No not alas a phantasmagoric adventure by Terry Pratchett, or akin to Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast, but a reference to Gastroenteritis, from which I have been suffering for most of the past week. Escherichia is more commonly known as Escherichia Coli, or E-Coli, and is the main cause of food poisoning in NZ, and last week it decided to take up residence in my abdomen, of all places, without so much as a by your leave!
The source of the infection was traced back to a sausage roll which maliciously refused to reheat itself correctly in the microwave, thus allowing the escherichia to run riot and breed like rabbits in my gut. The results of course were mightily unpleasant and involved projections from both ends.
At this point I should apologise to Countdown Supermarkets for wrongfully accusing a pasta salad purchased from their deli counter as the source. I should apologise, but I wont, as I don't like them anyway and their adverts really irritate me, especially that strangely voiced Richard Till.
Normally my insides would be capable of seeing off this vicious bacterial attack, however the combination of anti rejection (or immuno-suppression) drugs and my current weakened state as I recuperate, meant that my system collapsed and I was taken into the lovely hospital again.
I almost asked for my “usual room” and swiped my loyalty card as I was whisked through the A&E dept. I was poked and probed and analysed and they decided to admit me as dehydration can be really injurious to the new kidney's wellbeing. Thus safely ensconced in a small private room with ensuite (not quite as smart as the Skycity Grand Hotel, but still excellent for the North Shore Hospital), I was pumped full of medications and lavished with tender care from the staff.
After multiple infusions from a saline drip, which lasted for the next three days, my bowels became mine once more and I vanquished the sausage nurtured malevolence and turmoil within.
Following a successful peace conference held just outside Paris in a old railway carriage both parties agreed to cease hostilities and stick to an armistice. Oh no, that was WW1......but there does appear now to be peace within my gut once more, and equilibrium has returned with the cautious optimism that follows a major conflict.
I still need to rehydrate myself after so many days of dehydrating, for I have been visited by the familiar grim herald that announces it's presence with a scythe cutting through my blood pressure, laughing sardonically as I feel wobbly and dive like a seagull towards the horizon.
Reminiscent of the ever present spectre of Death hanging around in a Bergman film noir, the foreboding and depressing sense of being powerless and being held hostage to a malign force that lies hidden expectantly on the shore. An ever present harbinger of more medical mishaps, waiting for that moment of weakness when it will reappear and force me to engage in a symbolic game of chess, which I will lose and suffer the usual collapses once more, while Death laughs triumphantly at my predicament.
So I need to drink plenty of fluids to combat this dark force, who seems now to be a constant companion along my road to recovery. Lots of water, coffee, milk, soup and perhaps a symbolic cup of tea and a HøbNöb. For those of a Britannic nature and upbringing you may remember those references from French and Saunders at the Movies from 1993 which lampoons the Bergman genre to perfection, but if you have forgotten it, or are simply just too depressed to think that far back here it is again:
Until next time...FIN
No comments:
Post a Comment