I keep thinking about the pharmacist who administered my flu vaccine and my covid booster.  I barely felt either stick.  When she smoothed the band-aids, she was gentle, applying almost no pressure to my tender arms.  I left feeling cared for and special.  The monotony of the work must get to her sometimes.  What is her day really like?  A different name and birthday every fifteen minutes, at least a box of band-aids over the course of the day, and countless rubber gloves and alcohol prep pads.  As I was checking in, I heard a patient quoting the CDC to her as if he had as much knowledge of vaccines as she, a pharmacist, did.  Not only is she dealing with the mansplaining that regularly happens to women, she is providing a service that likely brings her unwarranted vitriol.  With no pain at the time and only a slightly achy arm now, this quiet woman may have saved my life.  She may have saved a lot of lives.  I hope she knows this when she goes home at night with patient faces swirling through her brain and aching knees from getting down on the ground to inject at the best angle.  I hope more people tell her “thank you” than question her knowledge, intelligence, and her morality.  I hope she knows her work is good and meaningful and brave and noble.  


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