I’d been planning the trip for a while, and, thrillingly, it involved an overnight stay in a hotel room (by myself!) in fabulous Newark, NJ, where I would then be met by my friend Colette. We would drive up to Smith together on scenic turnpikes and reminisce and it would all be lovely.

But less than a week before I was supposed to go, I got knocked out and slammed around by a sinus infection so merciless that night after night I was lying in bed in fitful sleep, with a stash of clean T-shirts and towels on the floor next to me because I would sweat through my clothes and wake up shivering in a tangle of clammy sheets.

I did herbal remedies, saltwater rinses, and visualization exercises. Greenish, yellowish bloodied goop still poured out of my nose at a flow rate of about ten ounces per hour. And I didn’t think I’d be able to fly, especially when the emergency on-call doctor I talked to prescribed antibiotics and told me, “You’re not going anywhere.”

My regular doctor was more sanguine. He sent me home with a sackful of pharmaceutical samples and told me, “We’ll get you on that plane,” with a cheery shoulder pat. His regime involved squirting up with about three different nasal sprays and using a decongestant.

But the thing is, I never take medicine. My system is totally unused to the stuff. The decongestant alone made me so spacy that I drove to the airport, arrived more than two hours ahead of time, and still managed to miss my flight. I was, um, browsing in the airport shops. So there I was, hopped up on Sudafed and weeping into my cellphone at the San Francisco airport as I proceeded to call Grant and then my parents and in short make a thorough spectacle of myself.

It all worked out – as you can see from the picture below. I made it to my reunion and got the 80s sampler CD and the tote bag. I got to have a wonderful time with my friend Colette and all the other people who were somehow exactly as I remembered them – either that or simply more themselves now that they are older. And I did get to march in the “white parade,” which is the Ivy Day thing, and which I didn’t do back when I graduated because I was too cool for school (or maybe because I didn’t own anything white back then – can’t remember). Now I have a white outfit I’m ready to break out at a moment’s notice. And I have a neti pot for nasal irrigation. Hurray, reunion!