I was feeling a bit better, but Meg and I decided I should see the doctor anyway. As we waited in the once again packed waiting room, we got to talking to another couple next to us. Both of them had the exact same problem I did, as did 2 of their friends. All of us ate at about the same time in the same cafe. I take a small comfort in the fact that there isn’t necessarily something wrong with me so much as a bad batch of something at breakfast.

I finally get to see the doctor and realize why he’s working on a cruise ship instead of, say, a real practice. He has the bedside manners of Hannibal Lecter. He prescribes some stuff for me. That’s the “good news”. The bad news is that I have to be in isolation for 24 hours to prevent any possible spread, where isolation simply meant not to leave my room.

I really didn’t plan on honoring it. If they are allowed to distribute shit eggs freely, I was sure as hell gonna walk around. It was a day at sea, which made it a much smaller deal since I didn’t miss any excursions. But in the end, I slept most of the day and couldn’t muster the energy to be rebellious anyway.

I see the nurse on the way out, who is also dripping with personality. She gives me a shot – in my ass – and some pills to take. She tells me to come back the next morning to get cleared from isolation, which would re-enable my boarding pass and let me leave the ship again.

All in all, it could be much worse. There were people there with broken bones. The sunburn I got on spring break in Aruba was significantly more difficult to live with, since I couldn’t even sleep. And there is something relaxing about spending an entire day in bed watching TV. Meg still got to go up to the pool and stuff, so while she was a little bored it wasn’t an entire waste for her.


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