Day #3 of puke.

Decided that I really should abandon the idea of getting to Sweden this week! Another morning of absolute mind-numbing daytime TV…. How I miss work. Ahem.

Didn’t really have the “feeling better during the day” thing today. So in the evening I put my usual blokey mindset to one side and called for help. Vere turned up in record time and said “you look like shite”. Nice. I bet she says that to all the guys… So it was decided by Vere and Laura that I should go to hospital. Obviously, not wanting to upset anyone, I went along.

Whipps Cross at it’s finest is at 6pm on a Thursday…

It wasn’t too long a wait before I got to see someone. I had the honour of being the first person not called Ahmed or Farouk to be called up to be seen 😉 The GP filled me with confidence by declaring “you don’t look well at all” every couple of minutes. He recommended I stay in for the evening to get rehydrated and re-electrolyted, or something. Sounded good to me. There again, I was so whacked that anything upto and including death would have been acceptable.

I was then handed off to Carlos who wired me up to various things, including a machine that went ‘Ping’. Which was nice. And lots of oxygen, which was nicer. Carlos couldn’t work out why my O2 level was so low, so he kept upping the O2 percentage. Then he realised the machine was dodgy! So, off the O2 then! An ECG and arious bllod and urine tests later, and it seems I have some Gastric virus or something. And mildly dehydrated, so drip me up!

A fun night ahead in Whipps beckoned, so Laura beat a hasty retreat, after taking a phot of course!

Sadly, the machine that went “Ping”, went “Ping” all night… And everytime the drip ran out it went “PingPingPingPingPingPingPingPing” until someone change the drip! So another night of no sleep. Still, the nurses were very sweet. Even the female ones.

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