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Getting sick on holiday, and flying with an ear infection

Monday, 29 October 2012


I've been missing from the blog for a while. I suppose, as it's a travel blog, I can't really use the excuse "I've been away". So I'll have to stick with "I've been sick"

I hate getting sick. I mean, I don't think anyone really loves it, but I just hate it. I especially hate having what is essentially a bad cold, because it never sounds dramatic enough. I spent a long weekend in Portugal, and could feel myself getting sick before I went. I dosed up on echinacea, and even went to the doctor, who told me to rest, get fluids and take paracetamol. Psh.

Anyway, fast forward a few days and my throat was raw. I knew what that meant. The next few days were a blur of coughing, sore swallowing, headaches and body pains.

All of which is bad enough at home, but when you're away? Bleugh.

Though the people I was with were lovely, I couldn't whine as much as I wanted to, or really let on how sick I was feeling (they may disagree).

I couldn't stay in bed, I couldn't rest, and I wasn't about to go to the doctor. I got some strepsils in the chemist, and that was really as much as I could do. I wasn't sleeping enough, for sure, and I just felt rotten.

I'm on the mend, now. I went back to the doctor when I returned, who dosed me up to the hilt with antibiotics and steroids of various kinds, and I took to my bed for a couple of days.

That's all you want when you're sick. Your own bed, and nothing to take you from it. It feels like such a waste, getting ill when you're away.

My friends went to the Maldives last December, as one of those 'once in a lifetime' holidays, partly for her birthday. When the time came to set off, he started to get sick. The flight didn't help, and when they were over there he was sick as a dog, and spent most of the time in bed. On the one night they did both make it to dinner, she ended up getting a bit of a dodgy tummy, and she... no. I can't finish that story. But trust me, it's hilarious and gross, and involves ruining a white bikini.

On the flight home, his EARS BLED because of the pressure. They bled. Blood!

When I was coming back from Portugal, I thought this was going to happen to me. As we ascended, it felt like someone was pushing a red hot poker into my brain. I cannot oversell the agony enough. I'm sure people thought that I was being melodramatic, but I really thought my brain was about to explode. That would have proved them wrong.

After a while, the pain subsided. My ears didn't pop, but they were no longer screaming. That, however, all changed on the descent. I was rolling back and forth, weeping and moaning, literally moaning in pain. Oh, the agony. Agony!

And do you know what was weird? As I was sitting in my seat, CRYING TEARS, the woman sat next to me turned, looked, and said nothing. As did the man on my other side. AND THREE CABIN CREW.

Now, I know. I could have been a crazy person. I could have been scared of flying, or a nut job. But I would never, ever sit next to someone in tears and not ask them if they were OK. It put me in a very bad mood with humankind, let me tell you.

All of which has been a very long winded way of saying - I've been ill. Sorry.

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