“Did you get a flu shot this year?” asked
one of my friends.
“Nah,” I laughed. “I’d love the excuse
to spend a week in bed!”
My
cavalier relationship with receiving flu shots stems from the fact that I haven’t
suffered from the flu since a bout back in the late 70s when I was in college.
If I get a shot, it’s because my annual physical nestled in the center of flu
season, and the PA stuck it on her list of recommendations before she left the
room.
When
I took care of Mom, I religiously received a shot since I made certain she did.
We also did our mammograms together. Our team approach to healthcare meant I
paid a little more attention to the predicted strains of virus “out there” than
I do now.
When
reports began to flood the media that this year’s shot missed the mark, I
decided not to bother with getting one. I’ve watched friends fall victim to
both strains this year—and most of them received the vaccine! A recent report
out of Canada states that this year’s vaccine is about 17% effective.
I
made a conscious decision not to get the shot because I don’t want to slip into
a cocky attitude about the infections floating around me. An optimist by
nature, I know I’d slide into thinking I’d be among the low percentage of
people who’d respond well to the shot. My confidence in being safe would make
me lazy in my approach to each work day.
Instead,
by not getting vaccinated this year, I’ve turned into a cleaning maniac
whenever I enter a classroom. Over the last month, I’ve worked at five
different campuses. That means I’ve come into contact with close to 500
students and teachers—just in classrooms. It doesn’t add in hall and cafeteria
duty, or all of the hand-to-hand contact when I help load students into their
parents’ cars. Usually, I think nothing about using another teacher’s keyboard
and mouse. I grab dry erase board markers, use staplers, and may find myself
biting onto a pencil so I won’t misplace it.
Not
this year! When I enter a classroom each morning, I find the nearest tub of
Clorox wipes. I attack the mouse, keyboard, teacher’s desk until I’m certain
the hard surfaces are clean. I move onto the items I know I’ll have to use—even
remembering to wipe down the rope that attaches to the screen. Door knobs and
broomsticks. Everything gets wiped down. I can’t disinfect everything, but I’ve
developed a new habit. When I finish handling all of the students’ folders, I
quickly pump sanitizer onto my hands. I make certain that I use my own pens and
pencils, and I clean them off with a wipe before putting them back into my tote
each day.
Will
all of these preventative measures keep me healthy? Probably not. Some little
itty-bitty germ will become airborne and beeline it straight into my respiratory
system. I will become a Bernie Mac episode.
Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
