Obviously there were some serious germs floating around on the aircraft. I ended up becoming extremely good friends with the bathroom overnight and after nearly six hours of going back and forth (I’m not going into details – let’s just say it wasn’t pretty) I woke up my sister (who had slept through all of the to’ings and fro’ings) and asked her to call a doctor. I felt terrible. I knew it wasn’t food poisoning as I’ve been unfortunate enough to have had it before and this felt different but as I lay in bed shaking uncontrollably I actually couldn’t figure out what was wrong but I knew it wasn’t good.
So – at 2.30 am the hotel’s preferred in house doctor service arrived. He was (apart from being horribly expensive) very thorough and examined me properly and pronounced I had managed to contract the dreaded Norovirus. Joy. 2-3 days of feeling utterly crappy was looming. Being the eternal optimist (yes, really) I decided it wasn’t going to take me that long. However, once he’d popped an anti-nausea injection into my butt (thank goodness I’d had that before he told me how much he was going to charge otherwise it may have set off another bout of vomiting) I was only thinking of viewing the inside of my eyelids for an extended period of time, which I proceeded to do.
Later on that morning I woke up and felt much better. The doc had warned me that I’d probably feel unreasonably well after the injection. And I did. I felt so well that I got up, dressed and sis and I went for breakfast. And I kept it down too. However, the inside of my eyelids were again becoming an irresistible prospect and so I viewed them for another few hours after returning to the room.
When I woke up in the early afternoon I realised that there was no way that I was going to make it to the theatre to see Jersey Boys that evening and so we had to forfeit the ticket money. Much gloom. I was still optimistic about the following day …