Travelling in the shadow of COVID-19

To go or not to go? Beverly Biderman wrestles with the coronavirus choice.

I was becoming feverish reading the news about the new coronavirus. I’m an anxious person and I was scheduled for a trip out of the country. To go or not to go? This is my story of how I decided.

The event I’m scheduled to travel to is an international conference in Iceland. Note the word “international.” People from around the world will attend.

Last year when I booked the trip, I was thrilled by its international aspect; now I’m horrified. Sic transit globalism.

My chances of getting the coronavirus even after passing through our crowded airports (filled with people from around the world coughing and sneezing and touching touch screens with their grubby fingers) are admittedly low. Especially if I keep my hands clean and off my face. If I were to get the virus, the chances of my dying from it (I’m pretty healthy, though

I’m considered “elderly” as I’m over 65) are also very low. But, here is the conundrum. What happens if I’m quarantined while I’m there? Will I be put up in a four-star hotel (free of charge) with lovely meals of Icelandic cod left on a tray garnished with fresh flowers outside my room? Or will I be transported to a military barrack and fed cold pizza with nothing to do but watch reruns of the Icelandic hit TV series Trapped? Could I be strong-armed into isolation when I return to Canada? The gentle advice to self-isolate might become a forced quarantine at a place nobody wants to go. With trays of cold pizza outside my door and nothing to do but watch reruns of Anne of Green Gables.

You can see how my mind works. There were too many unknowns. Not to mention the unknown unknowns.

I polled my friends for their advice. At one extreme was my friend who said she wasn’t at all worried by the coronavirus and saw the situation as an opportunity to get a really good deal on a cruise. At the other extreme, a self-described hypochondriac said he was cancelling all meetings in a room. In the middle was a sensible friend who reminded me that death was inevitable, and that life was risky. She was not cancelling a trip to Europe.

But everyone has a different tolerance for risk. I have what my doctor calls an overactive vagus nerve. What that means is when I’m under extreme stress (usually when I think I’m dying) — I faint dead away.

And another thing. There’s the matter of masks. I’m deaf. I lip-read. I can’t read lips when they are covered by a N95 respirator mask. Think about it.

The advice from the health authorities is to wash your hands often, and avoid touching your face. Did you know that there is a proper way to wash your hands that involves 11 steps and lasts the length of time it takes you to hum Happy Birthday twice? And no, it’s not how surgeons on TV shows wash their hands. Did you know that we touch our faces an average of 93 times a day?

I have dry eyes, so I rub them a lot. Without thinking. I started to think I might wear wraparound sunglasses (everywhere) to stop my little fingers from touching my itchy eyes.

The World Health Organization, which incidentally developed the 11-step hand wash procedure, is not as of this writing, recommending that travellers from badly affected countries be singled out and refused entry. I imagine myself at the airport lining up for customs with my shoes in my hands. The person behind me says he is coming from a fill-in-theblank-country badly affected by the coronavirus. Step right this way and stand beside that woman with the wraparound sunglasses, the agent says.

Reader, I cancelled my trip. Did I make a mistake? I will never know, but I’m sleeping better, and yes, I’m reading the news with less trepidation.