On a sunny April day, when I should have been applying for a fellowship, I was procrastinating. Instead of finishing the paperwork due in a week, I was at a seniors home doing vaccine outreach. A mobile clinic would visit in a few days to vaccinate residents. My task was to ask if they wanted the first dose. During the hour-long training, I thought, “No matter how many scenarios we run through, something is going to come up.”

My roster listed 25 apartments. Within minutes, I checked off five. Some were vaccinated, some had appointments, and some didn’t respond to my knocks. As I approached the sixth unit, the door next to it opened. An elderly gentleman peeked out and said, “I'll wait for you.” Thanking him for his patience, I finished the task at hand.

Afterwards, when I knocked on his door, he was ready — health card, prescriptions, and a pouch brimming with pill bottles in hand.

“I've been waiting for someone to help register me,” he said with a smile. It disappeared the moment I said he wasn't on my roster.

“He should be on your list,” said the superintendent, who was working in the hallway.

I explained the rosters were divided by language; this resident was probably on another list. Nonetheless, I tried calling the co-ordinator. When I couldn’t get through, the super volunteered to get her. Asking the resident to wait again, I went down my list, knocking on other doors. Shortly, the super returned — alone.

“That's OK. I'll add him to my roster,” I said.

It took 30 minutes to register the resident — from explaining mobile clinic logistics, to ensuring he understood he needed to sit while being injected, to completing his consent form. As I filled out the paperwork, I learned that he lived alone and had struggled to secure a vaccination appointment. He told me about his relief when he saw the notice board advertising door-to-door registrations. With his limited English and multiple health issues, he struggled with forms and applications, he explained.

The whole time I was terrified. What if I accidentally “contaminated” him? His various conditions required me to stand in his doorway and holler through my multi-layered mask. But finally he was on my list as a handwritten line item. As I left, I saw the co-ordinator coming down the hall. He was on her roster.

“How was your first shift?” the co-ordinator later asked me during the debrief.

“Fulfilling,” I said, “and feeling a tad philosophical about aging, singlehood, etc.”

On the streetcar back, I had a good cry. When I got home, I looked at the fellowship application, two-thirds completed. It could wait. I crawled into bed and took a nap.