PASSIONATE NO MORE
I´m lying on a gurney in a South American hospital and I feel like I´m about to die. A drip drops a mix of hydrating fluid and painkillers into my left forearm. And despite the weight of cotton blankets piled on top of my gown-clad body, I shiver and my teeth chatter uncontrollably. Yes, my nemesis has returned: gastroenteritis.
My only previous experience of this stomach-spasm-inducing, vomit-provoking curse came after three days of heavy combat in Bolivia, followed by a well-earned glass of my favourite drink in the world: passion fruit juice.
What could it have been this time. I´m on holiday, so no stress. Maybe it was all that food - the ribs, chicken wings, avocado, plantain pie, chocolate fondue, mousse - that I guzzled at the wedding late on Saturday night. But then my thoughts turn to Sunday morning´s breakfast: a cleansing plate of exotic fruit, accompanied by...Yep, you guessed it, a glass of passion fruit juice, an oxymoron if ever there was one.
First came the spasms. Then the shits. More shits. Retching (no puke). Shits. Hospital. More retching (lots of puke). Shits. Shits. And more shits. I was prescribed a cocktail of drugs that cost me upwards of $200, together with a child´s mix of sugar-salt hydrating solution (available in tangy pineapple, smooth coconut, delumptious cherry or crap apple). I was proscribed any food with a remnant of taste, fat or sweetness.
Three days on, I´m back on solids (ejecting them out of my body, that is) and preparing for two days in the Caribbean. Alas, no fish Though hopefully I´ll meet someone on the island...
I´m lying on a gurney in a South American hospital and I feel like I´m about to die. A drip drops a mix of hydrating fluid and painkillers into my left forearm. And despite the weight of cotton blankets piled on top of my gown-clad body, I shiver and my teeth chatter uncontrollably. Yes, my nemesis has returned: gastroenteritis.
My only previous experience of this stomach-spasm-inducing, vomit-provoking curse came after three days of heavy combat in Bolivia, followed by a well-earned glass of my favourite drink in the world: passion fruit juice.
What could it have been this time. I´m on holiday, so no stress. Maybe it was all that food - the ribs, chicken wings, avocado, plantain pie, chocolate fondue, mousse - that I guzzled at the wedding late on Saturday night. But then my thoughts turn to Sunday morning´s breakfast: a cleansing plate of exotic fruit, accompanied by...Yep, you guessed it, a glass of passion fruit juice, an oxymoron if ever there was one.
First came the spasms. Then the shits. More shits. Retching (no puke). Shits. Hospital. More retching (lots of puke). Shits. Shits. And more shits. I was prescribed a cocktail of drugs that cost me upwards of $200, together with a child´s mix of sugar-salt hydrating solution (available in tangy pineapple, smooth coconut, delumptious cherry or crap apple). I was proscribed any food with a remnant of taste, fat or sweetness.
Three days on, I´m back on solids (ejecting them out of my body, that is) and preparing for two days in the Caribbean. Alas, no fish Though hopefully I´ll meet someone on the island...
posted by David Cohen at 3:55 am
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