Of Flight and Purging
Well, I'm back from London. Despite my packed schedual (flying out, interviwing, having tours/info sessions, and flying back home in the space of 24hrs) this trip definately felt longer than any of my previous ones. There are a couple of reasons for that...the first is that I went almost entirely without sleep for those 24 hrs and the 18 hrs preceding them (which I spent at work). The second...food poisoning.
I have no clue what I ate...I had Subway at some point earlier in the day, but so did Jon and he felt no ill-effects. Maybe it was the handful of almonds I ingested right before boarding. All I know is, five minutes into the flight my stomach started cramping violently. I was in pretty bad pain for the first hour or so...though I managed to sink into a fitful doze eventually. But I woke a little later, covered in sweat, feeling feverish, and generally not very happy. Then I felt that aweful feeling...you know, like the bottom has dropped out of your stomach and your food, having suddenly lost its way, is planning on taking the only exit route left to it: your mouth. I realized I had about ten seconds to get to the bathroom before my seatmates became very unhappy with me. This dilemma was worsened because I was in the middle seat, and the people to either side of me were sleeping. Undeterred, I leapt over the lady to my left and staggered to the washroom just in time.
This happened an hour into the flight. It was the first bout of MANY. I must have visited that washroom ten times over the course of the rest of the trip. Visions of losing control in my interview (a scant six hours away) loomed...would my panel be able to look past the sprays of bile and see me for the fabulous potential doctor I was? Would I pass out and crack my head on the table? Would I just explode in a shower of stomach acid? Could I beg for a bed at the hopsital and lie down and (hopefully) recover before I had to go in? I was verging on panic, awash with self-pity and misery. And then we got ready to land.
Landing is a twenty-minute process. And during this time you are not permitted to leave your seats. For anything. Even puking. After all, that's why they have those little vomit bags tucked into the seat pocket in front of you. But if you've never used one, loudly, frantically, and for a prolonged period in front of an entire plane of horrified people and between two persons desperately trying to move as far away from you as possible without undoing their seatbelts, then you've never been humiliated. I was nearly in tears by the time we finally got docked, and wound up sitting by myself in the plane while everyone else deboarded.
I got off finally, bought myself a ginger ale (something I thought might settle my stomach), and sat down to wait for my connecting flight. And immediately felt fine. Tired, but absolutely fine. Bizzare. Nevertheless, I didn't eat anything until AFTER my interview was over. It went very well, probably the best one so far actually. The panel asked some tough questions, but I really feel I answered them excellently. I think they got a better feel for who I am and what I'm capable of than any of my previous panels. So we'll see.
In much happier news: Jon and I have reached our two year mark as of today! Yes, exactly two years ago we were at the Pilsen, drinking copious amounts of apricot beer with the J9 crew, and I (feeling the beer) took the initiative and grabbed his leg. And the rest...is not fit for public consumption. Suckers!
I have no clue what I ate...I had Subway at some point earlier in the day, but so did Jon and he felt no ill-effects. Maybe it was the handful of almonds I ingested right before boarding. All I know is, five minutes into the flight my stomach started cramping violently. I was in pretty bad pain for the first hour or so...though I managed to sink into a fitful doze eventually. But I woke a little later, covered in sweat, feeling feverish, and generally not very happy. Then I felt that aweful feeling...you know, like the bottom has dropped out of your stomach and your food, having suddenly lost its way, is planning on taking the only exit route left to it: your mouth. I realized I had about ten seconds to get to the bathroom before my seatmates became very unhappy with me. This dilemma was worsened because I was in the middle seat, and the people to either side of me were sleeping. Undeterred, I leapt over the lady to my left and staggered to the washroom just in time.
This happened an hour into the flight. It was the first bout of MANY. I must have visited that washroom ten times over the course of the rest of the trip. Visions of losing control in my interview (a scant six hours away) loomed...would my panel be able to look past the sprays of bile and see me for the fabulous potential doctor I was? Would I pass out and crack my head on the table? Would I just explode in a shower of stomach acid? Could I beg for a bed at the hopsital and lie down and (hopefully) recover before I had to go in? I was verging on panic, awash with self-pity and misery. And then we got ready to land.
Landing is a twenty-minute process. And during this time you are not permitted to leave your seats. For anything. Even puking. After all, that's why they have those little vomit bags tucked into the seat pocket in front of you. But if you've never used one, loudly, frantically, and for a prolonged period in front of an entire plane of horrified people and between two persons desperately trying to move as far away from you as possible without undoing their seatbelts, then you've never been humiliated. I was nearly in tears by the time we finally got docked, and wound up sitting by myself in the plane while everyone else deboarded.
I got off finally, bought myself a ginger ale (something I thought might settle my stomach), and sat down to wait for my connecting flight. And immediately felt fine. Tired, but absolutely fine. Bizzare. Nevertheless, I didn't eat anything until AFTER my interview was over. It went very well, probably the best one so far actually. The panel asked some tough questions, but I really feel I answered them excellently. I think they got a better feel for who I am and what I'm capable of than any of my previous panels. So we'll see.
In much happier news: Jon and I have reached our two year mark as of today! Yes, exactly two years ago we were at the Pilsen, drinking copious amounts of apricot beer with the J9 crew, and I (feeling the beer) took the initiative and grabbed his leg. And the rest...is not fit for public consumption. Suckers!
posted by Keltok at 6:48 PM
1 Comments:
Hell Kelt, that sounds like hell. I once threw up on a bus. Later that week my parents told me how my brother, who had just started middle school, was scared shitless of going to the place the first month, and made my parents drive him because he swore he might throw up on the bus. I was like hell, it's not that bad . . . It all went by very fast though. No multi hour trips up and down that bus. Anyways, my sympathies.
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