Coronavirus at Sea: The Ship Must Keep Sailing
By: Jon Tyler
Tags: Oceans, Maritime, Covid 19, Shipping, Coronavirus

When the crew of the vessel first heard news of a new “pandemic” in February of 2020 they we skeptical to say the least. Every cough or grunt while working was cause to jokingly tell the person they must quarantine and that we must retire from work and hide in the air conditioning for the rest of the day. As the months progressed, we watched nations lockdown from afar. We didn’t sail to China or any other countries in Asia so a majority of the crew were initially unfazed. How could a cough and a sniffle across thousands of miles of ocean in an unfamiliar country harm us?

The first thing that often strikes landlubbers when they start working on a ship is the isolation. As familiar shores disappear over the horizon one can finally begin to comprehend just how alone we are when we are at sea. No planes are seen overhead, no lights are seen on the horizon, even birds slowly cease to circle our vessel. Every sound is foreign, every click or creak of the deck is alarming. Slowly the hum of the engines and sound of the water moving around the hulking mass of steel becomes natural. If any of the normal sounds suddenly disappear, it can cause a panic and wake up the best sailors better than the loudest alarm clock. The crew works as both a unit and a family. We work through abandon ship drills and fire drills with a tactical precision but also celebrate nearly every holiday and birthday with each other. The bond is something special.

As the year continued and infection rates climbed the crew stopped poking fun at the pandemic. With every port of call we came across new measures to stop the spread. Cargo inspectors did not enter the house, instead opting to stay on deck while doing their cargo calculations. All visitors started wearing masks and keeping their distance from us like we were somehow the ones infected. Some crew realized the gravity of the situation when their relatives who worked on cruise lines were quarantined off the coast of various countries, often in sight of their homeland but unable to go back to their families. We were lucky in this respect since our company still allowed us to make our crew changes as long as we signed health declarations, had our temperatures monitored and quarantined when leaving and joining the vessel. Unfortunately as we’d come to find out, these measures were not enough. This new virus could reach us in the middle of the ocean well past we had all quarantined for the recommended 14 days, monitored our temps, distanced from each other and made mask wearing mandatory.

I like to think of myself of a healthy person. I monitor what I eat, I work out regularly, and the job keeps me on my feet everyday. I’m under 30 years old and have no health conditions. I woke up for my shift one morning in late November with an unfamiliar pressure in my chest, nothing extreme or warranting any initial panic at the time. I simply thought that I had slept in an awkward position or possibly tweaked something while working the day before. As the day progressed it grew. I started feeling fatigued even after I had two cups of coffee more than my typical evening routine consisted of. Upon retiring to my cabin, I crawled into my bunk and immediately passed out. Six hours passed by in an instant and I had to be back out on deck for my morning work. In my groggy state, I pulled on my boots and made my usual trip to the coffee machine. After filling my mug, I began to make my way upstairs to work. About six stairs up I realized I had a problem. I could not breathe. No matter how hard I panted and wheezed, my lungs just refused to work. It was terrifying. I’ve never smoked, don’t have asthma, and yet here I was feeling like I was a fish out of water. The only thought I initially had was that I was going to die right then and there in that ladderwell. Then an idea crept into my panicked brain from my firefighting training. I must regulate my breathing. After I timed by breathes, I was able to lower my heart rate and collect myself. I don’t recall much from the next six hours but somehow I made it through my shift. Once back in my cabin I began to evaluate my options. It didn’t take long to realize that I did not have any. The vessel was approximately 2 weeks from reaching port and we did not have anyone to cover my essential duties onboard. Being evacuated off the vessel is reserved for life threatening conditions only, and I did not believe that this to be that critical. I notified the captain and medical officer but they believed me to be suffering from allergies since we had not been in contact with anyone or ashore for over two weeks. My self diagnosis was further solidified in my mind when I was preparing for my evening shift and went to apply body spray. It has a very distinct and cool smell that normally fills my small room, but this time, nothing. I could not smell it whatsoever. I even soaked my finger in it and held it up to my nose because I could not believe what was happening.

Every breathe was labored, and I soon developed a cough. I could not walk up a flight of stairs or more than a hundred or so feet without stopping to catch my breathe. My six hour shifts dragged by in a haze while my six hour rest periods did little to allow me to recuperate. I felt fatigued. I felt like I was slowly wasting away, and every step was slowly destroying my body.

On the third day shortly after waking up my smart watch alerted me to the increasing severity of my condition. I don’t trust that it uses medical grade technology but I do believe it to be fairly accurate since its provided data thats been fairly average for the past year. That morning it reported that my heart rate was approximately 120 beats per minute, over twice what it normally was during my daily activities. More grim however was my blood oxygen content, my sp02. My normal range for blood oxygen saturation was typically 97–98%, with the lowest I’d seen it being after a hard workout at 93%. This morning it was 87%. I’m not normally one to complain but at this point I realized the gravity of the situation. If my lungs stopped working while at sea, I would die. It was as simple as that. There was no debating it, no options, no medical cure-all, no home remedy. This was it. My body would either persevere or it would perish.

I notified the medical officer, but there was little he could do. I isolated from the rest of the crew to try to limit the spread. Many were older than myself and had health conditions that would make their infection more severe than mine. Many of them also smoked regularly which I felt could further complicate their prognosis. I thought it was strange that I was the first one to develop symptoms being the youngest and arguably the most active and healthiest member of the crew. I didn’t know how the invisible imposter had found its way onto our isolated sanctuary and I don’t know why I was the only one it chose to infect. All I knew was that I had to beat it.

It took about three days of living in a haze of coughing and fighting for breath before my symptoms finally relented. Within five days, I had regained my sense of smell and was able to breathe normally. I still had an occasional cough and lingering fatigue but I was able to complete my daily tasks in their entirety without feeling any adverse effects.

When the vessel finally made it into port, I was relieved. We could not disembark the vessel due to both company and local regulations but I felt a sense of safety being within range of adequate medical care even though I no longer had any symptoms. Unfortunately ships are not made to sit in port, and after loading cargo, we were promptly back underway again. As I watched the lights on the horizon disappear I felt a feeling I have not felt for many years…. isolation.