I’m not one of those people who need to run away when the
weather gets cold. I don’t spend the winter months bemoaning my misfortune for
having been born in a country that suffers the wrath of proper seasons. I love
where I live, I find seasons to be cleansing and with each turn comes a chance
for renewal. That being said, when my sister and mother asked if I wanted to go
to Arizona for the week, I had been desperate for a change of scenery so I
happily followed along.
Travelling post-transplant is much different than it was
before the surgery. Back when I still had my CF lungs, I was on such a constant
stream of potent antibiotics that I felt that I could lick public toilet seats
and still live to tell the tale. My biggest worry was coughing in public and having
people around me think that I was patient zero for the latest contagious
international flu craze.
In order to keep my lungs happy and healthy in their new
body, I’m pumped full of anti-rejection meds that keep my body good and
immunosuppressed. If I had a proper immune system, my body would realize that
the lungs weren’t in fact mine and attack the foreign tissue leading to severe
rejection.
When I pack to go anywhere, my first and most important
priority is my pills. I have a giant blue case filled with vitamins,
supplements, immunosuppressants, steroids – I’m just basically a walking
chemistry experiment. My first concern is whether or not I have enough to last
the entirety of the trip and also a few days more in case of emergency. My
pills travel carry-on with me without question, which really complicates my
ability and desire to travel light.
When I first started traveling again after transplant, I
kept a small supply of hospital masks and rubber gloves in my bag that I had pilfered
from hospitals during random appointments. My clinic staffs should know by this
point that I get bored sitting in little rooms alone and shouldn’t be trusted. Now
three years post-transplant, I gave that up and am getting better and just
relaxing and rolling with the environment. Plus I would never really have the
guts to wear one of those masks in public anyway.
Post-transplant, you are keenly aware of how the world is
one giant mega-germ, waiting to pounce and infect you as soon as you let your
guard down. I always have at least two pocket-sized hand-sanitizers on my
person at all times (it helps that I carry a giant purse) and I am a compulsive
hand-washer. My brain can’t help but keep a mental inventory of all the things
my hands had touched between the times I can find a sink to wash and reset.
Going on planes is the worst, mentally, to have to deal with
post-transplant. Maybe I lied, subways and buses are also really terrible,
although those tend to be much more brief experiences so lets call it a tie.
Planes are hours in an enclosed space with over a hundred of
hygienically-questionably strangers. Circulated air, tiny bathrooms and the
airline plays Russian Roulette with your health in assigning your seat-mate.
Now I am the one worrying about being seated next to patient zero…
I always try to board last to minimize the amount of time I
am forced to be in that germ incubator. When I sit down, I put my least
offensive-smelling hand sanitizer in my pocket and, if I had the forethought to
purchase them, I wipe down my seatbelt, tray table and armrests with
travel-sized antibacterial wipes. Then I sit and hope to god I don’t get the
urge to pee for the remainder of the flight.
I may be over precautious in my methods but that is the
world that I live in now. I love to travel and I love seeing the world and
having new experiences. My doctors always told me that they give us this
surgery so that we can live our lives again and we need to weigh the precautions
for ourselves so that we can still get the most out of life. I would never give
up travelling, so I guess if I had to, I would wear one of those stupid masks…
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