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By that punny title, I only mean that I went to the states for Thanksgiving and came back with tonsilitis! Wah!
America Makes Me Ill - TECHNICALLY
On the afternoon of Sunday the 21st Mr Wiggins and I trundled our belongings into a taxi and made for the airport so we could join my relatives for an autumn feast.
We watched the in-flight films and read, and I dozed for a little while. With about five hours left of the flight, I woke up out of a restless sleep just as Mr Wiggins decided to try and get some shuteye and use me as a pillow. Something wasn't right. I felt funny. I shifted carefully in my seat, trying not to bother the droopy boy on my shoulder. Nope. This wasn't going to work. I shook Adam and bolted for the tiny upright coffin things they call bathrooms.
Thus began the Vomit Fest.
I vomited about 5 more times after that. After each purge I kept thinking, "Well, now I feel better, it should stop now." Then, already completely dehydrated, I would try to sip a little water, which, within fifteen minutes would be evacuated back into the plastic plane toilet. At one point I asked the stewardess if they had any sort of medication for an upset stomach. She gave me some ginger ale which was promptly rejected as well. I took some later satisfaction in handing her an airsick bag in the last half hour of our flight when the bathrooms were all backlogged by folks who needed that last minute pee before we landed.
"Is it empty?" she asked. (Um, what?? Yeah, I'm having you throw away my empty bag. Yeah, that's it.)
I just replied, incredulously, "No."
With about 20 more minutes before we were due to land, I slumped my head in exhaustion against the seat in front of me and slept. By the time we were filing off to go through customs I was shaky but stable. My stomach's violent rebellion against airplane food had ended.
The next week and a half were great and I have stories and pictures to share, but this post is about how my holiday was bookended by violent and/or disgusting illnesses.
So fastforward to the Jedediah Smith Redwoods where Mr Wiggins and I are road tripping down to McKinleyville, CA to pick up my dad from the airport. We would then all travel to Cupertino where we'd spend a few days with various folks in the area. When we finally sat down at a Marie Calendar's to have a late lunch my ear started itching. This was Sunday.
By Tuesday I had a mild sore throat. By Thursday I could barely swallow and my glands under my jaw were aching almost as badly as when I had mono. That night Mr Wiggins said, "Let me look at your throat." I opened my mouth and tilted my head back, trying to keep my tongue flat.
"Eww... it's all white on one side and it's huge!"
I was convinced at that point that I had strep throat and consigned myself miserably to going to a walk-in clinic.
It's not a good sign when you go see a doctor because you don't feel well and he sticks a tongue depressor on your tongue and says, "Wow, that's impressive!" That's something that one's paranoia can easily fashion into a scenario ending up in a laboratory so someone can do a study for the New England Journal of Medicine about the new mutant bacteria lifeform that came to earth on a meteorite and formed a colony in your eustachian tubes.
But instead of all that he just gave me a bunch of sample antibiotics and told me to call back the next day if those weren't helping.
By the time I flew back home, I could swallow again, although the evil life- force destroying plane dehydration kept me from sleeping since my entire face was chapped and burning.
Is there somewhere in FAA regulations that says that the water content in airplane air can not be any higher than .1 parts per bazillion?
Well, that's my embarrassing and personal disease story for today. I certainly feel better now, don't you?