Nits and norovirus

My parents took my nephew on a cruise yesterday, so I’m reblogging two Hygiene On The High Seas posts from our cruise last year in their honour … one focusses on a nit scare on board, the other on a norovirus outbreak … joy! Fortunately we avoided catching both. Let’s see how Nonna and Pop go this time …

The reblogging also assists with the extreme time pressure I’m under today – I will be spending five hours (round trip) driving the Sprogs to their Aunty Kate’s house for a little holiday while Mummy and Daddy are in New York (New York!) and then it’s pack, pack, pack.

OK, here’s the walk down memory lane …

NITS!

There I was, typing frantically to minimize my 65c-a-minute wi-fi charges, saying uh-huh, uh-huh to Sprog 2′s chatter, not really listening, when the word “nits” penetrated my ipad cone of concentration. My head snapped up: “What did you just say?” “One of the boys in kids’ club has nits,” Sprog 2 cheerily repeated. “That’s why he wears a hat. I heared him tell anudder boy.”

What joyous news, considering kids’ club is where Sprog 1 is currently ensconced, playing tag, potentially knocking the hats off nit-infested boys and scattering the little buggers around the room. What parent knowingly sends their nit-infested child to kids’ club? I’m guessing the kind who prefer to sun themselves poolside, child-free and cocktail in hand at 11am, spreading their own nit infestation among the adult passengers in the gentle sea breeze.

How exactly one deals with a nit outbreak on a cruise ship is already torturing me. I didn’t notice any nit treatments sitting alongside the band-aids and sunscreen in the gift shop. Perhaps the medical centre offers treatment to those willing to pony up $200 for a doctor’s appointment (the medical centre operates under insane US insurance guidelines and therefore charges prohibitively).

If – god forbid – we start to itch, I’ll be hunting down that cocktail-swilling, nit-carrying family and demanding to know why they didn’t fix their little problem in Auckland. Ironically, I’d already earmarked today’s blog as “Hygiene on the High Seas”, prior to the nit bombshell. (I know, I know, nits aren’t hygiene-related, they don’t discriminate according to cleanliness or socio-economic standing. Bogan heads aren’t tastier than snob heads. But I wish idiot heads were their fave, because only a complete moron would think popping a hat on little Johnny before kids’ club was a responsible way to stop the little buggers going berko.)

The ship itself takes hygiene ultra-seriously. There are hand sanitizer machines positioned outside every dining area and on deck prior to arrivals and departures. The bathrooms have signs advising people to use paper towels to open the door handles. There are warnings above every water dispenser saying plastic water bottles are not be refilled for health reasons. The tourist information pamphlet handed to passengers when disembarking in Auckland carried warnings about the local water supply, advising passengers to drink bottled water and not to order ice in their drinks (bwahahahaha, hotbed of infectious water, New Zealand). So I’m wondering how cruise staff will handle the nit situation when I stomp up to kids’ club and make my concern loudly known.

NOROVIRUS!

While it wasn’t love at first sight for me and Bora Bora – geez, I know, hard to please – I felt quite distressed to be leaving when the ship pulled out through the hole in the reef (helpfully dynamited open by the Americans during World War 2). No land again for five whole days. My chest constricts with panic each time I contemplate it.

I’m sure between kids club, the cinema, the pool, endless buffets, “enhanced cleaning measures” due to an outbreak of norovirus (Sister has resolved to stop touching bannisters) and mime artists we’ll make it through in fine form. It’s just the thought that panics me. Lord knows how the First Fleeters survived those interminable months without shuffleboard and bingo to keep them entertained.

Mind you, my mother had a natter to a couple who are doing a 72-day – what the? – version of the cruise. They’re sustaining themselves by bitching about the 200 kids on board, how badly behaved they are, how poorly dressed they are, how in their day … Hey, olds, suck it up. You’re the daft ones who booked a cruise during the Aussie school holidays.

Who am I kidding? That couple is me in 20 years time. I haven’t stopped muttering about my fellow passengers since I boarded. My latest glare-fest? The dad who bootcamps his son and daughter every morning. Round and round the jogging track. Up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs. Endless sit-ups. Around 10am yesterday I heard the little boy forlornly ask “Can we have breakfast now, Daddy?” OK, I’m calling it: child abuse. At least I’ve signed up and paid for my abuse at bootcamp. I am waddling in pain and my arms feel like they’ve had yellow fever injections in both shoulders. Can’t raise them above my chest.

PS I’m getting a teensy bit nervous about the norovirus break-out. They’ve started doing health announcements on the TV and the Sprogs were given a hygiene lecture in kids club yesterday afternoon. I’ve joined Sister in not touching banisters and I’m no longer rolling my eyes at the frenetic squirting of hand sanitizer by the maitre de before dinner every night.