MARCH 14, 2021 – Yesterday I lay low, wrapped in a blanket, watching Disney movies with my wife (to educate ourselves about our grand-daughter’s world), and just waiting it out. I was side-lined by the side-effects from my second vaccination the day before.
Mind you, at no time did I regret the vaccination. (Get yours as soon as you can!) For roughly 24 hours, however, the side-effects were a distracting annoyance. I needed something stronger than a Disney movie to pull me through.
During my second (of six) “lie-down” sessions, I devised an image to over-ride my discomfort. I pretended I was aboard a small freighter—The Moderna—steaming over rough seas between Copenhagen and Oslo. Having taken the trip several times in reality, I knew that under favorable conditions this was about a 17-hour voyage. In tempestuous weather, I knew it could take much longer, especially once the north-bound vessel left the sheltered Kattegat (the sea between Denmark and Sweden) and entered the exposed Skagerrak (the portion of the North Sea between Denmark and Norway). Based on reports from various sources, I expected my vaccination side-effects to last about 24 hours, which, I figured, coincided with the duration of my imaginary voyage—in rough weather—from Copenhagen to Oslo.
This image served me well: our good ship rising and plunging relentlessly over the angry sea. The monotonous view was also discomfiting—a thick, dark, saturated, low-hanging sky and driving rain striking the porthole of my cramped quarters. Occasionally, I’d venture out of my room and down the narrow corridor as the ship rocked and rolled, pitched and heaved. However unpleasant the voyage, at least I was not suffering sea sickness.
On one of my outings, just as we were entering the Skagerrak, I climbed the metal stairway at the end of the corridor and worked my way onto the bridge deck. Along came the captain. I was heartened by the confidence in his slight smile.
“Hi, Captain,” I said.
“Good day, sir,” he said, as he stopped. “Glad to see you’ve got your balance.”
“Bit of a tempest out there,” I said camouflaging my fear.
“Aye,” said the captain.
“Will this much delay our arrival in Oslo?”
“Maybe . . . but once we reach the approach to Oslofjord the seas won’t be as rough.”
Just then, the freighter shook as it hit a trough between waves, then shuddered again as a wave punished her prow. Both the captain and I had to catch ourselves.
“We’ll be okay?” said my fear.
“We’ll be fine,” said the captain. “A bit of chop but nothing this old tub can’t handle.”
‘Old tub’? I decided to cling to the “nothing [it] can’t handle” part. Back in my room I lay on the bunk and watched the rain hitting the porthole. We’d now been at sea for 15 hours. How much longer? I drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke five hours later the “old tub” was as still as could be—tied securely to the wharf in Oslo.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
