I demand my share of the life-saving potion!

The H1N1 vaccine arrived in the Bay Area today and Eric, myself, and thousands of other pregnant women, their partners, parents of small children, others who fall into the high priority category, and people so desperate to get theirs they were pretending to fall into the high priority category lined up to get jabbed.

When we arrived, the line was out the door, through the parking lot, down the bock, around the corner and then down* the next block. Here we are at the end of the line. We got there at 6pm, an hour before the clinic was scheduled to close, and there were easily 200 people in line ahead of us. It seemed sensible to walk to the front and see what chance we had of actually getting the vaccination before deciding to stand in line for an hour, maybe more.

The nurse who was managing the line was actually just about to count back in the line and hand out cards to the people that she estimated would be able to receive the vaccine that day. They had plenty of vaccine, the challenge was not having enough people to administer it quickly enough to meet the demand. (Self-administration was not an option.)

I walked with her back up the line as she counted and as she would point to someone and say a number, at least one out of every three people would blurt out "I'm pregnant!" with a desperate, scared look in their eyes, or "I've been here since 3:30 with my kids you can't turn us away!" or "Gimme gimme gimme!" - this just at hearing a number and having no idea what it even means.

Her count got to the end of the line with numbers to spare, suggesting that all of us were "in" for that day. Common sense suggested otherwise: it was about 6:25pm at this point, and the line had barely moved since we had arrived. We figured it was worth the wait.**

At about 6:45pm, with the line still essentially unmoved, another nurse came down the line asking that just the pregnant women come forward -that we were the only ones who would still receive the vaccine that day. I eagerly skipped to the front of the line, trying not to look the people who had been there for three hours or more or their children in the eyes. I feared them.

When the head of the clinic came out and officially told people they had to come back the next day, I feared that this was going to turn into a very gory pre-Halloween special event. After assuring everyone that they would get priority the next day and that there was plenty of vaccine to go around, the doctor apologized sincerely and then headed quickly inside and called the police.

The line did not disperse. People continued to stand there.

Meanwhile, inside the clinic in line for my shot, I sweet-talked the nurse into letting Eric come wait with me inside, and then, since he was there, why not just give him the vaccine too? They did.

We left feeling like we had stolen something.

It was 7:15pm when we left and the line was still there. The police were encouraging people to go home, the clinic was closed. I don't know what happened next.

*This block was a hill, so it was actually up the block, not down it

**"We've waited more than two hours to ride roller coasters. I suppose another half hour can't hurt," Eric reasoned.