At the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, I encouraged us to embrace the
"strange grace"
of the moment. Little did I know what that would mean for me.
In March of 2021, I received two doses of the Pfizer vaccine, the second on my
50th birthday. Following both doses, I experienced pressure-induced pain
radiating down my left (inoculated) arm; with the pain being more severe and
longer lasting after the second dose. Over the next few months, I lost range
of motion in both shoulders, and was eventually diagnosed with bilateral
frozen shoulder. (Apparently, it's unusual for this condition to cross over to
the non-inoculated side, but c'est la vie, at least for me.) Fortunately,
several months of physical therapy seemed to resolve my affliction. But
unfortunately, this was to be the "good news" portion of my story.
And that's because in July of 2021, I coughed up a blood clot. A trip to the
ER led to a CT scan which revealed multiple nodules in both lungs. Since that
original finding, I've had two bronchoscopies, a needle biopsy, thorascopic
lung surgery, several more CT scans, and a plethora of blood tests. The first
bronchoscopy found three strains of an ubiquitous fungus, Aspergillus.
Subsequent biopsies failed to confirm those results, but did detect fungal
hyphae. And then, this past November, a second bronchoscopy uncovered
something that the lab struggled to identify, ultimately saying it resembled
Inonotus quercustris, a mushroom which grows on trees in Texas. According to
the infectious disease specialist, while they are confident that my illness is
due to a fungal organism, they cannot be definitive about that organism's
classification.
In the meantime, I take my pills, and we monitor my lungs with imaging. The
first anti-fungal medication, which I was on for six months, had some nasty
side effects. (I lost 25 pounds and was easily fatigued.) Fortunately, the new
one is better. (I've regained the weight, and my stamina is getting closer to
normal.) Treatment was successful in resolving the initial nodules, but
unfortunately, fresh ones seem to pop up on each CT scan, including last
month's. (If my latest friend is still hanging around in June, I might have
another needle biopsy in my future.) And yet, I've never had symptoms normally
associated with pulmonary fungal disease. In fact, other than imaging, my test
results have been consistently and frustratingly normal since this ordeal
began.
But here's the bigger problem, fungal disease is typically seen only in those
who have a compromised immune system, such as someone undergoing chemotherapy.
And as I just alluded to, in spite of their best efforts, my doctors have
failed to find in me any such immunodeficiencies. (The current theory is that
I must have a rare undetectable genetic disorder; one that inexplicably waited
fifty years before unveiling itself at this precise hour.) They don't
necessarily deny the suspicious timing between my Covid vaccination and the
discovery of my fungal infection, but they do dismiss that reality as mere
coincidence. Needless to say, I remain unconvinced.
Two months after my first pandemic-related blog post, I wrote about the
unintended consequences
of our response to this event: "Every human intervention comes with a cost.
And too often, we leap into action without considering the nature of that
price or whether it is worth paying. This is partly due to our overly
exuberant faith in the power of smart people and smart ideas. It is also,
however, the product of our tendency to value some siblings more than others."
(Again, the irony.)
I do not doubt that the Covid vaccines helped many. But I am equally certain
that they
harmed others. Under normal circumstances, such outcomes would be unsurprising. Clearly,
however, we have been living in abnormal times. Some have demonized the
vaccines; and some have divinized them. Unfortunately, the smart people who
wield the majority of power in our nation fell into the latter camp, and so
the vaccine injured have been left out in
the cold to fend for themselves, like lepers.
One of the few
doctors
courageous enough to challenge the prevailing wisdom
noted
that she was not alone in seeing the problem, but that some of her colleagues
were "willing to accept these vaccine injuries as unavoidable collateral
damage in a mass vaccination program." Yes, any new technology, particularly a
medical intervention, will inevitably produce collateral damage. But common
decency demands that such harm be acknowledged, mourned, and redressed. To our
great shame, we stubbornly refuse to love our wounded siblings, adding insult
to their ignored injury.
Don't get me wrong, I like my doctors. And maybe they're right; maybe my
situation is just a tragically absurd coincidence. Then again, maybe the
vaccine did mess with my immune system in some weird manner. The uncomfortable
truth is that neither of us know which version is correct. But it will never
cease to frustrate me that they, along with the system to which they belong,
prefer to conjure up a magical fungus fairy than to even contemplate an
investigation into the inconvenient possibility of the vaccine's involvement.
That is faith, not science, and certainly not good medicine.
Will my treatments conquer the mushrooms in my lungs? Will I find some kind
soul whose scientific curiosity outweighs our toxic politics? Will the system
embody the humility appropriate to a work of human hands? Will those who know
better speak up if the system fails to act justly? Will the vaccine injured be
made whole? Will we love as our Parent calls us to love? I do not know. But I
have
hope.
P.S. Thank you, Pfizer, for the 50th birthday present. Strange grace, indeed!