Saturday, August 15, 2009

MDS: Dare to Fly

Yesterday I dared to board an airplane for the first time since the MDS was diagnosed.

Call me irrational, but this I regard as some kind of minor victory over the mundane.

I'd gotten sick two of the last three times I'd flown—the last having been the ill-fated trip to Minnesota in March that spawned the stomach virus that revealed the MDS. So, the idea of spending 5.5-hours confined in that metal tube at 35,000 feet with 200 germ-carrying others had spawned a certain level of paranoia in me.

I entered the vehicle armed with Purell, vowing not to touch any surface that wasn't absolutely necessary, and to keep my damned fingers away from my face (not an easy task for a habitual beard stroker).

I actually did pretty well on that last score; didn't poke at my own face hardly at all.

I didn't touch anyone. Nor did I touch anything. Never allowed my fingers to caress the silken seat cushions, nor to pound on the plastic drop-down table. Didn't even touch the ground with my feet as I walked down the aisle.

You think I exaggerate?

Okay, I do.

Still, here I am, typing this all the way on the other side of the country while showing no apparent ill effects from this milestone air travel experience.

Of course, whatever horrible bug was traveling with me might need a longer gestation period than one day to manifest itself. But, I'll remain optimistic for the moment. After all, I still must fly home in a week's time. And, who knows what kind of exotic West Coast germs are lurking here to menace me?

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