In Praise of Travel Insurance...

This is the first time we decided to buy travel insurance for our cruise. Even though we hope not to use it, I have to admit it gives me real peace of mind. Especially after what happened this morning...

We've been at sea for a number of days (Read: Since left Kona, Hawai'i and breezed past Fanning Island without stopping, I don't remember the last time the floor wasn't rocking under my feet!) But as we came alongside the windward side of the beautiful island of Rarotonga, I didn't hold out much hope. There's no pier here, so the cruise ship has to drop anchor, lower the tenders (which double as life boats) and ferry passengers to shore in groups of 120 or so.

The captain did his best. He tried several different times to situate the Westerdam so she wouldn't drift in the rolling swells. The anchor wouldn't hold. The tenders were pitching so violently alongside, there was no way they could allow non-crew members to make the leap from the platform near the waterline into the open tender hatch. One misstep and someone could be crushed between the tender and the ship. So the captain cancelled the port of call.

However, the crew of the Westerdam put half a dozen tenders into the water to ferry in the donations the ship had intended to leave at Fanning Island. The Red Cross on Rarotonga was happy to meet them at the dock to receive the goods and promised to try to send some of it to Fanning. Then one of the passengers, who's medical situation was more than the ship's infirmary could deal with, was lifted carefully on a gurney and taken by tender to the waiting ambulance, and an emergency medical airlift to Australia. 

Let me be quick to say that cruising is one of the best ways for someone with health challenges to travel. There are a number of guests who, like me, require supplemental O2. There are many wheelchairs and motorized scooters on board. There are even a few blind passengers. The crew bends over backward to help. And the fact that there is a fully staffed medical center with doctors and nurses, x-ray machines and all sorts of bells and whistles, means they can take care of lots of things that come up.

But when they can't, the Holland American line moves heaven and earth to get their guests to on shore help. And that's where travel insurance comes in. 

If, God forbid, something happened that required Brian or I to need to be airlifted home, the insurance we bought will spend up to a million dollars to get us there. Since we're sort of in the middle of nowhere, (the Pacific Ocean is the largest geographic feature on the planet, after all!) emergency medical flights from here might just run up to that. It's comforting to know we've got it covered just in case.

So now we're on our way to Raiatea and real pier. It's almost time for another splendid supper in the Vista dining room and the show tonight is an Elton John impersonator. We should recognize a lot of the songs. 

Even if we haven't been able to walk the beaches on Rarotonga, life is good. And we feel very safe on the Westerdam. 

Things I've Never Done on a Cruise Ship...

I've done several things on this cruise that I've never done on a ship before. For example:

1. I sent clothes out to be laundered. I've used the self-serve laundromat on cruise ships before, but the Westerdam doesn't have one. Hence, the need to let someone else fold my undies.
2. I sang karioke.  Yes, I have a music degree and all, but I've never stood up in front of a bunch of strangers with a microphone and tried to sing to a taped accompaniment. Until this trip.
3. I found out first hand where the infirmary is.  

Yep, I made a trip to the shipboard doc yesterday. But it wasn't for me. My DH developed a bad cough and when his eyes started looking red and infected, I insisted that he visit the infirmary. The doc fixed him up with antibiotic eye drops and a stronger decongestant than we'd brought with us. He's resting well and feeling better now.

And the fourth thing I've never done on a cruise ship:

        4. I decided not to go ashore to protect the natives. 

When Captain Cook first visited the Hawaiian Islands in the 18th century, he estimated there were almost a million inhabitants. Within 70 years, there were only 88,000. The English brought new diseases for which the islanders had no immunity whatsoever.  

Before the captain cancelled our call to the remote island of Tabuaeran (details on my author blog The Coldwater Gazette), the DH and I had already decided we'd remain on board ship. If we're bearing viruses, we want to keep them to ourselves.

That goes for our fellow passengers too. A ship is sort of a floating petri dish. We've been keeping to our cabin while this cold virus works its way out of our systems. When we do venture out, we take pains not to touch anything and make frequent use of the hand sanitizers. 

Of course, I do that anyway since my immune system is suppressed by the meds I take. But now I'm doing it to protect others instead of feeling precious about myself. 

That's actually a nice change. 

Finding the strawberry in the situation...

I try to look on the bright side. I really do.

But sometimes, lugging around Herkimer gets a little tiresome. My POC (Portable Oxygen Concentrator) makes my mobility possible, but he's also awkward in tight places and in a crowd I live in fear that someone will trip over his rolling cart.

It helps that when we leave the ship for the uneven ground of a shore excursion, my DH wears Herkimer on his back. Of course, this means we're tethered together by my 7 ft. cannula, but fortunately, we enjoy each other's company. Occasionally, we get tangled up and have to do a few pirouettes, but then we soldier on.

So, there's the strawberry in the situation. I may be dependent on Herkimer for the extra O2 I need, but I'm so tremendously blessed to have a husband I can count on to help lighten my load.

I need him like I need my next breath. And because of him, even with this lung disease, I'm the luckiest woman alive.

How to Read a Map

Well, sometimes plans change. We didn't fly to San Diego. (If you'd like to know why, check out my author blog for the whole story.) We decided to drive instead.

In many ways, driving is easier than flying if you're using supplemental O2. Herkimer (my Portable Oxygen Concentrator) can be plugged in and I don't have to worry about changing batteries. Plus I don't need him when I'm driving or riding in the van if I'm not at a higher elevation than about 3000 ft.

What I didn't consider is that from Amarillo, Texas to Flagstaff, AZ the route is almost a constant climb, with much of the way above a mile high. Flagstaff itself tops out at over 7000 ft. Even at that elevation, if I use Herkimer, I can maintain a healthy O2 sat while seated, but any sort of activity reduces me to a slug-like state.

This makes me a little sad. I used to be a mountain person. I've lived in Colorado, Wyoming and Utah. Our house in Park City was at 7200 ft and I used to be able to hike in our neighborhood without huffing like an old horse.

But it was lovely to see some snow peaks again, even if I can't be active in them.

Fortunately, it was all downhill from Flagstaff. In fact, once we crossed over from Yuma to California, we actually dipped below sea level! The lowest the route dipped was -53. I actually felt like I was getting an oxygen rush!

Then I-8 starts a rapid ascent to over 4100 ft through the Vallecito Mountains. What an O2 roller coaster!

I did ok and we arrived alive in San Diego. We were careful to overnight in places that were low enough for Morpheus (my bi-pap) to keep me humming through the night. But from now on, when I plot out a route, I'll be sure to check for the little numbers on the map that indicate elevation.

Those are even more important for me than distance from Point A to B.