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In January I was scheduled to travel away from my home in cold, dark Anchorage to the warm, bright beaches of the Turks and Caicos. It was a sanctuary vacation I had been looking forward to for months, and I gleefully packed swimsuits and sandals in anticipation. I also managed to ignore a nagging tickle in the back of my throat, assuring myself that it would certainly go away in the tropical air. A week later I was bedridden with the worst virus I had ever experienced. Feverish, unable to...
