The flight out of Pole on the Herc was more eventful for the vomiting half the passengers experienced than any great emotional storm of release. The last 45 minutes of the flight were in some pretty severe turbulence (though rumours of faulty stabilizers in the plane did go around) and most folks were found to be vomiting on themselves and into sick bags provided by the crew, but not as far as I heard, into their hats.

I felt the turbulence but found it quite soothing, as I hung onto my backpack to prevent it from flying off my lap. I lay there eyes closed with a small smile on my face. To other Polies it may have appeared I was enjoying their discomfort. Not so. I simply didn’t realize people had been sick until the crew was collecting the full sick bags. I was lying there feeling quite soothed by the rocking and swaying, and thinking how much like being on the ocean it felt. In a cross current, perhaps. But quite peaceful really. A new sensation after such a long time on the flat white of Pole.

The only negative, for me, of the ride, was the explicit knowledge as we bounced and swerved and swung and swayed through the sky that my bladder was pretty damn full. By the time we landed I needed to pee like a banshee. Most of the male Polies were put in the Housing of Last Resort: the ill-reputed Man Camp. The older dorm, Hotel California (or HoCal) has one bunkroom with 23 or 25 beds in it. McMurdo has been so full of folks trying to go to Casey Station (Aussies) and Pole and WAIS and Siple and Byrd Camps, or just anywhere the hell away from McMurdo, that the housing crisis (a seasonal thing) has reached the No Room At The Inn status and flights incoming from Christchurch, NZ have been delayed to keep people out of a place where vertical wall duct taping would be the last sleep/bed option.

Poor guys. Sick as dogs many of them, exiting from a 9 month winter with a finite number of people, and suddently they are in the land of 1000+ and to them they are damn near ALL strangers. And they have to walk all the way across town to Man Camp where the room smells like all the worst smells men in bulk can generate, and vomit was definitely one of them. Ugh. Perks to being a girl are no equivalent bunkroom for women, just 5 other roommates in a room in 155 (same building as the store, the computer kiosk, the galley, HR, Housing, etc). No pillow on my bed, but no complaints, I slept in my Big Red anyway.

Perks to being ME, of course, are my previous 4 seasons in McMurdo made this place like shrugging into an old shirt. Familiar as ever, and as irritating as ever. But as if my winter had never happened and had disappeared into the turbulaence somewhere overhead. The crowds in the galley, where the breakfast egg line holds as many people in it as I spent the last 9 months with, are loud. Almost insanely so.  Hard to deal with. As hard as the friends happy to see me are, shrieking in my ear (over the noise of McMurdo), and freaking me out so hyper and excitable are they. I pushed a  few friends away with the shock, rudely so. But within 24 hours I had settled into the same old same old rhythm of this place. Though unemployed, and at loose ends when everyone disappears to WORK. (Funny concept that.)

I am reconnecting with good friends and unloading my winter in various pretty intense rants, whenever they ask me the inevitable “How was your winter?” But they are forgiving and understanding and supportive and I am lucky to have them around me while I recover some sense of myself as a respected, likable person who people actually value and care for. It’s been a long time with little self-worth and less self-esteem, and good people are reminding me of me and those feelings are slipping back in and giving me my backbone back again.

I was supposed to be in McMurdo from Wed 11/3 and fly out on Friday (today) Nov 6. Last night a friend made me laugh and I nearly hacked up a lung. “Oh shit,” I thought, “the CRUD.” Any opportunistic germ brought in to the isolated community of Pole that looks at me askance and whoops! sore throat already. But I arrive in McMurdo and I land in the centre of the PLAGUE. Everyone is coughing and sneezing and wheezing and in general sounding like a colony of seals in heat. The store has run out of cold medicines lilke Nyquil, Dayquil, Sudafed, Tylonel, etxc, so sick is everyone. Medical has been STORMED.

So I thought, yeah, I fit right in.

But no, not really. I am special. Not only am I a Polie who just frelling wintered, even when surrounded by Mactown friends, but I don’t have the CRUD. I have fucking PNEUMONIA.

Yeah! That’s me, gotta go one further with EVERYTHING. Stepping Over The Lne All The Time.

Spent the morning in Medical here in McMurdo, the morning I’m supposed to fly to Christchurch, NZ and humidity, grass, insects, flowers, rain, sunshine so warm it’ll burn me and warm me to the depths of my soul, avocadoes, trees, birds that fly, traffic, newspapers, children (not sure about short uncivilized people), cellphones, semi-naked people in shorts and spaghetti-strap tops legs and boobs and skin all over the place, cats, pollen, bodies of water larer than a dishpit sink or a toilet bowl, endless showers, GREEN.

Speaking of endless showers. Polies preceding me to Christchurch talked of a camp stool, a six pack of beer, and parking under the shower head on full blast until thebeer, or the hotel’s water supply, is GONE. And that sounds really freakin’ appealing, but with Ginger Beer. Or hot tea with honey and lemon (LEMON!!!)

But yeah, I was in Medical. On IV antibiotics and steroids and an inhaler/nebulizer. Becasue I do not have the crud, I have PNEUMONIA.

Even if the plane taking us out of here hadn’t broken down carrying our cohorts out of here yesterday (blew an engine on the way up, no worrries, three others on every plane), and all the remaining Polies were to leave here, I would have NOT been on that plane anyway. Not with PNEU-FUCKING-MONIA.

Delayed until Monday.

And Tuesday? November 10th? My 45th birthday and the day my MOTHER arrives in Christchurch for a two week visit to see the country I’ve been falling in love with all these years. As close as she’ll ever get to Antarctica, but a close second. I intend to be there to meet her and I intend to show her a good part of the South Island. There will be no lounging around hacking up a lung on her vacation. She will not be a nursemaid to me in my pale jittery winterover state of maladjusted freaked out paleness.

So, there it is. Out of Pole, but sick in McMurdo and not quite free yet. I cannot kick anyone in the ‘nads. just. yet. I have to be in Christchurch a minumum of 24 hours after I get there to do that and not get fired.

Wish me well, wish me luck.Wish me good aim.