccinations for this year were booked out". Perhaps she could have gone on to add that I should just go and hide under a rock and wait for the inevitable end. That was implied anyway.

Amazingly enough, about ten minutes later I received a call back from the council. They had somehow found one spare space and made an appointment for me to attend on Tuesday (ie today). I wondered if they had somehow found a vial of outdated vaccine in the back of an old cupboard somewhere. I thought about it for about 2 seconds and then answered that I would be there.

At the appointed time I put on a clean shirt and drove to the Wonthaggi Town Hall for my impregnation. There was already a small group of very old and very frail ladies gathered outside the entrance. All of them were busily marinating themselves in sanitizer. It was a really exciting place to be.

The nurse looked at me, shook her head in amazement and then handed me a form to fill in. I think it was something about what I wanted doing with my remains should things not go according to plan. I signed it and handed it back.

After about ten minutes, my name was called and I entered the appointed room. The nurse proceeded to ask me whether I really wanted to do this. Did she know something that I didn't ? Then she forced the needle into my arm, mopped up the blood with a kitchen sponge and told me to wait in the next room for 15 minutes. Apparently if I survived the next quarter hour, I would have a reasonable chance of surviving the rest of the day.

I joined the group of other oldtimers, waiting on carefully spaced chairs in a large room. It reminded me of all the times I had been kept in detention in primary school. We all sat in silence and watched the clock. I looked around to see if anyone looked like they were about to fall off their chair.

Eventually the matron came and told me my "time was up". That was not exactly the news that I was waiting to hear, but apparently she was just telling me that I could leave. I staggered out the door and past the long queue that had now formed at the entrance. I made a point of rubbing my upper arm and rolling my eyes, just to encourage the faint hearted ones in the line.

I did manage to drive home without hitting any trees and explained to Maggie that I was under strict orders to rest for the remainder of the day. Things like washing dishes were definitely a no no for this evening (and probably for the next few days as well). We all know that men suffer much worse than women at such times as these.Читать далее