If you have read Part 4 of this series, you’ll discover that the cruise to Alaska really was a trip of a lifetime. But as I sit here typing more than two weeks after we returned, you will have also discovered that what I brought back with me was a souvenir I could surely do without.

                  On the Tuesday after our return, I started running a fever—a real fever: 102.4° F. It took me two days after that to feel up to taking a COVID test, an urgent request made by my housemate, B. The results were very clear: two dark lines, one under the C, one under the T. Oh, goody.

                  Despite my limited income, I have come to regard concierge medicine as necessary, not optional. I have used my internal medicine doctor, who practices functional medicine, for a few years now. Two years ago, she switched to the concierge system. Best transition either of us could have made! I gave the clinic a call and scheduled a telehealth conference. They sent me the link, and I sat in front of my desktop looking as pitiful as I felt. No one would have claimed either side to be AI-generated.

                  While waiting for a call-back for a telehealth visit, B and I hit the home health kit. Thankfully, following the directions contained in the kit, the medicine I took was the exact medicine my doctor prescribed! I have become a believer in those home health kits!

                  Back when COVID first hit the scene in 2019/2020 (in Seattle, one might note), I obtained some Ivermectin, 12 mg. I asked my doctor about taking that, and she gave me the dosage. A few days later, I was COVID-free. Hurrah!

                  But wait, there’s more.

                  From the onset, I did not think I had COVID; I thought I had caught a sinus infection from my housemate. Turns out I had caught both.

                  During the trip, B had suffered a severe allergic reaction to the very excursion that I had loved the most: The AlaskaX Musher’s Camp® & Sled Dog Adventure in Skagway. She is allergic to all things outdoors, so during that outing, I turned to her from our bus ride and asked how she was handling the forest. She replied that she had taken enough medications to protect her. At least she hoped she had. If only that were true. Two days after that adventure, she turned up with a 102.4°F fever! What a coincidence my own fever was! Well, being a mom, I did what I could to nurse her back to reasonable health. By Friday, she was doing OK. Good thing! Friday was our last full day on the ship!

                  That Friday night, the ship was porting in Alberta, Canada. I have a fellow Christian writer friend in Canada, but we were not able to meet due to logistics. Then I thought about those quizzes you sometimes see on social media that ask you about all the places you have traveled. Out of pure silly determination, I decided to visit Canada, even if that meant only putting a foot inside the “door.” B was still too sick to go with me. So I was alone.

                  What was I thinking, going out at night in a foreign country, with a crowd of people who did not know me from Eve, and me knowing them just as poorly! I have visual issues anyway. But after dark, those issues become a black gauze curtain essentially wrapping itself around my face. I have apparently developed a bit of either mazeophobia or athazagoraphobia, whichever one simply means I am afraid of getting lost.

                  Whatever the phobia’s proper name, it is rooted in my visual issues from when I was a small child. I was four or five, attending Vacation Bible School at a church located across the street, down a short alley, and across a large parking lot from our house—pretty much a straight shot. The church had a wonderful playground on one side of the parking lot that I was rather comfortable going to from time to time. But when it was time for me to go home from the actual church building, I stepped out into the parking lot and realized I couldn’t see where I was and had no idea how to get home. This was my first meltdown. Psychologists, have fun with that. But I digress.

                  So here I am, in Canada, alone, after dark, in an entirely different environment from any other I have been in. Hey! What could go wrong? It never once occurred to me that getting COVID was what might have gone wrong. And I don’t know that this is where I caught it, but the timing is about right.

Well, I got my selfie, followed the crowd blindly to a gift shop, got carried along in the crowd from aisle to aisle, actually bought something—I think—left the shop unscathed, found my way back to the terminal where we entered the country, successfully avoided a meltdown when the guard stopped me from passing through, found another gift shop, did not buy anything from it, but, leaving, I found the path that took me back to the ship. I was praying for guidance and thanking God the whole way. He did not disappoint, but I suspect He might have been shaking His head and smiling a bit.

                  The pathway was sparsely attended, and I could not see any signs. There was more than one ship, of course, so that was a tad daunting. But I eventually made it to the right ship and back to our room. We had packed and placed our luggage outside of the room before retiring.

                  Despite our having a 2:00 p.m. flight back home, we had to be up and at breakfast at 6:30 a.m. If you have read any of my previous posts, you will recognize this as another red flag. I do not do mornings. But there we were at breakfast. At 6:30 a.m. Ugh.

                  Eventually, we got to the airport, where, of course, I immediately got lost. B had TSA Pre-Check, and I did not. So I had to go through the lines. Heading out to Seattle, as traumatic as that was from DFW, we at least were able to meet at the same endpoint. Not so at SeaTac. New meltdown! This one was a doozy, too! No tantrum. Just visibly shaking. Breathing hard. Choking back tears. Looking around wildly while muttering prayers. Welcome to Seattle! I knew right away that I hated this place. (Sorry, Seattle!)

                  The TSA officer who had been sitting behind the desk watching me was very kind. He got up and helped me find where I was supposed to go. But it was about an hour before I was able to find B. And SeaTac was super crowded that morning! (Is that normal?)

                  B and I eventually met up and found a place to have lunch. Why was this table completely open while every single remaining table was full? We had no other options, and by then we were hungry again, so we ordered lunch. A very overworked but kind waitress helped us. We paid an exorbitant amount for our food ($61+!). But at least we were sated, and I was calmed down. Sort of.

                  Time to mosey around to the outrageously over-packed gate we were assigned. We stepped over people sitting on the floor; I might have rolled my carry-on over someone’s hand. Hopefully, it was just their jacket. I turned sideways to avoid calamity, and finally, we were in the seating area. Two separate flights were served by two adjoining gates. B wanted to sit in the “wrong” gate. I didn’t want to accidentally fly to Chicago. So I became petulant but compliant. That getting-lost thing was beyond beyond.

Finally, pre-boarding time came. Several disabled individuals were helped up the ramp. Some of those “disabled” looked suspiciously “abled.” But we were the next group, so up we went and boarded soon after the pre-boarders. (What exactly does pre-boarding mean? Isn’t that actually the first group, making First Class the second group in reality?)  The flight attendant smiled graciously and welcomed us. We each returned her greeting. It’s the nice thing to do.

                  We found our seats only three rows back and lugged our carry-ons into the overheads. B had to help me. I have pretty pitiful upper body strength, which is why I took Judo when I was younger. It’s a martial art form that was developed by a wimp. (ChatGPT states that it was not exactly created by a wimp, but that “Jigoro Kano was reportedlya small, physically weak child who was bullied.” Sorry, ChatGPT, but that’s a wimp.) And that’s a whole ‘nuther story.

We sat comfortably and watched the crowds pour past us. This time it wasn’t a shock, but I did pray for those poor people who would fly all squished together for the next four hours. Soon we would be served a refreshment. Yes, please! I could use a coffee!

                  But we were not served coffee. Nuts. That’s what we were given. Nuts. And what was all that coughing I heard behind us? As with the flight up to Seattle, there were no major annoyances or disruptions. But soon I noticed our flight attendant wearing a mask, gloves, and a stern look. Her professionalism was evident, but her eyes were wary. This was going to be an interesting flight after all.

                  Cough! Cough! Cough! Eventually, everyone in First Class was coughing up a storm. Oy.

                  We finally got back to DFW and found our friends waiting for us! What a blessing! Then the driver got lost. It wasn’t his fault. He was tired and following directions. By that time, I didn’t even care. We were in familiar territory, never mind the fact that we were going from DFW to Far North Dallas by way of downtown! (You’d have to be familiar with Dallas to understand the strangeness of this route.)

                  Ultimately, we arrived home at around 9:30 p.m. We thanked our friends profusely and sent them on their way. They were ready to get home, too!

                  On reflection regarding my illness, where exactly did I pick up COVID? The ship? Canada? Seattle? The plane? I’m pretty sure I picked up the upper respiratory infection from B when she was sick. But she never got COVID. And here I am, still utterly exhausted, on a second antibiotic, running intermittent fever, and dragging around in between short bouts of energy.

                  B tried to encourage me. Our next trip is to Hawaii!

                  God, help me!

                  If you have read Part 4 of this series, you’ll discover that the cruise to Alaska really was a trip of a lifetime. But as I sit here typing more than two weeks after we returned, you will have also discovered that what I brought back with me was a souvenir I could surely do without.

                  On the Tuesday after our return, I started running a fever—a real fever: 102.4° F. It took me two days after that to feel up to taking a COVID test, an urgent request made by my housemate, B. The results were very clear: two dark lines, one under the C, one under the T. Oh, goody.

                  Despite my limited income, I have come to regard concierge medicine as necessary, not optional. I have used my internal medicine doctor, who practices functional medicine, for a few years now. Two years ago, she switched to the concierge system. Best transition either of us could have made! I gave the clinic a call and scheduled a telehealth conference. They sent me the link, and I sat in front of my desktop looking as pitiful as I felt. No one would have claimed either side to be AI-generated.

                  While waiting for a call-back for a telehealth visit, B and I hit the home health kit. Thankfully, following the directions contained in the kit, the medicine I took was the exact medicine my doctor prescribed! I have become a believer in those home health kits!

                  Back when COVID first hit the scene in 2019/2020 (in Seattle, one might note), I obtained some Ivermectin, 12 mg. I asked my doctor about taking that, and she gave me the dosage. A few days later, I was COVID-free. Hurrah!

                  But wait, there’s more.

                  From the onset, I did not think I had COVID; I thought I had caught a sinus infection from my housemate. Turns out I had caught both.

                  During the trip, B had suffered a severe allergic reaction to the very excursion that I had loved the most: The AlaskaX Musher’s Camp® & Sled Dog Adventure in Skagway. She is allergic to all things outdoors, so during that outing, I turned to her from our bus ride and asked how she was handling the forest. She replied that she had taken enough medications to protect her. At least she hoped she had. If only that were true. Two days after that adventure, she turned up with a 102.4°F fever! What a coincidence my own fever was! Well, being a mom, I did what I could to nurse her back to reasonable health. By Friday, she was doing OK. Good thing! Friday was our last full day on the ship!

                  That Friday night, the ship was porting in Alberta, Canada. I have a fellow Christian writer friend in Canada, but we were not able to meet due to logistics. Then I thought about those quizzes you sometimes see on social media that ask you about all the places you have traveled. Out of pure silly determination, I decided to visit Canada, even if that meant only putting a foot inside the “door.” B was still too sick to go with me. So I was alone.

                  What was I thinking, going out at night in a foreign country, with a crowd of people who did not know me from Eve, and me knowing them just as poorly! I have visual issues anyway. But after dark, those issues become a black gauze curtain essentially wrapping itself around my face. I have apparently developed a bit of either mazeophobia or athazagoraphobia, whichever one simply means I am afraid of getting lost.

                  Whatever the phobia’s proper name, it is rooted in my visual issues from when I was a small child. I was four or five, attending Vacation Bible School at a church located across the street, down a short alley, and across a large parking lot from our house—pretty much a straight shot. The church had a wonderful playground on one side of the parking lot that I was rather comfortable going to from time to time. But when it was time for me to go home from the actual church building, I stepped out into the parking lot and realized I couldn’t see where I was and had no idea how to get home. This was my first meltdown. Psychologists, have fun with that. But I digress.

                  So here I am, in Canada, alone, after dark, in an entirely different environment from any other I have been in. Hey! What could go wrong? It never once occurred to me that getting COVID was what might have gone wrong. And I don’t know that this is where I caught it, but the timing is about right.

Well, I got my selfie, followed the crowd blindly to a gift shop, got carried along in the crowd from aisle to aisle, actually bought something—I think—left the shop unscathed, found my way back to the terminal where we entered the country, successfully avoided a meltdown when the guard stopped me from passing through, found another gift shop, did not buy anything from it, but, leaving, I found the path that took me back to the ship. I was praying for guidance and thanking God the whole way. He did not disappoint, but I suspect He might have been shaking His head and smiling a bit.

                  The pathway was sparsely attended, and I could not see any signs. There was more than one ship, of course, so that was a tad daunting. But I eventually made it to the right ship and back to our room. We had packed and placed our luggage outside of the room before retiring.

                  Despite our having a 2:00 p.m. flight back home, we had to be up and at breakfast at 6:30 a.m. If you have read any of my previous posts, you will recognize this as another red flag. I do not do mornings. But there we were at breakfast. At 6:30 a.m. Ugh.

                  Eventually, we got to the airport, where, of course, I immediately got lost. B had TSA Pre-Check, and I did not. So I had to go through the lines. Heading out to Seattle, as traumatic as that was from DFW, we at least were able to meet at the same endpoint. Not so at SeaTac. New meltdown! This one was a doozy, too! No tantrum. Just visibly shaking. Breathing hard. Choking back tears. Looking around wildly while muttering prayers. Welcome to Seattle! I knew right away that I hated this place. (Sorry, Seattle!)

                  The TSA officer who had been sitting behind the desk watching me was very kind. He got up and helped me find where I was supposed to go. But it was about an hour before I was able to find B. And SeaTac was super crowded that morning! (Is that normal?)

                  B and I eventually met up and found a place to have lunch. Why was this table completely open while every single remaining table was full? We had no other options, and by then we were hungry again, so we ordered lunch. A very overworked but kind waitress helped us. We paid an exorbitant amount for our food ($61+!). But at least we were sated, and I was calmed down. Sort of.

                  Time to mosey around to the outrageously over-packed gate we were assigned. We stepped over people sitting on the floor; I might have rolled my carry-on over someone’s hand. Hopefully, it was just their jacket. I turned sideways to avoid calamity, and finally, we were in the seating area. Two separate flights were served by two adjoining gates. B wanted to sit in the “wrong” gate. I didn’t want to accidentally fly to Chicago. So I became petulant but compliant. That getting-lost thing was beyond beyond.

Finally, pre-boarding time came. Several disabled individuals were helped up the ramp. Some of those “disabled” looked suspiciously “abled.” But we were the next group, so up we went and boarded soon after the pre-boarders. (What exactly does pre-boarding mean? Isn’t that actually the first group, making First Class the second group in reality?)  The flight attendant smiled graciously and welcomed us. We each returned her greeting. It’s the nice thing to do.

                  We found our seats only three rows back and lugged our carry-ons into the overheads. B had to help me. I have pretty pitiful upper body strength, which is why I took Judo when I was younger. It’s a martial art form that was developed by a wimp. (ChatGPT states that it was not exactly created by a wimp, but that “Jigoro Kano was reportedlya small, physically weak child who was bullied.” Sorry, ChatGPT, but that’s a wimp.) And that’s a whole ‘nuther story.

We sat comfortably and watched the crowds pour past us. This time it wasn’t a shock, but I did pray for those poor people who would fly all squished together for the next four hours. Soon we would be served a refreshment. Yes, please! I could use a coffee!

                  But we were not served coffee. Nuts. That’s what we were given. Nuts. And what was all that coughing I heard behind us? As with the flight up to Seattle, there were no major annoyances or disruptions. But soon I noticed our flight attendant wearing a mask, gloves, and a stern look. Her professionalism was evident, but her eyes were wary. This was going to be an interesting flight after all.

                  Cough! Cough! Cough! Eventually, everyone in First Class was coughing up a storm. Oy.

                  We finally got back to DFW and found our friends waiting for us! What a blessing! Then the driver got lost. It wasn’t his fault. He was tired and following directions. By that time, I didn’t even care. We were in familiar territory, never mind the fact that we were going from DFW to Far North Dallas by way of downtown! (You’d have to be familiar with Dallas to understand the strangeness of this route.)

                  Ultimately, we arrived home at around 9:30 p.m. We thanked our friends profusely and sent them on their way. They were ready to get home, too!

                  On reflection regarding my illness, where exactly did I pick up COVID? The ship? Canada? Seattle? The plane? I’m pretty sure I picked up the upper respiratory infection from B when she was sick. But she never got COVID. And here I am, still utterly exhausted, on a second antibiotic, running intermittent fever, and dragging around in between short bouts of energy.

                  B tried to encourage me. Our next trip is to Hawaii!

                  God, help me!