“We are running against time,” he said…
— Public health expert Chunhuei Chi, as quoted in “How long will the coronavirus vaccines protect you?” in the Washington Post, March 29, 2021
In 1919, the Odorono (‘Odor? Oh, no!’) company was struggling to convince women that they needed to apply a deodorizing compound to their underarms on a daily basis. One of the problems they faced was an advertising conundrum: in 1919, you couldn’t use the word “armpit” in polite conversation. But maybe you could say, “The curve of a woman’s arm”?
The general sales pitch, framed as a frank discussion of a subject too often avoided:
What if your handsome date… the man with whom you’ve been longing to spend a romantic evening… what if he noticed an ‘odor’ coming from your body… and never called again?
By 1927, thanks to an aggressive advertising campaign, the Odorono company was seeing $1 million in annual deodorant sales — to women. It was time to start convincing men that they, too, would be more successful — in business, and in love — if they rubbed a deodorant under their arms.
One application could provide all-day protection. No, a deodorant couldn’t prevent you from acting like an idiot, but it least you wouldn’t stink while doing so.
I’m thinking about protection this morning, because some forms of protection have a time limit.
I happen to be among the more than 95 million people in the United States who’ve had at least one dose of a coronavirus vaccine. You may still be awaiting your turn.
But you might also be wondering: How long will the vaccine really protect us?
Surprisingly, considering the amount of money our governments are spending on the vaccines, we have no idea. When I spend $6.38 (plus tax) on Old Spice High Endurance Deodorant, I have considerable confidence that I will not ruin my romantic date, smelling like I actually smell. But when I get my next vaccine shot… well, how long… will it last? And more importantly, how long will I feel safe, going on a romantic date?
Based on clinical trials, experts believe vaccine-induced protection should last a minimum of about three months. Based on my own personal trials, it takes longer than three months of dating to get the first kiss.
Research into ‘natural immunity’ — the folks who caught a real COVID infection (from kissing or other harmless activities) — suggests that people who had more severe cases developed a stronger immune reaction than those who barely noticed that they had it.
How long will ‘vaccine immunity’ last? To quote the Washington Post, “Federal health authorities have not provided a definitive answer to this question.”
Well, that’s par for the course. Getting any kind of straight answer out of federal authorities is like pulling teeth.
But we all know that no protection lasts forever. An application of Old Spice might last the evening, if you’re lucky.
And a coronavirus vaccine might last three month, if you’re lucky. The vaccine supposedly causes your body to make antibodies, and antibodies are like the rest of us — all full of vim and vigor at first, but then, when they find out there’s no action going on, they get bored and start spending all day and night watching Netflix.
Some experts believe your antibodies — even if they’ve become fat and lazy — will jump up and charge into battle when the evil virus shows up. Whether fat, lazy anti-bodies are something to get excited about, I can’t say. Our public health officials seem to get excited about almost everything.
As do the pharmaceutical companies. Pfizer and Moderna are conducting clinical trials to determine if a ‘booster shot’ will extend protective immunity — which would allow them to sell more vaccines at $37 a dose. Makes perfect sense to me. And Johnson & Johnson is now testing a two-dose version of its vaccine… probably because their single-dose shot put them at a financial disadvantage, compared to the two (or more) doses required by Pfizer and Moderna.
Then we have the problem of “variants”. The coronavirus doesn’t seem to want to play fair, and keeps changing its hairstyle to look like someone different.
To me, the same girl with a different hairstyle is still the same girl.
But a girl with a vaccine that’s less than three months old? Now that’s the girl for me!
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.