More Breaking News!
I owe more stories from more ports, but something dramatic happened yesterday that I have to tell you about first. We woke up in Mykonos, Greece. I was super excited to see the gorgeous little island. White houses with blue shutters climbing up the hills overlooking the incredible colors of the sea!
We had a late tour thankfully. We were up drinking coffee when Wendy stopped by for our COVID tests. No problem. We went to breakfast, back down for showers, and then decided to head up to the pool deck for bloody Mary’s and to watch the docking. The pool area was windy and crowded and oddly very loud thanks to a kids’ movie showing on blast above the pools. We decided to take our drinks to the very back of the boat to this great hidden gem of a bar that no one ever seemed to be at. And indeed, it was quiet and not crowded at all!
We were coming around the side of Mykonos to dock - so pretty close. Sitting on comfy chairs, sipping our drinks, watching the amazing view. And then I saw Wendy walking towards us. I smiled and waved while my brain did the most amazing thing. All at once, converging thoughts, “Oh, look! There’s Wendy! What’s she doing up here? Why’s she walking so fast towards us? Wait. No. No. No.”
But yes.
She leaned down and quietly said, “I’m sorry. You need to come with me to your cabin and call medical.”
This is what the crushing of hopes and dreams feels like. One second before, I was about to walk off onto the shore of a place I’ve only dreamt about. But this second, I was walking to my cabin trying to accept a whole lot of thoughts that were now blowing through my mind.
Once in the room, we were told just to wait there until medical called. I’d say maybe 30 minutes or so later, they called. I tested positive for COVID. Jason did not. On the plus side, he was free to leave. I had to sit tight and take another test. In the morning, everyone took the rapid antigen test. I was now waiting for the PCR test.
I’m a very optimistic person. I don’t dwell on things. I move forward quickly. I was trying really hard to not think about everything I was going to miss. Just trying to stay in the moment.
Jason went on to the tour, with much urging from me. Doesn’t do him any good to sit in the room with me. It would probably make me feel worse, honestly, because then I’d also feel bad about ruining his trip.
Around 2, finally a knock on the door with my second test. This time, the nurse administered it and really rammed it up there good. With all the drinking I’ve been doing on the cruise, I hoped I’d still test positive for having brain cells. She said unfortunately, there had been a lot of positive tests that morning so she had a lot of PCR tests to do. Sit tight. Give it 1-2 hours and they’d let me know.
I sat tight for about 4-5 hours. I was mostly ok during that time. A few tears. Trying to push off the impending sadness. Trying to keep hope that maybe the morning test was a false positive. It’s possible!
Jason came back from the tour. I had just gotten the call. Positive again. My heart hurt.
So now, I had to sit tight and wait for someone to get me and move me to isolation. Around 9 PM, I was ready to go to bed. I’d been sitting in my room since 11 am. I’d eaten a very bland tuna sandwich. And just sat there being sad. I was tired of the day. But, I needed to move rooms before sleeping.
Jason called to ask what was going on. They said someone was coming.
An hour later, he called again.
After that, someone called me and asked if I had symptoms. I said no. He asked if I was getting of the next morning or in Barcelona. I said Barcelona. He said ok then I need you to move. I said I know. I’ve been waiting to move for 4+ hours. I’m tired. I want to go to bed. He said someone was coming.
At that, I said screw it. I’m going to bed. Jason went to get in the shower. When he got in the shower, there was a knock at the door. So, I got out of bed and answered it. A man in a hazmat suit said, “ma’am. You want me to sanitize your room?” I just stared at him. “Ma’am. I clean your room because your husband is sick?”
I’m so confused. He’s not sick. I’m sick. And I’m still in the dang room. What is happening?? So I said. No.
And then he was confused.
I closed the door on him and went back to bed.
An hour later, 2 more hazmat dudes came for me. Jason woke me up. They put my backpack in a plastic bag and wheeled in on a luggage cart. They apologized to Jason for bothering him. His mouth fell open. He said, “apologize to her. You had to wake her up to move her!” They looked at me confused.
We walked down to the quarantine floor, which is on 8, 4 floors below. No one said anything. They opened the door for me and I walked in. That was it. Nothing said.
A thermometer and a letter were waiting. The letter is informing someone that they might have been exposed to COVID. Clearly, I need a different version of this letter.
The room is ok. It is a lot smaller that my regular cabin but I do have a balcony so I can get fresh air. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have a couch or a bathtub. Both would be nice since I’ll be sitting here by myself for 6 days.
I don’t really know if it will be 6 days. I don’t know anything still. I took my temperature because I have a thermometer and nothing else to do. It was 36. I googled the Fahrenheit conversion. No fever.
So, I went sleep.
Woke up around 4. We were docking in Athens. This lower level is much louder! I would have made the most of it and made some coffee and watched, but I don’t have a coffee set up in here. All I have is 4 cups and faucet water. Which is better than no cups!
At 6:30, I ordered a bucket of ice and a coffee/tea setup. It said delivered.
It was not.
At 7, I ordered a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich. It was delivered to Jason.
At 10, I ordered the ice bucket and coffee service again. It said delivered.
It wasn’t.
At 11, I called and asked for them to be delivered. The guy goes, “Ma’am. Please. We are still setting the rooms. I will inform you.” I said, “What will you inform me of?” “He said room 314.” And that was it.
So, I have been informed of room 314.
In the meantime, I am thankful for my tap water.
Jason, always my hero, set about figuring something out. We’ve made friends with a lot of crew and we figure there is some underground prison like system to smuggle me in a pack of smokes. And by that I mean an ice bucket and a coffee pot. Our maitre’d pal told him I could get anything from the dining room menus - which is a big bonus because the room service menu is very lacking- a hamburger. A hot dog. A tuna sandwich. Only one breakfast item - the egg sandwich. I can’t eat just those things for the next 18 meals.
So, we’ll attempt to get some real food up in here later. Jason had them send me some eggs and fruit. Still no drinks. No ice.
I’m not allowed to leave my room. Sure, I could leave my medallion in my room and sneak out. But I can’t get back in. They didn’t put our names on the rooms- so I can’ unlock the door. I also can’t order from the TV because you have to select who is ordering, and since I’m not technically in this room, that screen is blank and I can’t move forward. I think this is why when I ordered from my phone app, it was delivered to my old room.
Now, these medallions we have are interesting. This is how Wendy knew exactly where I was sitting- on deck 16 aft, on the center couch, when she came to tell me I had covid. They can track exactly where we are. This can be good. They know when everyone is on board. They’d know where you were if you fainted or collapsed. This is also…ah, sketchy.
Anyway, I can’t break out of the clink because they’d know where I was if I brought my medallion and I can’t get back into the room if I leave.
This morning, I texted the crew chat and asked what I was supposed to be doing. I let them know I was given the wrong letter - I need the one with instructions for those who have tested positive.
They said, “You will get a letter.” Very helpful. Thank you.
I asked if I got tested daily and if I could leave when I test negative. They said I would get a letter.
Sigh.
So, I’ve been locked down for 24 hours. 12 in the quarantine room. I know nothing except that one guy said 6 days. But then he said the date and that was 7 days. So, perhaps if I test negative on day 6 or 7 I will have the last 1-2 days of the cruise to enjoy.
Jason now has to test every morning at 8. If he is negative, he can keep going and doing whatever. This morning, he was again negative so I hope he is enjoying Athens today.
As for me, I’m sad. I’ll miss Mykonos, Athens, Santorini, Kotor, Naples…sea days. But worse was really the abruptness of it. It’s suddenly just all gone. No more dinners or glasses of wine with friends. No chance to visit our crew friends. No last visits to the shops. No way to buy those lemon napkins I wanted. No last dinner and toast with Jason. Shoot, I can’t see Jason at all.
I hadn’t yet wrestled with the cruise ending. I hadn’t yet thought through those last experiences and goodbyes. The things I wanted to say to the people I’ve gotten to know. It feels very unfair to have it just be gone.
And if you know my freedom loving heart, you know that just the loss of ability to move around hurts. To just go up on deck and walk around.
I feel sad for the lost joy and anticipation of the adventures I’d been looking forward to.
My rational brain is doing all the things. There are worse things. At least I’m not really sick. At least this or that. And all that’s true.
But what’s also true is I’m sad at what I’m losing. I’m sad that Jason has told me for 9 years that one day he’d take me to Santorini and we will arrive there tomorrow and I’ll be sitting in this little cabin and he’ll be out there somewhere.
I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. Maybe we will come back. All those things. And also, sadness.
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