I had my vaccine and felt awful – but it was worth it

I very nearly called in sick today. If I had, you wouldn’t be reading this article, written in the wake of having a first dose of the Pfizer vaccine. I didn’t think it would be possible to work given I could barely haul myself to a standing position – I spent all day yesterday in bed; my limbs weighted down like I was being crushed by a vice, my arm dead and aching. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

That’s despite the fact that I was barely able to catch my breath, let alone be the “on call” parent to two young children. There’s nothing harder than responding to the demands of under-10s when you feel like death warmed up, and I can only imagine – with a cold sense of empathetic horror – the carers who had to do so while suffering from actual Covid. My jab may have given me a taster, but if it’s anything like the real thing, then I couldn’t be more glad that I had it.

I’ve managed to avoid catching Covid during this whole, dark period of infection, fear and isolation; despite my borough – Redbridge – topping the charts before Christmas with the second highest case rate in all of London, and the eighth highest rate in England. I didn’t even catch it over Christmas when we were both in lockdown and in self-isolation, because the rest of my household tested positive. I stayed stubbornly negative, though it was impossible to stay away from my children (even though that’s basically what every parent wants, from time to time).

In some ways I’ve become smug – reasonably self-sure of my immunity; after all, I hugged a dear friend for the first time, recently, only to find out she’d tested positive later the same day. Another isolation period hit, but I was fine. No Covid for me. “Lucky” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Still, it wasn’t a hard decision to get vaccinated – in fact, nothing has ever seemed more obvious. One of the most pernicious elements of the virus has been the halting of our everyday lives; the fact that we haven’t been able to truly get out in the world and “live”. I’ve missed “living”, and the people who make life worth living – my friends, my family, my colleagues, random strangers in pubs and parks and forests – and if the vaccine is a route back to some semblance of the lives we had before, then sign me up.

I wasn’t even remotely worried about blood clots; despite the fact that people under the age of 40 are being offered an alternative to AZ due to some evidence of increased risk of rare clots. I’m still clinging to my thirties by a thread, so was offered Pfizer, instead – but if they’d suggested AZ, I would’ve taken it. After all, every woman who’s taken the contraceptive pill has been living with that increased risk for years; to very little public outcry.

I see no greater risk here: in fact, professor Adam Finn of the Joint Committee on Vaccination and Immunisation (JCVI), has said: “The risks of thrombosis that come with taking the pill are very much higher than the risks that we were just seeing on those slides [referencing AZ].” I took the pill for 20 years, and didn’t worry about it once.

And so, to the side effects: those I experienced from the Pfizer vaccine may have hit me with more force because I was already below par. I’ve had a nasty head cold for a couple of days, and a cough chesty enough to make me dash for a lateral flow test (LFT) before leaving the house.

The vaccine (which didn’t hurt at all, by the way – I didn’t even feel a scratch) appeared to exacerbate my symptoms: made my cough more prevalent, my head pound all the harder, gave me shortness of breath and made me feel so achey and so weary that all I could bring myself to do was fling myself dramatically across the bed with my hand across my forehead, where I gazed out of the window and sighed a lot, like a long-suffering Victorian widow.

But 24 hours later and I feel substantially better: in fact, I even stood up to walk to my computer; when yesterday I couldn’t bring myself to stand at all. I feel like a butterfly emerging from a chrysallis – a little wobbly, but renewed, and – crucially – protected. I won’t be hesitating when I get my second dose, either; even though I now know how bad it can make you feel. It’s worth it to (finally) carry on living.