My skin hurts. To be honest, my everything hurts.

Still, I am thrilled to say I got my second Covid shot yesterday morning; being (relatively) young and (physically) healthy, I thought there was no way I’d be fully vaccinated before June. But, oh boy, I advise not strutting around telling everyone that there’s no way you could possibly get side-effects. Last night was a misery. As I started getting ready for bed, my shoulder began to have that “kicked with a steel-toe boot” feeling that people keep talking about. Getting into bed, I thought that all I needed to worry about was sleeping on my left side instead of my right.

Shortly after I pulled up the covers, though, the real fun started. Before yesterday, the last time I’d had a fever was when I had mono in 10^th grade. I’ve never had the flu or even a bad cold. In short, I lack the training to deal with fever, chills, and body aches. Last night was surreal. I felt like my skin was shimmering – some of it too hot, some of it prickling and shivery. My entire body was just one giant ache and I spent hours in the fetal position wondering if I should brave the cold room (it was 70 degrees) to take my temperature.

Around 3:00 am I wrote an email to my parents describing my symptoms so that they could tell the scientists, in case I didn’t make it until morning. Yes, I was kidding and being overly dramatic, but I found out about an hour later that I was possibly slightly delirious, too. Not long after I said my final farewell to my parents, I dragged myself to the medicine cabinet and, with the trembling grip of an arthritic old woman, managed to open the bottle of Tylenol and wash down a couple pills. Forty minutes later, it was like someone flipped a switch in my brain. All of a sudden, my thoughts and mind were crystal clear. It was like being near-sighted and putting on your glasses, only I had no idea my vision was clouded. I figure that’s when my fever broke. I was finally able to sleep a few hours.

And so we come to this afternoon and the bizarre feeling of aching skin. Experiencing these very unpleasant side-effects from the vaccine that will hopefully jumpstart the world has made me think. I know there are people out there who look at what someone like me went through and decide they don’t want to be vaccinated. After all, why would you let a stranger inject something into your arm that might bring sickness and pain? To say that this attitude has made me impatient and frustrated is to put it lightly, but my current state has urged me to think a little more compassionately.

My education in biology and medicine has equipped me to understand things like pandemics, vaccinations, and herd immunity. I know the difference between a live vaccine and one like Covid. The Covid vaccine doesn’t contain any live virus, meaning it absolutely cannot infect you with the coronavirus. I want to make sure to remember that not everyone knows this. I want to remember that countless people have watched a loved one die of Covid and, instead of looking to the vaccine with hope for protection, they see it as a possible vector of the same suffering. Just because someone comes to a faulty conclusion based on unsound information doesn’t mean I should undervalue their fears.

Here’s the thing, though. Going through one feverish night has strengthened my commitment to implore everyone I know to get vaccinated. My mercifully brief taste of the “flu-like symptoms” of Covid are nothing compared to what millions of people around the world are dealing with. Those exact symptoms are evidence that my immune system has some fight in it and that it is devoting all of itself right now to learning how to shut the real coronavirus out. Spending last night in self-pitying misery not only means that I am unlikely to ever face Covid myself, but that I am also unlikely to give it to another person. Each of us who achieves this protection makes it less and less likely that this virus will have a place to simmer.

It may be a downer to spend the night in the fetal position consumed by shimmering whole-body-ache. I understand that, definitely. But it is a small price to pay, infinitesimally small, to banish the scourge of SARS-CoV-2 from our world. My Bible study group just started to study the letters of John. John’s message is all about love, love, love. Not the love that’s on those wooden signs you hang around the house, but self-sacrificial, consuming love for individual people. So, get the vaccine, not just for yourself, but for those around you. And to those of you who have already gotten it… well, we’ll celebrate soon.

P.S. If you have side-effects, don’t put off taking some Tylenol. Trust me, I know.