Sick, sick, sick (Jeremy)

I have managed to be nicely sick over the last couple of weeks with a variety of bugs. Cold, flu, that whole sore-dizzy thing that Melbourne seems to have had over the last month, and the latest illness is something which, believe me, on a want-to-know basis, you most definetely do not want to know. (Let’s just say that it evoked memories of my travels in China, where we got food poisoning so often that we kept a “scoreboard”). Best of all, this gastric bug just won’t seem to go away and has managed to rear its ugly head at the most inconvenient of times.

Last Sunday I invited Dear Kim to come over with me to my grandparent’s place for lunch over in the west of the city (the day after doing the 3am shuffle between bedroom and bathroom, then back to bedroom, back to bathroom… you get the drift). It all went without a hitch; Nan made sure not to ask (on threat of death, naturally) “WHAT are your intentions with my Grandson?”, and we made sure that in order to gain any sort of acceptance into our family Kim understood that she had to support Geelong within the month. The train ride home rates a mention too, if only for the very funny Melbourne-supporting footy bogans (and isn’t that a contradiction in terms?) who decided to entertain us all by teasing the single Bulldog supporter on the train. We left the train contented, with “It’s a Grand Old Flag” ringing in our ears and the wind whistling through our clothes. That wasn’t an issue; it had been a great day.

The problems came later.

Kim’s family – wonderfully generous people that they are – had asked me if I was going to stay at their place for dinner? and of course there was no way that I was ever going to be able to turn down such an offer as that. On the menu was steak (slightly bloody, as I like it), followed up by potatoes and of course a little healthy salad. It wasn’t quite until I’d finished my second steak that my gut began to wire little messages to my brain that it wasn’t happy and had begun to sulk a little, and within the shorter side of five minutes that light sulking had suddenly turned into a fully-blown temper tantrum. “Please excuse my rudeness”, I said, as I stood up, forced-smile hitched on my pasty, pale face, before running off to the bathroom as fast as politeness could possibly allow me.

I emerged twenty minutes later, having turned a delicate shade of vanilla, with slightly shaking legs and quivering knees. “You right, Jez?” asked Dearest Kim, at a time when sympathy was exactly what I needed. “Do you need to go home?”. The thought of car travel was not exactly enthralling at the time but the thought of having my own bed and my own bathroom at my disposal instead of constantly abusing hers was too good to resist. I felt incredibly rude leaving, and this is akin to a nigh-on public apology to her family for leaving so abruptly, but I had no choice. I jumped in the car and they bade us farewell. “Now”, said Kim, “if you need to pull over, just say so, believe me.”

I grabbed her by the hand. “I, the undersigned, do hereby promise that I will not throw in your car – Jez.” I meant it, too.

Well, it was certainly an interesting trip, to say the least. What should have been a twenty-minute hop, skip and a jump turned into a thirty-five minute sweat-faced extravaganza as we pulled over twice to let me try and recollect some sense of balance and settle my angry stomach, which had since progressed from temper tantrums to all-out guerilla war. Eventually we got home, and fifteen minutes later, the sick feeling disappeared (not completely), as fast as it had come. It’s strange like that.

It didn’t return (with the exception of another quick bout on Monday morning mid-lecture) until lunchtime today, when I was about to settle down to lunch with Kim. (The fact that I was with her both times when I was sick says a lot more about the amount of time we’re spending together rather than any tenuous link between her company and me being sick). That makes eight days running of this bug, and I’m sick of not being able to eat properly. I want to be able to enjoy meals out and time with people I care about without needing to duck off to the loo once every ten minutes whenever fate decrees, and so I think I’m going to see someone about this tomorrow. The nausea sucks, but the frustration’s worse. And yes, I am washing my hands with hot water and soap. No-one else in my family has caught it yet, and I think that’s a credit on my part, thanks.

Anyway, I’m off to powder my nose… hope you’re all settling nicely back into the world of academia;

w.love to all

a nicely sick jez