Saturday, June 23, 2007

A Day Off Sick

Mexico is a dirt, filthy and very poor place. Except the bit where we went to on Honeymoon (Puerto Aventura fact fans). All inclusive, large pool, 10 restaurants and not a Mexican to be seen except the staff who customarily bowed and scraped as only the very poor can. It was bourgeois heaven.

The route there was a bit circuitous, consisting of a plane from Plymouth to Gatwick, via Newquay ie going west, then east and finally back west crossing Plymouth a total of three times on the outbound journey. But all was good.

I melted on a regular basis and had to make use of the available shelter by gorging on food 24/7. I'm not sure but they may also have let us back in our hotel room during the day if we'd asked - or is that just B&Bs? The food was fir for a slightly well off king. Huuuuuuge buffets for the most part with each restaurant serving national dishes of different countries. Italian, Japanese, English etc I tried pretty much every dish available. The wife had cheese omelette and chips at pretty much every mealtime. Looking back I wish I had too.

Two weeks this cycle of food storage in my stomach and gut went on for. It was only later that I realised I hadn't been for number twos during the entire time.

We flew back on the Wednesday and I was back at work Thursday. On the Friday I woke, sorry I was woken up by the most horrific pain experience by man. The kind of pain that bitch Pandora let out of her trinket box. Cramp went my stomach, cramp, tight cramp, punch, cramp and so the cycle went on. An ambulance had to be called eventually as I couldn't get out of bed. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement: I couldn't actually move. Apparently, when you breath really hard really fast (to try and control your pain - oh the memory hurts still) you hyperventilate. Do it long enough and you lose feeling in your extremities. Even longer and your hands start to curl and you can't talk. This is the state I was in when the paramedics walked in.

"Is he always like this?", they asked.

Fuck off, mate.

According to the junior doctor at the hospital I was suffering Montezuma's Revenge . Well aint Montezuma a bastard?

I lost a stone in weight that weekend as the two weeks worth of food was flushed out of me.

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