Am I lucky or what?

Five PM local time, or 1700 as we like to say on the ship, I suddenly experienced floating wisps in my left eye.  After trying unsuccessfully to brush away what seemed to be wisps of hair, I started having black dots suddenly moving across my field of vision, as if insects were buzzing me. 

Fortunately, the ship is not moving right now, because this is pretty disorienting.  Not to mention amusing to watch, I would imagine.  I keep jumping and swatting at imaginary things, as if (just guessing) I were hallucinating.

This trip was not supposed to be a DRUG trip. 

Our orientation this morning covered a couple of topics that are now relevant.  One is how hard it can be to find someone on the ship.  No one carries a walkie talkie, and we don’t spend much time in our cabins.  Compound this by the fact that almost everyone is new to me and I haven’t met the ship’s doctor (except on Facebook).  The other is the gentle prohibition against bothering people about job-related things when they are not on duty.  For example, don’t catch the doc in the dinner line to tell him about your oozing disgusting cut finger. 

Lucky for me, I personally am traveling with the esteemed McLemore Professor of Pediatrics, who happened to be eating dinner with the retired Dean of Nursing, and I barged right over to say, “Is this something I should concern myself with while I am able to call a taxi to take me to the hospital?”  And she said, in all her accumulated wisdom, “Lynn, I’m a pediatrician.”  Which may not sound helpful, but it is really a way better answer than saying, “Oh, don’t worry about it, we all get floaters.”  She sent me off to find the doc.

During our orientation, we also talked about privacy and boundaries, and I shared my little “just because you know how to do something does not mean that you should do this thing” mini-lecture.  Being helpful is not always the right answer.  As an example, if someone asks you for a faculty member’s room number, it may not be appropriate to give it out.

Lucky for me, the purser’s office was not in attendance, because I marched over to them and asked for the doc’s stateroom and the helpful ship’s officer shared that information.

The doc was not in his cabin. However, I ran into my boss and his wife, and I asked if they knew the doc.  Lucky for me, my boss is married to a lovely, caring woman who helped me find the doc, who happened to be walking by with his three children.  Breaking rule 2 (but apologizing for doing so), I described my symptoms (way less gory than oozing pus, right?) and he gave me a mini eye exam.  Then he went off to settle his children for their dinners and do some research.  (He is also a pediatrician, but he is the ship doctor, so it’s his job to figure this out.)

Now I am confined to quarters so he knows where to reach me.  He just called and said it sounds like a detached retina.  No way of knowing whether it’s a “watch and see” detached retina or a “get off the ship” detached retina. 

Should I finish unpacking or pack?  Am I going to sea or to the hospital?  Would I give up sight in my left eye to go around the world?

Are you kidding me?  The answer to that one is NO.

Stay tuned, folks.