People always worry about the psychological effects of living on a small island. I have always supposed, however, that a lot of people (at least those without lengthy work commutes) spend the vast majority of their days within a 35 square mile area no bigger than the island of Anguilla. It’s the knowledge that they CAN go somewhere else that makes them content to stay where they are. On an actual island it is just that the going away part is harder than getting in your car and driving over that imaginary barrier that is ‘Outer Limit Lane’ in your usual territory – harder and more expensive. Hence the amplified sense of angst and ennui involved in living on a desert island known as Island Fever.
Island fever is not, however, a physical malady. In fact, I rarely get sick living here. I live in a wide open environment full of relatively clean, nearly constantly-moving, fresh air. I rarely find myself in closed, air-conditioned spaces like banks and grocery stores. And when I do I’m only there for minutes at a time with maybe a dozen other people briefly sharing the space with me. Even the longest drive I can take in my air-conditioned car takes less than 20 minutes. As a result, I stay pretty healthy…until I leave the island.
That’s why I wasn’t in touch last week. I spent a few days traveling back and forth to St. Maarten to help out at a veterinary clinic there. That placed me inside a climate-controlled hospital for 10 hours a day and in contact with a lot of people. OK, I am not talking about a lot of people by subway commute standards, but it was a ton of people compared to how many I encounter in my living room on an average day. Nevertheless, when my throat first started feeling scratchy, I tried to explain it away as strain from atypical and excessive overuse, but then my eyes got dry and irritated. And then my sinuses swelled up.
And there it was: Leaving Island Fever. It’s tantamount to the Aztecs seeking out the Spaniards to encounter new diseases. Every time we go to the States, every time we travel on vacation, every time I leave this little rock I get sick. Not horrible bubonic plague sick just annoying, whining, I’m-not-fully-enjoying the experience sick. It irritates the crap out of Michael which only makes me feel worse since I’m the one who’s sick and he’s mad at me for it – as if I do it on purpose.
For now, I’m feeling better, though. Thank you. I’m quite nearly normal. Unfortunately, I’m leaving for Florida today. And there’s the rub. I haven’t left the islands since the end of May. Really, that’s not such a big deal. What was more upsetting was that I didn’t have any plans to leave again until next May which was painfully evident whenever I signed on to my American Airlines account and saw no ticketed itineraries listed under “My Reservations.” (Remember, it’s the feeling that you can’t leave that gets you.) So on one hand Island Fever was setting in. I wanted to dress up in nice clothes, to go window shopping, and to have a Starbucks so I’m taking the opportunity to spend a week with a friend (and Michael, too) in Fort Lauderdale in order to do all of those things. On the other hand, the odds are that I’ll actually get sick as soon as I set foot in civilization.
Consequently, I find myself in the peculiar position of looking forward to another bout of Leaving Island Fever. It will be worth it to get away, though. So bring it on!