At dinner, since we had no other conversationalist with whom to converse other than our servers, I talked to Jeremy about our future. Topics ran the gambit. We even went so far as to consider the Caribbean for a future retirement location. But that’s decades from now. What I am most excited about was our discussion regarding the near term – the VERY near term.
I think we might start on our family building soon…and by soon, I mean maybe tomorrow! I think that a honeymoon pregnancy would be a wonderful and constant reminder of this trip. And if Jeremy is up for starting this journey with me during our cruise, then I’m all for it as well. My only stipulation to getting pregnant was that we be married first, which has been met. And if HE’S good to go, then I certainly am too!
September 4th
(Cruise – Day 5)
6:32 a.m.
Getting up early to sit out on the balcony gives me a nice chance to think and to write, things I don’t get a lot of time to do at home. I really like starting my day this way.
This particular morning, while I’m super pumped about our snorkeling excursion, I have to admit, it’s hard to keep my mind off a possibility of future motherhood looming sometime in the next year. There is just so much excitement, so much nervous anticipation, so many questions, so many concerns. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
My thoughts range from work and career to the potential health of the baby. Should I continue to work during the pregnancy or after the baby is born? What if taking time off work hurts potential career advancement? Should I set that aside in deference of my newborn baby? Should the baby go to a daycare? Should I be a stay-at-home mom? What if something is wrong with the baby when it’s born? What about our living location? Should we relocate to a house in the suburbs? Will we be able to make such a move on one income if I decide to stay home?
All those thoughts, plus some, are coursing through my mind this morning. Most of the emotions that accompany them are positive…anxious but positive. The thought of being a mother, while scary because of the responsibility, is extremely exciting to me. The idea of bringing a little life into this world with Jeremy gives me happy butterflies in my tummy.
Jeremy just got our morning coffees and has joined me on the balcony. I’m going to sit with him and enjoy the morning for a bit while we sip our coffees.
8:28 a.m.
Well that was a bummer. We were just notified that our snorkeling excursion has been canceled. I’m not surprised since we’re still about half a mile or so off the coast of St. Maarten. Tenders were to start making runs from the cruise ship to the island at 9 a.m. According to the on-ship directory channel, there’s a virus breaking out on the island that is keeping passengers from disembarking the ship.
Speaking of a virus breaking out, it sounds like we might have the same thing occurring on our ship. I think this is the reason for the barf bags and the lack of people at dinner last night. I pray to god it’s not one of those norovirus things. I’ve heard terrible stories about those outbreaks. To this point however, we haven’t had a lot of information other than that events are being cancelled.
So far, it sounds like breakfast is still being served. But guess what? There was a knock on our door earlier this morning. While the crew member had already moved down the corridor by the time we answered, they’d hung several of those surgical-style masks that I’m so fond of on our front door.
Oh goodie! My favorite things! I guess we’re supposed to wear these now as accessories to our vacation attire. But I suppose it’s better than the alternative. Still, I’m not thrilled with the prospect.
As Jeremy and I sit out on the balcony, our current debate is whether to attend breakfast in the dining room or head to the buffet. After yesterday’s dinner, and the lack of diners there, we’re thinking that a dining room breakfast might be better to keep us away from the masses that usually attend the buffet. Plus, if this IS the norovirus, I’m not sure I want to be eating in a communal environment where people other than the chefs and servers might be touching or breathing on the food I eat. I guess there’s really no perfect answer, but I think the dining room is the way to go, and Jeremy tends to agree.
This really stinks! I was so looking forward to more snorkeling today. I guess we can still have a nice time lounging poolside aboard ship. I’m not going to let a little virus stand in the way of our having a good time.
P.S. – We met our room attendant the other day. We knew her name through the little notes she leaves on our bed when she cleans our cabin. She’s a sweet little woman named Corazon, and she makes us amazing animal creations by folding our bath towels. It’s like origami with towels!
I’ll bet you that by the time we get back from the pool, she’ll have tidied our cabin. She’s like a mysterious wraith that seems to sweep in magically to clean our cabin whenever we’re away. It makes me wonder how she knows. Does she have a secret camera positioned on our cabin to alert her of our absence? Or is it some sort of sixth sense? Oooooooo…
12:09 p.m.
It’s almost like a ghost ship around here. It’s sort of weird but sort of nice at the same time. I guess people are taking this norovirus thing or whatever it is pretty seriously. We wore our masks to the pool, but not many people are around, so we took them off. I think the norovirus is spread through food or direct contact or something anyway, so I don’t think we have much to fear out here in the open air – at least I hope not.
While all this is disconcerting in a way, it’s also kind of nice too. It’s like we have our own private cruise ship. There are only about ten people out here by the pool. Jeremy and I are just relaxing, chatting, and sipping drinks.
I’m starting to think that maybe it was a blessing in disguise that we were off the ship swimming for much of the day yesterday. I think many of the people who stayed on board or went to the island are the ones who got sick.
I just pray that WE don’t get this thing. It’s bad enough having our excursion cancelled. The last thing I want is for the remainder of our honeymoon cruise to be spent barfing our brains out in our cabin bathroom.
4:22 p.m.
I have to say, even with this sickness putting a slight damper on our trip, today was still a wonderful day. Drinking, swimming, and relaxing poolside – how can one possibly complain?
We came back to our room about an hour ago, had showers, dressed, and are now out on our balcony. I wonder what St. Marteen is like. Guess I won’t find out on this trip. Maybe next time. Jeremy and I have already talked about doing this again; maybe not next year, but maybe in a couple years. I guess that all depends on how our baby making goes and just how much time (and money) the little nipper takes up whenever he or she arrives.
Hold on, it sounds like something is going on down below us. There is a small fishing boat pulled up down alongside our ship. It looks like there are stretchers bearing people on the fishing boat. I’m writing as I watch the scene unfold below us. I guess that several of our ship’s officers are talking to them through an open hatch door below our balcony, the same hatch door we probably would have used to disembark the ship for our cancelled excursion. Several crew members from the small fishing boat are arguing vociferously with our ship’s officers. We can’t make out exactly what they’re saying from up here on the balcony, but from what we gather through their gestures, it appears as though they want our ship to accept the people on stretchers. But our officers keep waving them away. Good. I don’t want to be cruel, but taking sick people aboard ship would likely only further endanger those aboard. And what are we supposed to do with them? It’s not like we’re a hospital ship. I’m sure we have a doctor aboard, but I’d think that he can treat these people on their boat or island just as well as he can treat them onboard, and then they can be on their way.
The fishing boat is leaving now.
Well that was interesting. I wonder just how sick the people aboard that boat were. It must be bad if they ferried them out to our ship just to try to get them help. It’s very disconcerting to
say the least.
I’ve been watching the onboard directory channel, and many of our on-ship events have been cancelled (things like bingo, horse racing, and lounge acts). I’m thinking that maybe we should request a discount on our cruise costs since our activities are being somewhat stymied by all this. Maybe we could get a voucher for a future cruise – like a 2-for-1 deal or something.
I find it strange that a norovirus would be affecting St. Thomas and St. Marteen as well. Maybe another cruise ship or ships spread it to them before we arrived. Maybe this is like a multi-ship thing going on. Maybe that’s why the fishing boat crew was so insistent on us taking their sick. Maybe they’re blaming the cruise lines or a particular cruise line (ours?).
A lot of “maybes” but no real answers.
I think that we’re just going to stay in our room until dinner. It’s actually quite lovely sitting out here on the balcony watching across the water toward the island of St. Marteen. We’re going to order a couple cocktails from room service and just enjoy some quality private time together. I’m beginning to fall in love with this atmosphere. While our room is small, it’s quite cozy.
I think that more than anything, the most endearing part of all this is the lack of responsibility. We don’t have to cook, heck, we don’t even have to decide what to order, we don’t have to clean, we don’t have to pay bills, we don’t have to work, and we don’t have to do the daily commute. All we have to do is decide what fun activities we want to partake in or whether we want to partake at all (at least until recently). It’s like being a kid again – absolutely no responsibilities other than general hygiene and maximizing our fun.
8:58 p.m.
This is getting kind of weird.
Dinner moved along pretty quickly tonight. We had the attention of multiple servers since there were maybe a dozen people total in the dining room. Are that many people really sick?
Only Vivian was at our table with us. She explained that her husband, Jack, was very ill. She told us that at first she just thought it was seasickness or a stomach bug, but that was several days ago. They had gone two days ago to see the ship’s physician, who diagnosed it as the flu, saying that it must be going around the ship because he’d had dozens of similar cases come through that day.
Vivian had spoken to several other people who had family members aboard suffering from a similar illness. They (like me) are under the impression that it’s the norovirus, since sadly such outbreaks have become more prevalent aboard cruise ships in recent history. She told us that she had spoken to several cruise representatives aboard ship, but they’re denying it’s the norovirus, saying it’s likely the common flu and that it’s isolated to just a few dozen passengers.
I’m sure they’re just trying to deny culpability so they don’t have to issue refunds. But keeping it all hush-hush seems more dangerous to me than actually telling us what’s going on. It’s obvious that this is affecting more than just a few dozen passengers.
Vivian said that if Jack isn’t better by tomorrow, she’s going to try to contact someone back in Florida (where they are from) to see if something can be done. She doesn’t know what exactly, but she at least wants a “real doctor” as she put it, ready to meet them when we arrive in Miami.
She was really fired up, saying that this has ruined their cruise and that she is super concerned about her husband. She’s been tending to him ever since he started feeling bad on our second day at sea. They’ve been ordering their meals in their cabin (although Vivian said Jack hasn’t been eating), so that he can rest. After much urging, he was finally able to convince her to leave his side to go out and get a real meal in the dining room. She said he feels terribly guilty about ruining their cruise even though she’s told him repeatedly that it’s not his fault.
I sympathized with her as best I could, saying that it seems like at least half the ship or more appears to be out of action, so it’s definitely not Jack’s fault. But the whole time, I was sitting their worrying and wondering if Vivian might be carrying the same illness, and if she was, whether she might be exposing me and Jeremy to it as well.
As a side note, Philippe, our head waiter had been replaced for the evening. Benny was still there, so I asked him where Philippe was. He said he didn’t know, but due to the lack of diners, Philippe had likely taken the evening off or been reassigned to another role.
Personally, I got the feeling that I was being deceived. I think it’s harder to lie in a second language, and it definitely felt like Benny was being less than forthright. He’s probably trying to keep us from worrying, or he’s been ordered to play stupid by the cruise line to cover their asses.
Jeremy was itching to hit the casino again tonight. He’s currently sulking because I made him come back to the cabin with me. I just don’t feel safe right now. I REALLY don’t want to catch whatever is going around this ship.
Maybe I can make it up to him in some OTHER way (tee-hee-hee!).
September 6th
(Cruise – Day 6)
6:14 a.m.
According to our itinerary, we’re set to depart St. Marteen at seven this morning to begin the voyage back to Miami. Sadly, I’m actually starting to look forward to getting home. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the cruise atmosphere…at least I DID. But with everyone getting sick and stuff, it has just kind of sapped some of the free-wheeling enjoyment I had regarding being at sea. Now I have this pit in my stomach. I had a great time for the first four days, and even yesterday was nice, but now I just want to get back to our safe, cozy, uninfected apartment.
The itinerary for the day has once again been chopped down to nearly nothing according to the onboard directory channel. Pretty much all activities are being cancelled, which stinks. No lounge acts, no bingo, not even any horse racing – poo!
Jeremy and I are out on the balcony, waiting for our morning coffee. That fishing boat from yesterday is idling about 100 yards away. And now another boat has joined it. I wonder if they still want us to take their sick. I’ll be glad to be away from here and heading back home soon. It will come as a big sigh of relief. I don’t even know if we’re going to chance leaving our room from here on out. Hearing what we heard from Vivian last night, I’m not sure it’s worth risking. We could just order room service, sit on our balcony, nap, read, write, and enjoy one another’s company until we get home. Just being together in an environment where we have no responsibilities is something we’ve never really experienced. We’re always on the go. At home, it’s always work, work, work. Bills, bills, bills. Cook, clean, shop.
Spending the next couple days holed up in our cabin doesn’t sound half bad in all actuality.
Hmm, it looks like another couple boats are headed toward our ship. What could they want?
6:52 a.m.
My goodness, that was a little odd. The people onboard those little fishing boats that I mentioned in my previous entry are less than happy with our presence. They came up close to our ship and were shouting and even THROWING things at the side of the ship. This time there was no response from our ship’s officers. It’s as though we’re just ignoring them, hoping they’ll go away.
They haven’t.
The little boats are still idling nearby even as we prepare to depart. I feel bad for them, but I don’t know what we could do. It’s growing increasingly apparent that we have our own problems with which to deal.
I think that Jeremy and I are going up to the Vista Deck to watch the ship depart. I don’t think we’ll be exposing ourselves to any illness in an open-air environment such as that. We’ll take our coffees up with us.
8:03 a.m.
Things have gone from odd to all-out crazy!
We’re back in our cabin, balcony door SHUT, curtains drawn, chair in place to help bar our locked cabin door just in case. But I want to get this all down in writing while it’s still fresh in my mind.
So we were up on the Vista Deck, ready for a leisurely departure from St. Marteen, an island we’ve been at fo
r 24 hours but never set foot on. But a leisurely departure is far from what we got.
As our ship began using its side thrusters to pivot in the water so that we were positioned to head back out to open sea, we noticed a flurry of activity aboard an array of smaller boats that had now almost surrounded our ship. We watched from above as crewmembers aboard several of the larger fishing vessels scrambled around their decks. We had no earthly idea what they were doing or why they were doing it in such a frantic fashion – at least we didn’t at first.
It wasn’t until we heard a loud thud against the side of the ship that our attention was drawn to a smaller craft that had maneuvered right up alongside us. It was almost rowboat size, but it had a powerful looking outboard motor. There were three men aboard it. They had thrown what appeared to be a grappling hook that was attached to the front of their own boat, so that it had hooked onto the railings of one of the lower-deck balconies.
Jeremy and I stood in awe of what we were seeing, peering over the Vista Deck railing to get a better view. We watched as one of the men on the small boat then worked to pull the boat closer to the balcony to which the grappling hook had attached itself. Meanwhile, our still largely motionless ship continued to slowly angle itself into a direction in which it could start for open sea. While all this was going on, we could see two more of the small boats pull up alongside our ship. Men aboard these vessels performed similar acts with grappling hooks. It was like watching a scene from “Pirates of the Caribbean” or “Captain Phillips” or something.
It wasn’t until one of the boats that had attached itself to our own ship like a tiny barnacle to a whale managed to get a rope ladder (also held in place by grappling hooks) attached to a lower cabin balcony did we realize that these men were armed. As a man began to climb the rope ladder, we could see what appeared to be a shotgun attached to his back by a strap. It was then that I noticed the man attempting to follow him up the ladder was hauling with him a large pack and what appeared to be an assault rifle of some sort.
The Dystopian Diaries Page 32