Warning: if you don’t like to hear about sicknesses and toilets, skip this post. 

Oh man, I’m bummed out you guys. I’m sitting in the hotel room so as to be within 3 feet of a toilet (yes, this is a post about current events, not what we got up to several days ago). I was hoping to be sitting backstage one last time, watching the show from the backstage perspective – I leave tomorrow! It mighta been ok, but I had to make a call. And the cramping/gurgling in my guts made it pretty clear that the call was: go the hell back to the hotel where you can be miserable in privacy.

Le sigh.

It started yesterday around noon or maybe 1pm. When I was suddenly overtaken with a need to use the washroom on our way home from lunch I figured it was just an extension of my mild hangover (we went out Wednesday night and had an ill-advised mix of alcohol). Handily, there was a public toilet just down from the street stalls where Dunc was considering some watches. However, I couldn’t face it. Not as bad as some I’ve encountered, as it had fully-closing stall doors. Behind the door was basically a trough. Not even your standard issue ‘squatty potty’. Nope. A trough that appeared to run the length of the stalls (leading then to Godknowswhere), and that had a small amount of gently-flowing water running through it. And nowhere to put your tissue –  there was just a pile to one side of the trough.

I couldn’t do it. SOFT, I know. Fortunately it wasn’t a super-emergency so I could wait until we got to the hotel. As we walked along, however, my skin started hurting and my joints started aching. By the time we got to the hotel, I wanted nothing more than to lie in the bed, wrapped in the duvet, FOREVER.

Duncan didn’t have to leave for work until 3:45, but I was basically useless until he left, alternating cold and hot, with shivers and chills and sweats and everything awesome about having a fever. I slept until 5:15, woke up still hurting, so dozed some more until 6:15. Finally scuffed across the hotel room to grab a snack and text Duncan – who reported that he also didn’t feel that well.

I had hoped to maybe check out Chinese acrobatics last night. Um, no. No doing anything. I ordered some room service because I thought food might make me feel less weak. I then got back into bed around 8pm and tried to stay awake while watching boring TV and movies. But I had to close my eyes during the Deadliest Catch scenes with high seas. No thank you, do not want to imagine being on a boat.

Dunc texted from his shuttle bus around 10:40, reporting that he was achy and sore all over too. Sure enough, he got home sick as a dog and we spent the night tag teaming the bathroom. Both ends for him; just lovely runs for me (HEY – YOU WERE WARNED. YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED READING).

GROSSSSSSSSS. We’ve never both been sick at the same time; at least not like that. At one point during the night, I was imagining that we’d have to beg a spare room from one of Dunc’s couple friends (each person gets their own room), so that we could each have our own bathroom. I repeat: GROSSSSSSSSS.

In my fevered state, I would collapse back in bed and have some kind of lucid-fever-dream that there was a rule that I had to lie on my back, on some kind of a hill. I don’t know what the hill thing was about, but sure enough, turning on my side was a great way to force me back out of bed.

I haven’t been that ill in a long time. Even at my sickest in Thailand, I don’t think I had that much of a fever (almost 101 by my thermometer’s reckoning last night).

We were up and down most of the night, finally waking up around 11am (almost 24 hours after I basically went to bed the first time, for crying out loud!). Dunc felt strong enough to source us some juice and crackers, and even found dehydrated miso soup that came with a BOWL. Genius. We both managed to eat a little, and he felt pretty ok (while I was still moaning about the hurtingness every few minutes). But damn, that salty miso soup was good.

So anyway, we’re neither of us 100%. Duncan went off to work feeling nearly better, and I went out for an hour to pick up a suitcase (and even managed to haggle a tiny bit, while sweating like crazy as my fever broke once and for all). I then hustled to get on the last shuttle bus to join Dunc for dinner and to watch the show… but I knew almost as soon as the bus pulled away from the hotel that I was likely being overly optimistic. I had a bit of dinner with Dunc, and ended up getting a ride back to the hotel with one of the runners – but not before hearing that another 3 or 4 people are suffering with very similar symptoms. Hell, maybe it’s something at catering? Or an actual bug and not something we’ve all eaten or had to drink?

Whatever the cause, things seem to be mostly over. But man oh man, being sick SUCKS LARGE. Better yesterday than during my 24 hours of travel, I guess, but I can’t help but feel bitter that so much of our last couple of days together was spent so miserably!

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One Response to SICK

  1. Pingback: Tour Break: Istanbul and The Sickness | Plan A

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