{"id":4772,"date":"2022-02-28T23:38:50","date_gmt":"2022-02-28T23:38:50","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/farefwd.com\/?p=4772"},"modified":"2022-03-31T22:41:21","modified_gmt":"2022-03-31T22:41:21","slug":"the-sticking-point","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/2022\/02\/28\/the-sticking-point\/","title":{"rendered":"The Sticking Point"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t

The Sticking Point<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

A woman\u2019s bureaucratic errand becomes a journey through memory and grief.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

By Sarah Clark<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

It was a huge relief when I found out that I got into graduate school. Obviously, any time you\u2019re accepted to a program you\u2019re excited about, there\u2019s a tremendous amount of excitement and validation involved. But for me, in my early thirties and between careers, so to speak, after a recent move across the country, the prospect of having something I really wanted to do in the fall of 2020 was a godsend. I celebrated. I cried a little. I sent in my tuition payment, housing forms, and official transcripts. I also had to submit a form documenting that I was up to date on all of my vaccinations.<\/p>

Of course, when I was enrolling in graduate school in August of 2020, that form did feel a little, well, unnecessary. Counterproductive, even. Because I wasn\u2019t going to be on campus with a bunch of other students, and in fact, I hadn\u2019t seen much of anyone but my husband in months. After sheltering in place and avoiding other people and public places since March, the last thing I wanted to do in the middle of a global pandemic was go to a doctor\u2019s office to have this vaccination form signed off on. Exposing myself to the novel coronavirus to prove I couldn\u2019t pass any almost-extinct childhood diseases on to people I was never going to be in the same room with didn\u2019t seem like such a slam-dunk victory for public health.<\/p>

But okay, fine, I had to do it. And I am fully vaccinated. In fact, I\u2019m actually more vaccinated than most people, because in addition to the full range of childhood immunizations and the tetanus shot I had to get a couple of years back after stabbing myself in the shin with a rake, I\u2019ve also been immunized against malaria, yellow fever, and cholera. My body is practically a fortress against disease. And as an added bonus, I\u2019m not the least afraid of needles.<\/p>

I knew I had all of my vaccination records, too, because unlike many people my age, I have possession of all of my own official documents. I even have my report cards, from first grade all the way to high school. They had been in a box my father handed me once, saying, \u201cI think this is your stuff,\u201d along with an ethernet cable, a frisbee emblazoned with the logo from a dentist\u2019s office, and a padded satin clothing hanger\u2014none of which I had ever seen before. It also contained my brother\u2019s old teddy bear, a gray plastic desk organizer, and my high school diploma, which I had better not lose because there will be no replacing it\u2014the school that issued it is gone, the land sold and the buildings razed. I\u2019m sure there\u2019s a metaphor in there somewhere.<\/p>

So I made an appointment at the local urgent care, and I filled in the dates for all my doses of the TDAP, the MMR, all the childhood standards. (They didn\u2019t care about the malaria.) So far so good\u2014until I got to the final entry.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Once you\u2019re infected with this virus, it lives on in your body for the rest of your life\u2014that\u2019s why you can\u2019t get chicken pox more than once. Once it\u2019s inside you, it\u2019s like your blood type\u2014or your family. No one can see it, but it\u2019s part of you.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Varicella (colloquially known as chicken pox) is a relatively new vaccine. According to the CDC, it was first developed in the 1970s, but it didn\u2019t come into use in the United States until 1995. Since I was born in 1989, I was not vaccinated against the chicken pox. In fact, when I was a child the commonsense solution was to make sure your kids got chicken pox early to get it over with, so when my older brother came home from kindergarten covered in spots, we spent the afternoon playing make-believe in our shared bedroom in the attic of my parents\u2019 restored farmhouse. I was soon red and itchy myself, but I survived with nothing worse than a few small scars on my hands from scratching the sores more than I should have. I\u2019d like to say that\u2019s something I\u2019ve gotten better at since then.<\/p>

Since I was never vaccinated for varicella, I could not provide proof of vaccination. Fortunately, there was another option: you could provide proof of having had varicella. In theory, your parents, or your childhood doctor, might have records of this. I considered my options. First, I knew there was no chance my father had such a record, because he had meticulously evicted anything and everything that might have belonged or pertained to me from his house already (remember the dentist frisbee?). I considered calling him and asking if he remembered who my childhood doctor was\u2014I did not remember who I had seen when I was four or five, because we had lived in three countries on two continents since then (hence the immunizations against tropical diseases). The idea was as soon discarded as thought of. My father can no longer remember from week to week that I\u2019ve been accepted to graduate school. My mother might have remembered, but we had scattered her ashes on the Blue Ridge Parkway the August before, and she had taken her memories with her.<\/p>

Fortunately, the immunization form offered me one last shot: in the absence of records of either vaccination or infection, you could have your doctor do a titer, taking a small sample of blood and sending it to the lab to test for the requisite antibodies. Once you\u2019re infected with this virus, it lives on in your body for the rest of your life\u2014that\u2019s why you can\u2019t get chicken pox more than once. Once it\u2019s inside you, it\u2019s like your blood type\u2014or your family. No one can see it, but it\u2019s part of you.<\/p>

I duly went to my appointment, presented all of my paperwork, and had my blood drawn. The doctor wouldn\u2019t sign the form before the results of the titer came back, but he said I could leave it with him until the following week, when the lab would get back to us and the form would be ready. Done and done.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

It was starting to feel like every part of this process had been designed to remind me that I had no family anymore, no home to go back to, no support system in this new place.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

The following week, a little delayed since the lab was backed up with COVID tests, I got an email letting me know I could log in and see the results of my titer. It was negative.\u00a0<\/p>

I was utterly baffled. You see, I know<\/em> I\u2019ve had chicken pox. It isn\u2019t just the vague memory or the scars on my hands. I know I\u2019ve had chicken pox because I\u2019ve also had shingles. Shingles is the other side effect of the varicella virus living in your system forever\u2014usually it remains dormant and you get to keep your antibodies, but every once in a while it reactivates and starts to attack your nerves. No one knows exactly what triggers shingles, but outbreaks are common in people with lowered immune responses. Age is one factor that lowers immune responses. Grief is another. It is excruciatingly painful, and you can get it more than once.<\/p>

I was 28 when I had shingles and having the worst year of my life. My mother-in-law had died suddenly in her sleep that summer at age 54, leaving us reeling from the shock. At the same time, my own mother was dying of leukemia at 69 while my father, her primary caregiver, acted increasingly unhinged (remember the ethernet cable?). A year and a half later, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer\u2019s, giving us a neat box into which to fit his increasingly frequent lapses of memory (right next to the plastic desk organizer).<\/p>

I lay on the couch for a month, unable to work or concentrate while agony traced a line along the nerve from the middle of my back around my side to my sternum. The pain eventually subsided, went away for a while, and then returned in the spot on my back where the rash had first broken out, though now with no visible symptoms. My doctor theorized that the severity of my outbreak had damaged the nerve there, possibly permanently\u2014at any rate, it still hurts whenever I\u2019m tired or stressed (or filled with the grief I still don\u2019t know how to pacify or contain), and it probably will forever. It hurts right now, while I\u2019m writing this.<\/p>

Given all this, no one could explain why my titer came back negative. But the doctor couldn\u2019t in good conscience sign my form, and I couldn\u2019t get a shingles vaccine because they\u2019re reserved for those over fifty\u2014because young people aren\u2019t at risk for shingles. I was left trying to find someone in the middle of a global pandemic who would give me a varicella shot. That\u2019s supposed to be your primary care doctor, but I didn\u2019t have one, because my husband and I moved right before the pandemic hit. We had put off annual check-ups (and most other activities) and stayed at home like we were supposed to. More than in any particular place, we felt as if we just lived in our apartment. Even when I finally found a pharmacy that said they had a varicella vaccine on hand when I called denied having ever carried such a thing when I showed up in person.<\/p>

This was starting to feel like a conspiracy. Like every part of this process had been designed to remind me that I had no family anymore, no home to go back to, no support system in this new place. I felt uprooted and alone. Which was stupid, right? Because all that was really happening was that I was failing to check some nonsensical bureaucratic boxes. I wanted to cry\u2014and not just a few small tears tastefully trickling down behind my mask. I was on the verge of a total breakdown in this bright, cheerful pharmacy lobby. I wanted to beg this pharmacist and the doctor at the urgent care and the registrar just to believe<\/em> me that I know this virus is living inside me. I know where it came from. I know where I<\/em> came from. I remember. But I couldn\u2019t speak. I knew my voice would shake and the tears would start.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

I am growing more used to knowing that the family I used to have is gone. It isn\u2019t coming back.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

In the end, I did get a shot that day. As I forced out a quavering thanks and turned to go, the pharmacist told me to wait. She made a few calls, found me a dose of the varicella vaccine at the nearby hospital\u2019s walk-in clinic, and told me how to get there and where to park. It was exceedingly kind, and when I got out to my car, I did cry. Mostly out of gratitude, but also from lingering frustration. My victory, in the end, was to get a vaccination that I didn\u2019t need, for a disease that I currently suffer from.<\/p>

What I need are the things that being able to fill out that form without an unnecessary vaccine implies: a family, a community, and a home. As the second anniversary of my mother\u2019s death recedes into the past and the third anniversary of my mother-in-law\u2019s death approaches, I am growing more used to knowing that the family I used to have is gone. It isn\u2019t coming back. The homes I lived in as a child are gone, a continent away or sold to some other family who have made them into a home of their own. Even if I could go back, I wouldn\u2019t recognize them anymore. They are no longer mine. All that\u2019s left of them is the memories, and those abide, even if I\u2019m the only one who remembers them.<\/p>

But at the same time, my husband and I are making a new home here. We moved from our apartment to a house, and we\u2019re planning a garden for this spring and choosing fruit trees to plant. A dear friend has moved in right down the road, and we\u2019ve started meeting our neighbors. We signed up to bring the coffee hour snacks at church. We\u2019re putting down roots.<\/p>

Six months after I finally got my varicella vaccine, I opened my computer to find a new message from the immunizations compliance office: could I please submit paperwork documenting my second dose of the shot? My heart sank. The feelings of loneliness and overwhelming grief triggered by my first experience with this struggle threatened to rise to the surface again. But I pushed them back, sighed, and decided not to fight it this time. I called the hospital clinic and scheduled an appointment to get my second dose the day after spring finals ended.<\/p>

I was tired the day I went in for that appointment, and annoyed that I had to be there. I had a lot of plans for the summer, and I wanted nothing more than to get this over with without any fuss. The resident I was seeing was sympathetic when I explained why I was there. She asked me if I wanted to get the second shot, or if I\u2019d rather try again with a titer, since I didn\u2019t really need it. I considered that but opted for the shot. Whether I needed it or not, I didn\u2019t want to have to come back for yet another appointment if the titer inexplicably came back negative once again. That was fine, she told me. The only thing was that since the varicella vaccine contains a live virus, I\u2019d need to get a pregnancy test done first.<\/p>

So that was the day I found out I was pregnant with my daughter\u2014the day my family once again began to grow instead of shrinking. Instead of a vaccine I didn\u2019t need, I came home with a prescription for prenatal vitamins that I did, and with the blossoming feeling that I was going to be spending the next weeks and years looking forward instead of back. \u00a0<\/p>

And a few weeks later, my titer came back positive too.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

Sarah Clark<\/strong> lives in New Hampshire with her husband and daughter. She is a founding editor of <\/em>Fare Forward and the current editor-in-chief, and she owns Scale House Print Shop, a letterpress printing studio. She is currently working towards her MAR at Yale Divinity School. <\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A woman\u2019s bureaucratic errand becomes a journey through memory and grief.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":56,"featured_media":4773,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"elementor_header_footer","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ocean_post_layout":"","ocean_both_sidebars_style":"","ocean_both_sidebars_content_width":0,"ocean_both_sidebars_sidebars_width":0,"ocean_sidebar":"0","ocean_second_sidebar":"0","ocean_disable_margins":"enable","ocean_add_body_class":"","ocean_shortcode_before_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_after_top_bar":"","ocean_shortcode_before_header":"","ocean_shortcode_after_header":"","ocean_has_shortcode":"","ocean_shortcode_after_title":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_widgets":"","ocean_shortcode_before_footer_bottom":"","ocean_shortcode_after_footer_bottom":"","ocean_display_top_bar":"default","ocean_display_header":"default","ocean_header_style":"","ocean_center_header_left_menu":"0","ocean_custom_header_template":"0","ocean_custom_logo":0,"ocean_custom_retina_logo":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_width":0,"ocean_custom_logo_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_tablet_max_height":0,"ocean_custom_logo_mobile_max_height":0,"ocean_header_custom_menu":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_family":"0","ocean_menu_typo_font_subset":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_size":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_font_size_unit":"px","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_font_weight_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_tablet":"","ocean_menu_typo_transform_mobile":"","ocean_menu_typo_line_height":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_line_height_unit":"","ocean_menu_typo_spacing":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_tablet":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_mobile":0,"ocean_menu_typo_spacing_unit":"","ocean_menu_link_color":"","ocean_menu_link_color_hover":"","ocean_menu_link_color_active":"","ocean_menu_link_background":"","ocean_menu_link_hover_background":"","ocean_menu_link_active_background":"","ocean_menu_social_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_bg":"","ocean_menu_social_links_color":"","ocean_menu_social_hover_links_color":"","ocean_disable_title":"default","ocean_disable_heading":"default","ocean_post_title":"","ocean_post_subheading":"","ocean_post_title_style":"","ocean_post_title_background_color":"","ocean_post_title_background":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_image_position":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_attachment":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_repeat":"","ocean_post_title_bg_image_size":"","ocean_post_title_height":0,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay":0.5,"ocean_post_title_bg_overlay_color":"","ocean_disable_breadcrumbs":"default","ocean_breadcrumbs_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_separator_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_color":"","ocean_breadcrumbs_links_hover_color":"","ocean_display_footer_widgets":"default","ocean_display_footer_bottom":"default","ocean_custom_footer_template":"0","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"ocean_post_oembed":"","ocean_post_self_hosted_media":"","ocean_post_video_embed":"","ocean_link_format":"","ocean_link_format_target":"self","ocean_quote_format":"","ocean_quote_format_link":"post","ocean_gallery_link_images":"off","ocean_gallery_id":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,65],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4772","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essays","category-issue-16","entry","has-media"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/farefwd.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/02\/files-g0fbc2a66a_1920.jpg?fit=1440%2C1038&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4772","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/56"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4772"}],"version-history":[{"count":27,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4772\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5187,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4772\/revisions\/5187"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4773"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4772"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4772"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/farefwd.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4772"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}