pokey with my pokes

I am a procrastinator when it comes to vaccinations.

One reason may be that I rested in the bosom of the Air Force for so long (a total of 28 years) that I became accustomed to doing things medical when I was told, even if it seemed rather strange -- like reporting for my required pap smear.

The Force tracked my need for inoculations and vaccinations (yellow fever, plague, ebola). Each year, something new was pumped into my system to ensure I was ready to deploy wherever in the world national interests required.

That meant that each year I would get a flu shot -- up until 1999 when I tacked the initials "Retd." after the "Lt. Col." on my identification card. If my memory is correct (and there is wide latitude in the phrase), I have not had a flu shot since then.

I certainly was not alone. According to the CDC, only 45.3% of American adults received the flu vaccine in 2018. The number was even lower in 2017 -- 37.1%.

There are a number of philosophical and religious reasons why some people are not vaccine-friendly. None of those reasons register with me. And I suspect most of us who do not line up for The Poke simply do not get around to it. It does not register on our things-that-need-doing monitor.

That changed, at least for me, this winter. On my November trip to Oregon I stopped by the local Rite-Aid, filled out a form that contained more information than even the NSA knows about me, and received my first flu shot in twenty-one years. And, yes, the concern about the current virus had a major part in my decision.

Today, after months of listening to much-older friends in Mexico prodding me to do so, I went back to the same Rite-Aid for a pneumonia vaccination. Once again, I had to fill out the same paperwork -- one of the questions being whether I had been vaccinated for pneumonia previously. I dutifully answered no.

When the pharmacist came into the consulting room to administer the shot, he asked me why I was requesting a booster. According to the Oregon health records, my doctor administered a pneumonia vaccine in February 2009, just before I moved permanently to Mexico.

As it turns out, my faulty memory worked to my advantage. Apparently, if the vaccine is administered prior to the age of 65, a booster is recommended after slogging up the hill to 70.

So, here I sit writing to you with no pain in my violated left arm, but with a smirk on my face that even those of us with terrible memories sometimes stumble into effective medical care.

The next needle to slip into my arm will undoubtedly contain the coronavirus vaccine. But where and when is still an open question.

With the exception of Israel (which seems to do these things quite efficiently) and Bahrain, most countries are off to a slower-than-planned start on their vaccination plans. Japan does not plan to even start until the end of this month or in early February.

But, whether it is in Barra de Navidad, Reno, or Prineville, I plan to be in line at the appointed time with the group of people authorized for vaccines.

Well, that is if I do not forget.