By Fred Steiner
About 60 years ago, more or less, I received a polio vaccine delivered in a sugar cube.

This was administered twice, on different Sundays after church services, in the multi-purpose room of the Bluffton elementary school.

I recall walking from First Methodist Church to the school to stand in line for the vaccine. I can’t remember who gave me the sugar cubes.

And, about four hours ago, I received the first of two covid-19 vaccinations. Jane Agner, nurse at Bluffton Hospital, gave me the vaccine.

It was a Moderna O12M20A, in case you wondered.

My lucky number, in this case, is 71. It was the week for those 70 and up to answer the call from their country.

No one asked to see my insurance card, despite the fact that I made certain I carried it with me.

Getting the vaccine I received today makes me appreciate living in a small town with a hospital.

How many of us know classmates and relatives who have moved the lights of the city. You can recite this refrain as well as can I: The city has everything.  Better jobs, more opportunities, better living conditions, and the list goes on.

I believe in this case, the small town wins. I walked to the hospital following a phone call appointment with someone I know. When I walked in the ER doors, I was greeted with “Hello, Fred.”

When ushered into the waiting room, I saw people I knew, not forgetting the nurse who gave me the shot.

My appointment was at 10:30 a.m. and it was given right on time.

As is my habit with shots, I requested a left shoulder shot. Meanwhile, I looked out the window, while squeezing my thigh with my right hand. That gives me a pinch to distract the shot, which was somewhere between a mosquito bite and a bee sting. Nevertheless, I always squeeze myself because of my perceived “shot anxiety.”

It didn’t  hurt and, honestly, I knew it wouldn’t.

I didn’t have to ask if the staff was busy. They were. And, I believe that is a good thing, because I want my neighbors and people who I come into contact with this winter, spring and summer to be vaccinated. I want them to know that I’m vaccinated.

This giant vaccine circle makes us all safer.

After a five-minute wait, the reception nurse wanted to make certain I was okay. I replied in kind and she presented my walking papers. By 11:15 a.m. I was on my way out the door.

The four-page fact sheet (walking papers) tells me more about Moderna that I will ever understand. That’s okay also.

I feel as if part of the cloud hanging over my head since last March is breaking up.

Oh, I forgot, one thing. I even received my appointment for the next vaccination. It’s the same time on March 5. Sort of victory date to me…you know…one day after “march forth.”

And, while waiting for permission to leave, Ron Benroth, a fellow BHS 1968 grad, awaited his vaccine. I hadn’t seen Ron for, who-knows-how-long.

We chatted for a couple minutes. When it was time to go, I told Ron, “I’m not sure when I’ll see you again.”

That’s when the guy sitting across from us, laughed and said something like, “Same time on March 5.”

He was correct.

I’ve never given this vaccine a second thought. I always knew when it was available, I’d take it.

And to those who find fault with my action – and someone will – my response will be something like: “You’ve been eating hotdogs and chicken nuggets all your life and you’ve never asked what’s in those?”

Friends, don’t think twice. Get the vaccine.