It took 48 weeks, but I finally got the shot.

That’s right. It took just 48 weeks from the time the CDC declared the pandemic for Big Pharma to conjure up a vaccine and protect me from harm. Talk about a speed record.

All I had to do was unbutton my shirt, exposing my flaccid 80-year-old shoulder to a smiling woman who walked up to my car window. She asked me a few questions and slid a slender needle into my left arm.

For the record, I didn’t die – at least not yet. I didn’t sprout a horn from the back of my head. My hair didn’t grow back and I didn’t go into cardiac arrest. The only adverse reaction was a little boo-boo on my shoulder. No big deal. They told me to come back in a month for shot #2.

It all took place at the 500-acre VA campus not far from Augusta called Togus. Like many Maine terms, the name Togus is a remnant of a Native American word supposedly describing a mineral spring, at least that is what Wikipedia says. Togus started in 1858 when a granite industry big shot built a 134-room resort hotel on the property. His dream failed. After the Civil War, the government bought it as part of a national system to care for wounded Union volunteer soldiers.

That is what it is today, a health care and hospital facility for veterans. Despite the unusual name, they run a pretty slick vaccination operation.

My adventure began a week or so ago when I got a cold phone call from a woman who asked if I would like to get vaccinated for COVID.

Like the rest of you, I have seen TV shots of people waiting in long lines to get vaccinated against the virus that has taken 400,000 American lives. For the record, folks in my age group made up the largest group of fatalities.

Did I want the shot? Of course, I told her. It was not a hard call. Like the country music song says: “Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to go now.”

So, the nice VA woman gave me a day and a time. Just drive to Togus, and they will show you where to park, she said. And they did.

Last Friday, we drove up the east side of the Kennebec River, took a right turn and, after a couple of miles, entered the facility.

A chilly wind was blowing wisps of snow over the vast old campus.

Following instructions, I pulled up to a guy wearing a bright green traffic vest and asked for directions. He glanced at a clipboard, found my name and said to turn around and park behind a big black Ram pickup. I did, joining a line of parked cars.

After about a 10-minute wait, the black pickup moved, we followed it and parked on a little hill. About five minutes later, the line moved again, creeping down the hill into a parking lot. We had not been stopped for a minute or so when a group of women, all wearing the same bright green traffic vests, walked towards us.

A smiling woman, sporting jaunty twin pigtails, tapped on my window. While I sat in a warm SUV, she stood in the cold. After a couple of questions, she jabbed me. Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way.

In the last several years, we have seen stories outlining foul-ups in the system set up to care for the nation’s veterans.

I am not going to go through them, chapter and verse. As a veteran whose less than heroic mini military career spanned a total of two years, two months and 10 days, I always wondered if the complaints were valid. But when other vets gave Togus a thumbs up, I signed up. It was a good choice.

In recent weeks, like other seniors, I called the MaineHealth phone line hoping to get in the vaccination queue. No one called.

Then, about 10 days ago, out of the blue, I got a call. It was not MaineHealth, but the Togus VA. That was the call that led to the shot. A few days later when Maine Health called, I declined their offer.

Somehow, before I even asked for the vaccine, the VA, the same troubled agency targeted by critics for all sorts of problems, figured out I was eligible for the first round of shots and called me. Not bad service, eh? I can’t wait for shot number two.

For their efforts, I offer my thanks.