A love letter to... the vaccine.

Passing a note of adoration over to Pfizer, Moderna and J&J

Friends,

As of 9:10am on Monday, April 5, I am fully vaccinated. It was a warm morning in NYC, the thermometer hovering somewhere in the mid-50s as I stepped out of a bright yellow NYC Taxi. The soles of my Union Air Jordan 1 Mids hit the pavement, one-by-one, with a power I have not felt in years. Slamming the door shut, I took one confident step after another through the oversized glass doors of NYUs 1st Avenue medical center. A gust of warm recycled air slammed my face upon my entry. I took a familiar left turn and proceeded to participate in the regular front-desk temperature check, the same offered at restaurants across the city. While still applying my name tag, I was kindly directed by a masked security guard down a hallway littered with directional signage. These concert-style posters ushered me to my final destination— the hospital's vaccination center. There, a twenty-something nurse would pierce the skin, fat, and muscle tissue of my left shoulder to inject me with the sweet, sweet nectar known as the Pfizer vaccine (shot number two).

Before entering the official vaccination center (a large conference room on the hospital's main floor, converted for its new function), I strolled past the quietest but happiest room on earth. This post-vaccination waiting room was where newly-protected customers would patiently wait for any immediate side effects that would require medical attention (a 15-minute process). Some had tears in their eyes. Others were talking to loved ones. To my right, I swear that an 80-something-year-old woman was researching Las Vegas Dayclubs through the cracked screen of her iPhone 10. These larger-than-life pool venues, stunning desert oases, are better known for offering the privilege of popping 2,000% marked-up bottles of champagne while dancing to electronic dance music than they are for any sort of organized swimming activities. I can only imagine what the look on her face would be as she fist-pumped to Animale, screaming at the top of her lungs while pouring a bottle of Veuve Clicquot on her own head.

That, my friends, is an image of sheer beauty.

Moments later, I was sitting in the plastic bucket seat of a chair accented with stainless steel legs, the kind that looks more like continuous metal frames for an old television. Both legs, one on each side, dutifully supported my pandemic weight (I lost 15 and quickly regained 8 pounds over 15 months) as we navigated through the quick medical history questionnaire. My nurse was already filling up my syringe as we spoke in anticipation of my order. She did not guess my order the way your usual server casually suggests you will have the same sandwich and drink combo you have been ordering every Wednesday afternoon for a year. Instead, she did so for the faceless customer, next in line in an endless cycle of customers reminiscent of a churro salesperson at a small cart at Disney World serving an endless daisy-chain of families drooling over the hot, crispy, chewy, and cinnamon-y treats. I, too, was salivating, a Pavlovian response to the prospect of a final payoff for months of (im)patiently waiting, false-starts, and emotional highs and lows that defined the process from quarantine day-one to the rushed FDA approval of these various vaccines.

Here I was, finally, meeting the savior that would reach out, take my hand, and pull me out of the turbulent ocean in which I have been desperately treading water, teetering an edge between hopeful safety and possible death. As my highly competent nurse slowly (delicately) stuck me with the needle, I felt a sudden rush of emotions, almost bringing me to tears. The first, a massive amount of solace, resulting from the opening of an emotional relief valve containing immense pressure that had long past reached near catastrophic levels. The second was a healthy amount of fear, proving that I would never actually be safe again despite my trust in the vaccine's efficacy.

And with that comes the main point of my rambling… I am safe, but I don't entirely believe that I am. My brain fully understands the arsenal of supporting evidence showing both the safety and the positive power of the various vaccines available to the general public. I do not question the safety or efficacy of the vaccine at all. On the other hand, my heart feels like my newfound freedom only serves to forcibly pull me from the warm, comfortable, and safe place I have come to call home. By "home," I am not referring to my physical UWS apartment, but rather the emotional heating blanket better known as The Quarantine. This city-mandated prison quickly became a heavy, oversized piece of soft cloth that, wrapped around me, would soothe my anxiety, warm my heart, depress my anger, and wilt the frustrations I felt about my financial stability falling off a cliff with the decimation of the live entertainment industry (and other industries that affected my friends around the world).

I am no longer afraid of getting the virus, for I am newly protected. I am worried that the world has moved on without me as I sat, frozen in time, on my couch with my wife and kids this past year. While I understand that most of the population was stuck as well, I can't help but feel overwhelming insecurity that not a year has passed but an entire decade over which my skills are rendered irrelevant. I worry that the new gap year in my LinkedIn profile will become a point of contention while trying to conduct future business. Above all, I simply don't know how to interact with friends, family, and total strangers without the protection Zoom or six feet of protective space. 

I feel comically conflicted about the future.

Daily, I force myself to remember that I have, in fact, been working my ass off. Since the first week of the NYC quarantine, I have filled every minute of my day (those not spent with my kids and wife) developing new projects, nurturing old ones, and honing my skills in preparation for my inevitable re-entry into society. My industry will return, although likely in a form that will somewhat unfamiliar. My anxiety will dissolve as I test the waters and branch further and further out from the epicenter that has defined my physical and emotional existence. More so, I will feel the power of having my emotional cup filled anew with the fuel of life that has always served as my most significant source of creative inspiration— the power of human connection.

I can't wait to get out and explore this new world, one that has been partially taken back by nature and largely untouched by humans to the degree that it was designed for. Thanks to this second (and final) shot of my Pfizer vaccine regiment, I actually have a chance to do that. I just hope the world doesn't laugh too hard when I forget which hand to shake when introduced to a new friend at a meeting, event, party, or playground.

This is my love letter to the various COVID-19 vaccines that we will all imminently have access to. You have reopened doors for me I thought were forever sealed shut and opened new ones I never knew existed. Just the thought of your arrival pushed my work into new territories, helped me explore new talents, and encouraged me to take on new projects I would never before have dreamed of. Your arrival gives me permission to pursue my old dreams and start fresh marathons toward new ones.

I will forever be grateful and happily accept the minuscule risk that Bill Gates has chosen to track me via injectable chemical over the readily accessible device in my pocket that Bezos, Zuckerberg, Cook, and countless others have already used to eavesdrop on conversations between my wife and me about how many Baby Sharks is too many for Nico's Easter basket.

At the end of the day, I don't give a fuck who is tracking me because I am in love.

Affectionately,

Rehan Choudhry