The Situation - Part 1
Imagine being so ill abroad that you actually consider changing your flight to a later day. So I love Zakynthos and I don't want to paint a horrible picture of the island as it is a genuine paradise (as long as you're not in the room next to me), but what we endured was definitely anything but.
By day 4 of our 7 day summer holiday we were truly settled in, after a long day of snorkelling and sunbathing we quad-biked over to see my grandparents who were staying on the other side of the island. My boyfriend had not been to Greece before so I wanted him to try Gus' chips at the Daniel Hotel (truly amazing), but when the plate of golden, oily chips were put on the table his expression shocked me. He was refusing to even try the chips and was cradling his head and stomach, now in any other situation he'd have said to up and leave but Homer (my grandad - long story) and I were enjoying the chips so much that he sat there suffering at the sight. We then left in quite a hurry and as soon as his feet hit the hotel room he staggered into the bathroom and the relentless sick began.
Now I know this sounds horrible but it was quite hard to feel empathy for him as the situation was quite funny (at the time maybe it wasn't so funny to him) but he actually thought he was dying. Even to the point where I had to be on the phone to his mum, just to gain the reassurance for him that it was just a bug. His sick situation continued through the night but by morning we were back on the quad bikes and had our second attempt at introducing him to the wonder that is Gus' chips. Now here is where the karma began, we were parked up on the beach looking at the clear blue view when I began to get cold...fast. My belly had me bent over and I had no warning for what was about to occur. Hanging on for dear life behind my boyfriend, I had positioned my head with the wind so if I was to be sick it wouldn't splash back on us; venturing up the mountains on the rickety quad bike I had lost all hope. Thankfully we reached the hotel room (de ja vu) before the nightmare began.
Imagine having to decide between going to the toilet (putting it modestly) and being sick, in an ideal situation you'd sit down on the loo and have a bucket in tow. Of course it was never going to be that simple was it? So I'm on the loo having what I can only describe as definitely not the time of my life, while throwing up aimlessly all over the floor beneath my feet; oh and the best part... my boyfriend watched (and smelt) the whole thing. I cannot put into words the scene before us, the beautiful white bathroom resembled that of an orange crime scene and with my hair stuck to my face and having lost circulation in my legs, it is true to say I was a mess. The only hope I had to grasp onto was that my boyfriend had recovered after 12 hours so hopefully this would be the same, I couldn't have been more wrong.
By day 5 I had not slept, eaten, drunk or walked further than 2 steps without ruining the bathroom further. My minimal tan had begun to fade and I was bundled in bed with 8 pillows, two hoodies, leggings and a crispy duvet. There goes my airport outfit!
Day 6 was when I began looking for alternative flights and regretting taking the mick out of my boyfriend when he was in this position (nowhere near as bad let's just note). How I even had anything to throw up I will never understand, the thought of water even made my belly turn. It was as if everything good in my body had been sucked out of me and I was just left unable to function at all; my bed stank, I stank, the bathroom resembled what can only be described as something from a horror movie and my boyfriend was never going to look at me the same again. Brilliant. The smallest silver lining was that a storm hit a few hours after I became ill and carried on until today so at least we didn't miss beach days, but then my bright idea hit. I sent my boyfriend to the local pharmacy to find absolutely anything to get me onto the flight the next day, 50 euros later (god knows how) I started taking medication to sooth my belly.
Day 7 and don't be fooled, yes I made the flight but with check-out at 11am I sat in that bathroom til 10:59am, searching for my last shred of hope. Oh and just to add fire to the already burning, dry desert situation that was my life, the maid came in just before we left; what is the problem with that? Oh you have no idea, so the lovely greek lady happened to speak no English (in my defence there was no saving her) and despite our incessent warnings she proceeded to the bathroom. We had cleaned up as well as we could but there was one issue, the bath matt. Setting the scene: smudged sick in the floor tiles, a windowless bathroom, an overused loo and my target for the vomiting - the bath matt. She emerged from the bathroom holding with her bare hands the dripping matt, orange and distraught. It was one of those situations where the easier option was to say nothing and act oblivious, but her shell-shocked face will forever be etched into the embarrassing section of my brain.
Day 4 and in the UK I began to feel a lot better, I hadn't ruined my life with embarrassment on the plane, I hadn't eaten in 4 days so the thought of a McDonald's was truly pulling my heart strings and we got to relive the memories explaining it all to my mum on the way home from Gatwick. Now even though the disastrous holiday was over, I was naive to think my bad luck was not; my boyfriend had seen scenes I had hoped I could hide forever and to make matters worse it appears that taking sickness/stomach issue tablets only pauses the situation rather than solving it. Guess who decided to press play on the dire ambush that was my life, oh yes my stomach.
Awoken by the sudden urge to get the bathroom and fast, the bug had returned and if anything more vigorous. Thankfully my mum was on call with a bucket so improvements were happening, but guess who was also still here... my boyfriend. As if ruining his view of me abroad wasn't enough, he now has a clear scene of me as a pure mess at home too! Perfect.