When the CDC first announced the approval of the Pfizer COVID-19 vaccine last December, I was ecstatic! Finally, after months of helplessly watching the numbers increase exponentially, there was a possible solution. The announcement coincided with the beginning of my winter break, and when the medical school sent out emails asking for volunteers to help administer vaccines, I signed up without hesitation.
I loved lots of things about volunteering at the vaccine clinic, including the stress of it (you had to load up the syringe from the vial while confirming the patients’ information and maintaining small talk, and trying not to think about the super long line forming outside)! I especially enjoyed listening to the different ways COVID has impacted people and what getting the vaccine meant to them.
One surprisingly slow afternoon, there was a nurse who was waiting in line to get her vaccine. I raised my hand, letting her know that my station was open, and she rushed to me excitedly, almost as if she was dancing.
“Hello! How are you?” I greeted her.
She paused for a while and responded with a big smile, “Honestly, I’m feeling great! I can’t wait to get my vaccine.”
“That’s great to hear! I’ll try to be gentle,” I said jokingly.
"Son, you can't imagine the things I've seen in the COVID ward. There were so many bodies piled up in the hallways, and I was so terrified of coming into work everyday. This disease has taken so many lives, and not knowing if I was next was scary. I'm so relieved and grateful to get the vaccine."
After confirming her information, I loaded up the syringe, cleaned her arm with an alcohol wipe, and gave her the shot. As soon as I threw away the needle in the sharps container, she broke down crying. With tears dripping down her eyes, she looked up and said, “Oh Lord, thank you, Lord! I’m safer now.” I pulled my chair closer and held her hand, trying to maintain eye contact through my foggy glasses. She looked at me with content eyes and said, “Son, you can’t imagine the things I’ve seen in the COVID ward. There were so many bodies piled up in the hallways, and I was so terrified of coming into work everyday. This disease has taken so many lives, and not knowing if I was next was scary. I’m so relieved and grateful to get the vaccine.”
She was right. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors that healthcare workers have witnessed, especially when the COVID pandemic first started last spring. I had a few months off before starting my first year of medical school, so in February 2020, I went to Egypt to visit family and explore the country. Unfortunately, a few days after I arrived, the whole country went into lockdown, as COVID formally introduced itself to the world. Initially, it was almost fun tracking the number of new cases, and it became the go-to topic of conversation.
“Two more cases in the US!”
“Oh, there’s four more in China and France!”
However, that “fun” phase was short-lived, as people started dying. I dreaded turning on the news but couldn’t help myself because I had to know how bad things were every few hours. I would wake up every morning so anxious to check the numbers to the point where I was almost depressed. What was striking to me while being abroad was how unrecognizable the US had become. As the rest of the world went into complete lockdown in an attempt to minimize the spread of COVID, the number of new cases and deaths in the US continued to increase exponentially. Every night I would raise my hands in prayer and say, “Oh Allah, Oh Source of Goodness, please help us find a solution soon.”
I know that my Lord is the most responsive, but I never imagined I would be on the frontlines a year later, helping to protect people from COVID.
As a minority in the US, I know too well the health inequities in this country. As a result, minorities and underrepresented communities have been disproportionately affected by COVID, so as we ramp up vaccination efforts, we must equitably distribute vaccines to protect the ones who need the most protection. Among the underrepresented are the refugees in San Antonio who don’t have access to healthcare and cannot navigate the resources available to help them get the COVID vaccine.
With that in mind, the amazing group of student leaders at the San Antonio Refugee Health Clinic (SARHC) organized a vaccine drive at the clinic, and we were able to vaccinate 68 refugees from diverse backgrounds and cultures! The coordination process was fun, and I enjoyed working with my team. We first compiled a list of our patients who were eligible to get the vaccine at the time (50+ years old, or underlying medical condition), and we called them asking if they’d like to get the vaccine. Many of them said yes, but a few were hesitant. However, once we answered their questions about the vaccine and addressed any misinformation they might have heard, they signed up to get the vaccine too! We also worked in tandem with the Center for Refugee Services to identify people interested in getting the vaccine.
This vaccine drive would not have been possible were it not for the compassion and commitment of everyone involved. Thank you to Reverend Carrie Guerra and St. Francis Church for providing the space. Thank you to Dr. Berggren and Jacqueline, and the rest of the CMHE team for your support. Thank you to Margaret Constantino, director of the Center for Refugee Services, for your dedication. Thank you to all the student volunteers and translators who helped to administer vaccines. Thank you to Dr. Kester, Dr. Roka, Dr. Worabo, Dr. Grubesic, and Dr. Farokhi for your continued leadership and guidance. And finally, thank you to the best student leadership team. You all are amazing!
Story by: Abakar Baraka; Photo by: Allison Vasak