It was Tuesday night when I first felt that familiar tickle in my throat, you know…the one that sends a quiet alarm through your body, whispering, something’s coming. Within hours, it progressed to a sore throat, then a cough, and finally to that heavy, sinking feeling of general malaise. My energy drained like a leaky faucet, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. By the next morning, I knew without a doubt: I had developed the dreaded “cruise cough.”

This is the ninth day of our voyage, and it’s ironic how fast something so small can take over the experience. Before we boarded, we did everything right, or so we thought. We took our daily supplements religiously: vitamin C, zinc, quercetin, elderberry, and a handful of others. I kept up with cold showers, exercised daily, ate healthily, and made sure to get plenty of rest. And yet, none of it mattered once that invisible stowaway, a germ or virus, found its way into our cabin.

Tom, ever resilient, was the first to show symptoms. On the fifth day of the cruise, he began sneezing and coughing, his voice hoarse but his spirit unfazed. He’s never one to complain, even when feeling under the weather. He rested for a few days, skipped all the sugary foods,  drank plenty of water, and by the eighth day, he was completely back to normal. I wish I could say the same. My version of this “cruise cough” has dug in deep, with a persistent tickle that keeps me awake and a fatigue that makes even short walks around the ship feel like an effort.

The “cruise cough” isn’t an official medical diagnosis, of course. It’s a phrase seasoned cruisers use to describe the upper respiratory bug that often spreads like wildfire on ships. Despite the best ventilation systems, diligent cleaning, and constant hand sanitizing, a ship is a floating city with thousands of people sharing confined spaces, elevators, dining rooms, and theaters. All it takes is one person to sneeze in the buffet line or cough into their hand before pressing a button, and the virus begins its quiet circulation through the decks.

So, what can one do to prevent it from getting worse once it’s arrived? I’ve been asking myself that very question as I sip hot tea, the ship rocking gently beneath me. I’ve been taking Tamiflu since yesterday, a precautionary prescription from Doc Theo, “just in case.” Whether it’s the flu, a cold, or something in between, I’m hoping it helps shorten the duration or at least keep it from becoming more serious. The key now is hydration, rest, and patience, three things that sound simple but are surprisingly hard to achieve when the itinerary is full and the excitement of travel still hums in your veins.

There’s also the matter of isolation. I’ve been careful not to attend large gatherings, and we’ve skipped the evening shows and dinners in the main dining room for now. It isn’t enjoyable, of course. After all, cruising is such a social experience. The last thing I’d want is to pass this along to someone else. It’s strange how considerate you become once you’re the one coughing. Every sneeze feels like a public offense.

It’s humbling, really. After years of travel across continents, through jungles, deserts, and cities of every size, I find myself sidelined not by a grand adventure gone wrong, but by a simple cough on a cruise ship. It’s a reminder that even the healthiest routines and the most diligent precautions can’t guarantee immunity when hundreds of different immune systems mingle in close quarters.

For now, I’ll continue resting, take Tamiflu, and drink copious amounts of liquids. I’ll skip the dining room, avoid the buffet crowds, and hope the ocean air helps clear my lungs. Tom, ever attentive, brings me Sprite Zero while reminding me that this, too, shall pass. Goodness, we still have 36 nights of cruising to savor, and I’d like to experience them feeling well.

The “cruise cough” might be an unwelcome companion. Still, it’s also part of the unpredictable rhythm of travel, that reminder that we’re human, fragile, and always at the mercy of the environments we wander through. I suppose all we can do is ride it out, grateful that we’re together, afloat on the wide-open sea, waiting for wellness to return with the next sunrise.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, November 6, 2015: