“Can you talk about anything other than vaccines?” said my friend Jeff on the phone.
I think he might think of something else because he lives in California, where the vaccine launch is smooth and he can just wait for his doctor to call him when it’s his turn.
But I can’t talk about anything else, not in New York, whose system is so labyrinthine that it forces people to compete for meetings like the “Hunger Games” or simply to give up frustration. There’s the state’s website, the city’s website, separate apps for Rite Aid, CVS, and Walgreens, not to mention hospitals, smaller pharmacies, and mysterious sites that seem to drop hundreds of doses in the middle. at night.
During the pandemic, some people were making bread, others were organizing their cupboards, but now more and more people are trying to help foreigners secure their vaccine meetings.
For me, it started in January, when I found out that people over 75 will qualify in New York. I tried to help my mother in Riverdale, my father-in-law in Queens and the father of my brother-in-law in Washington Heights find dates. It was a good thing, because in a few days the system opened up to people aged 65 and then to people with comorbidities – a positive development, certainly, except that it left the elderly in New York and people without computers (or computer skills)) without shooting.
I soon joined a Facebook group called New York / Connecticut Vaccine Hunters and Angels, or VaccineAngel.com, founded by Joel Leyden, which has helped hundreds online and dozens offline.
“We created VaccineAngel.com because we had cyber and social training to reach thousands,” Leyden said of setting up appointments for eligible people (with priority for seniors and first responders), as well as helping others look for excess vaccines that might otherwise be thrown away.
“I knew a professional group would save vaccines and save lives.”
Groups like these not only share links to available sites and vaccines, but also tips and tricks: such as the exact time the state launches appointments (three minutes to half an hour) or what automatic refresh extension should be installed in the browser, you have to break your thumb by pressing the same “update” button.
After I started dating eligible Facebook friends – one with heart problems, another who survived cancer and had a parent hospitalized with COVID – I realized that I understood how to navigate the system and could do so. for other eligible persons. . (The biggest coup among 30 foreigners: vaccinating an 85-year-old Bronx couple.)
I’m not a hero. I just want this pandemic to end. And, as a journalist / crusader who likes to fight with the system and institutions to improve them, I also enjoy immense satisfaction in the fight for the little guy – and by “little guy” I mean everyone in New York who they wait for hours only to be told that there are no appointments available.
And I’m not the only one.
“In the midst of a pandemic, when life is slow, it’s incredibly enjoyable to find something other than my birthday that is challenging and useful,” said Dana Siegal, a vaccine hunter who has helped dozens of people, including a few. elderly women who cannot travel far.
“It’s the most I’ve talked to strangers in a year … I’d like to find more people to help!”
This rush – getting emails of gratitude from strangers, watching photos of vaccinated people, finally having a sense of purpose and urgency – is really satisfying … and slightly captivating.
Some “Vaccine Angels” report that they have dreams of automatically refreshing a website page, others say they feel that any phone call that doesn’t have a hotline for the vaccine is a waste of time, and some acknowledge that helping people become competitive. sports.
“Don’t you think you should stop now?” my husband said when he came home to find our little daughter having dinner in front of the TV … and I’m still talking to someone on the vaccine hotline.
“I’ll stop,” I promised my husband, as I continued to search for someone’s father, who lives in what we call the “dreaded Long Island,” because of his unavailability.
“I just have to take another hit.”
Amy Klein is a writer living in New York. Follow her on Twitter @AmydKlein and on Instagram.