Ode to the Vomit Comet

It seems like forever since I last posted. It was forever. I spent January with my head over the bowl, puking my guts up. It was so bad, my friend in Australia started calling me the Vomit Comet. Ouch. I couldn't really be annoyed, since most of Australia has been on fire for longer than I had food poisoning. Somewhere in London there's probably an alien, running around and biting people-and people will know when it's coming, because the thing stinks of rotten curry.

It took weeks to recover. My neighbor, Big Flo, heard me through the wall-the walls are that thin, I could hear her sneezing, she could hear me puking. At one point, Flo stopped me and said, oh, it must be karma. I asked her why she is still alive, given the amount of karma she has accrued over her lifetime. This is a woman who believes that if it's printed in The Sun (the UK's answer to the National Enquirer) it must be true. And Flo spells karma with a c. There's no hope for her.

So I'm back now, although it was so nasty that I wondered if I had a hernia-or cancer-or had just ripped my guts up after a severe case of food poisoning. Perhaps the hypochondria of my neighbors is contagious? I finally went to the doc, who told me that it could take until the end of March to feel back to normal. That's what I like: optimism.

First we had storm Ciara, which caused a huge amount of destruction; we then had Dennis (the Menace), which caused more destruction. Last weekend there was yet another one-so someone tell me there's no such thing as global warming??

And now: coronavirus. This one is scary, because the doctors keep telling me that I have to be careful-more careful than anyone, because those of us who were born without a functioning immune system are in a high risk category. Now you can imagine the reaction of Big Flo, who has to be one of the biggest hypochondriacs I have ever met.

Last week, just as I was getting back to normal, going to see the docs (only to be told that I'm in good shape for my age, and that I should come back in another year...thanks...some compliment), and able to zip up my jeans for the first time since the dreaded curry (so I know I'm back to normal), Flo came out and confronted several of us, who stop to have a quick chat when we see each other.

Now Flo always has symptoms of everything that is going. E-coli? Oh my! Ebola? She's certain she contracted that. And now-coronavirus. She was in her element. She was certain that she has all the symptoms of Covid-19. We just all looked at each other, and there was a great deal of eye-rolling. So I asked her if she's been away. Been abroad? Italy? China? I don't know if she knows where China is, but I asked anyway. She said that she has been away. I asked where. She replied: Essex. Oh, I said, as everyone started to laugh. Essex. To Flo, that's the same as being abroad (about ten miles abroad, if that).

So we all finally had enough. We backed away from her, and I said (with a perfectly straight face): you know, there is an epidemic in Essex. That was enough to have everyone else turn away, stifling laughter. I said: West Nile Fever. I thought that poor Flo was going to have a seizure. I told her to go to the doctor's and be tested. Immediately. And off she ran.

It was mean-but hilarious-and you can say anything to anyone, but if you say it in all seriousness and with a perfectly straight face, most people will believe you. West Nile Fever my little New York behind.

I got a call from one of the women I know who works at the doctor's office. She told me that Big Flo came in there screaming, demanding to be tested for West Nile Fever. Ann has known me for years-and she knew that I was behind it, and everyone at the surgery had a huge laugh. But Big Flo won't be moaning to all of us again in a hurry. 

Yep-it's karma. With a k.

I'm not back to Kettle Chips yet, but I am back to Starbucks. Am I wearing a mask (because of coronavirus)? No, but I am careful about washing my hands. I wash them so often, you would think I have OCD. Hand washing. Hand sanitizer. That's about it for prevention. And staying away from huge crowds - like in the London Underground, which is nasty anyway, since I'm short and always come up to someone's armpit (nasty!!).

People are getting really neurotic, buying toilet rolls and other staples "just in case". In case of what? Diarrhea? You have to live without fear. And that is the lesson that the first two and a half months of the new year-and the new decade-taught me. 

I did not have an auspicious start to the new year and new decade. I can look at it as a warning of more disasters to come-as an omen, if you will-or I can look at it as a learning experience, which hopefully I will never have to repeat. I choose to believe that things will be better from now on. 

I remember to stay away from curry. I also remember to never spell karma with a c.

How not to start a new year...and a new decade

The best way not to start either? Don't get food poisoning.

Everything went fine after my last blog, grumpy and testy as I was at the time. I wanted to accomplish things I'd left for dead before the start of 2020-and I figured that I would post on New Year's Day, when everyone who was hung over had recuperated. But Murphy's Law, as usual, came and bit me on the ass.

I was minding my own business when I heard someone calling my name. First name, no swearing. It turned out to be Tina, a workmate from years ago. And I do mean years ago. She was in town for the holidays, we had a very quick chat, and we decided to meet up on New Year's Day-since she realized why she avoided her family for most of the year. Like everyone, I suppose.

We met, and she suggested going for a curry-I usually only go to curry places I know-or, for that matter, any restaurants I know, where I've never been sick afterwards. But Tina said that this was a good place, local, we could both get back easily, so I said okay, fine. Eeek!! How did I know that we were going to end up with a listeria platter and a side of e-coli?

Everything went well, we said we'd keep in touch, next time she's in London she'd contact me, and we went our separate ways. Great way to start a new year, right? Huh...as if!

I started getting stomach pain about two hours after we'd eaten. My abdomen was so distended, I looked like I was going to give birth to a baby elephant-or maybe a full-sized elephant. I couldn't move, could hardly breathe, and it felt like someone was cutting their way out of my stomach. Really-it reminded me of the Alien film? Anyone remember that? When I finally went to see the GP on Friday-just to find out what she thought it was and how long I was going to continue to feel sick, she remembered (everyone at the doc's office loved the films. I knew there was a reason I kept going back there). So-remember the scene where the alien chews its way out of the man's stomach, and runs around, chomping at people? That is how I felt. And it was decidedly unpleasant.

Well-I made myself sick (the old fingers down the throat trick), and was doing that all night, not that it did much good. By Thursday afternoon the swelling had gone down. My system is so full of antibiotics anyway, I figured that any alien would have just keeled over and died of malnutrition.

And Tina was sick, too-so it was definitely food poisoning. We kept phoning each other all night long, just to check that neither of us had died.

I've been pretty much out for the count for the past week. So much for new year's resolutions, right? And so much for curry. And takeaways. And eating out...

I was so ready to wish everyone a happy 2020 and a happy and healthy new decade, too. So happy both to you, and so sorry that it's over a week later than I'd intended.

I decided not to start the new year the way I started the old year-and the old decade. I didn't want to carry all that negativity and anger with me; I used the hatred and injustice over the gentamicin to propel myself forward, refusing to let the incompetent bastards win. Was justice done? No, it was not. That does irk me-but I also know that there's nothing I can do about it. So I just have to leave it in the past and keep working to get as much balance back as I can-and to work on getting healthier post-cancer, and not to fear cancer's return. That is something that I will have to deal with if it happens, not before.

Of course, if anyone really feels like coming over to round up the cripplers-Hilary Longhurst is now killing/crippling her patients in Harley Street, of course-much more money than in the NHS- Phil Bright is working in North Bristol NHS, ferret-faced Grigoriadou and fucky bucky buckster Matt Buckland are both doing the same, bullying and crippling patients at the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel-and kicking the living crap out of all of them so that all patients will be safe for at least a couple of years (when you are invited to come over, round them up, and kick the shit out of them again), please feel free. It's not aggression; it's compassion for all those unsuspecting patients who aren't free of the monsters' tentacles.

Let me know; I'll take you to lunch. Repeatedly. A good restaurant where you don't have to worry about practically dying from e coli-or from some alien trying to chew his way out of your stomach.
In Yank speak: upscale. In Brit speak: posh.

Meanwhile, I'm back (just a little thinner), I'll keep you updated, much more often. Life over here is getting much more lively...

Happy New Year, Happy New Decade, and lay off the curry.