The Zombie in the Wheelchair

Day 3-6

George:

The ceiling fan chops noisily above my head, but i don't notice it because I'm already on my way to the bathroom for the third time in the night, towel hastily wrapped around  me, not covering enough. I don't know if Ewan's awake. I have never felt this ill. Ever. Every drop of fluid has been ripped from my body by half hourly episodes of wretching spasms and vicious diahorrea. Something is dragging my stomach through my mouth and there is nothing i can do to stop it.

The ceiling fan chops noisily above my head, but I don't notice it because I'm already on my way to the bathroom for the seventh time in the night. The sickness is worse. It doesn't stop. I throw up for 20 minutes get 10 in bed and I'm up again. The towel lies abandoned on the bathroom floor. I don't care. I've woken Ewan and told him i need help, and I do. I'm struggling to stand, my vision is blurry and the room is spinning. My stomach no longer exists, I am throwing up from my gut.

The noise of the ceiling fan is nothing compared to me. I'm empty and still it does not stop. Help is slow in arriving in these early hours, or maybe time has stopped to spite me. Ewan is up and about, I've woken him about 11 times too many. There is nothing of me. I curl and cramp, I feel a husk. And still it does not stop.

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Ewan:

Not good. George was ruining a decent nights sleep! And what is worse is he'd started wretching without bringing anything up at all. A very noisy process. So at about 5/6am I decided to get him to hospital. I called down a tuk tuk from the main street and we sped away to the second nearest hospital (the 1st one didnt have a doctor in it!).

George was in a pretty bad way by this point. He looked very pale and dark around the eyes. They took him in to see a doctor immediately and they started injecting him with things! He was pretty dopey-looking after that. The nurses trundled him past in a wheelchair, looking like the dribbling undead.

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George:

I do not have time for this. They want my passport number in exchange for a bed. I don't have that with me, I left it behind with my dinner. Ewan is trying to sort out a ward for me with the nurses anyway but it's taking time. Time is something that I, and anyone standing infront or behind me, do not have. I'm already cramping in the chair, my ankles knock involuntarilly against the wheels. The nurses still chat amongst themselves and more forms are produced. They probably have about 30 seconds to get me to a toilet. Ewan looks at me worridly. 20 seconds. One of the nurses is checking over the forms while another is saying something about money. My hand slaps the arm of the wheelchair. 10 seconds. I say to them I'm going to be sick and they have just enough time to look confused.

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Ewan:

Eventually, after I'd paid his deposit for him, they took him to a room upstairs. I was starting to get diahorrea at this point too and it didn't take me long to join George as a vomit-buddy. Despite this minor setback, I had just about enough energy to tuk tuk my way back to our Mount Lavinia homestay, pick up some clean clothes for George as well as changing my own, spin around in the same green tuk tuk and hit the road again.

By the time I got back to the hospital I was despirately weak and in a bad way. I was anxious that I had the same thing as George. I laid down and tried to get some sleep, only to find myself waking up and being horribly sick. I called a nurse and she sorted out a wheelchair (which took time, maybe there is only one?) to take me down to the doctor and thus get me admitted to the hospital. They asked the same questions and performed the same tests as they did with George. Mercifully they got me to lie down on a proper bed as they attached the drip to my left arm. Back in 'the' wheelchair again and up to the admin desk. The nurses all found me very unusual and were giggling away in Sri Lankan. I suspect they were saying something along the lines of, "these tourists really can't handle our food can they?!".

On a side note, I guess I must seem quite strange to them. I'd been surprised at how few white faces there had been in Colombo and I get a lot of stares from everyone in the hospital when I walk about. Not in a bad way. Everyone's absolutely lovely here and very kind; always willing to help. Even so, I guess a 6"2' white, 23 year old with gingery/blonde stubble and a mohawk is going to turn a few heads; especially when most Sri Lankan men are 5"3' with dark hair...

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George:

Ewan has disappeared and I don't know where he's gone. The room I'm left in is comfortable enough, but one doesn't really care about that as long as the medicine works. The traffic noise from outside is constant, horns and dirty engines. But I don't really care about that either as long as the medicine works.

At some point Ewan, saint that he is, managed to get some extra clothes and things for me from the Guest house. It's lucky he's able to do as much as he is otherwise I might not have made it to the bed I'm in now. The last time I saw him he wasn't looking too great though, so I hope he's ok. If he has anything like me then this trip could be over before its really begun.

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Ewan:

Back at the reception for the second time today, I'm having to admit myself. Frantically I fill out paperwork and dictate details to the Sri Lankan receptionist for fear of the onrushing and involuntary expulsion of bodily fluids. After persuading numerous staff that my credit card was upstairs and that I'd have to pay a deposit at a 'better' time, they found me a double room on floor 3.

Ten minutes and I'm scrunched up in bed. The squeaky crescendo of 'the' hospital wheelchair filters down the corridoor, announcing the arrival of Mr. George Butcher. He's placed onto the bed next to mine. Both of us look as grim as death, and are feeling worse.

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George:

Three days can pass remarkably quickly when you sleep through the vast majority of it. Both Ewan and myself have been put on a variety of drugs (though I seem to have about 3 times as many as Ewan) and finally, finally, they are beginnning to work. The throwing up is less constant. Less draining. Still not pleasant. The diahorrea is now less rain, more sleet, and I'm sorry for that image, but just be glad you don't have it.

Ewan is already feeling much much better. Whatever he had it wasn't quite as severe as it might have been and he looks back on top of the world. He keeps complaining to me about his drip and how he wishes it wasn't there any more. I can only try my best to sympathise, at the moment I'm very glad for my own drip and the drugs that are there attached.

The nurses are in and out constantly. My blood pressure, despite never being an issue, has been checked 20 plus times since admission. Every time a different nurse comes along to say hello and asks the same questions, "How are you? Where are you from? What is your name? How long you in Sri-Lanka?" It's nice small talk but it can get a bit draining. The best way I've found to avoid it is to be asleep. At the moment, thankfully, thats not a problem.

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Ewan:

I've been feeling a huge sense of relief for being a free man. No longer imprisoned by illness and the drip, I can now come and go as I please. George got unhooked but not discharged this morning. It shouldn't be long now. We've been talking about salvaging some of our time in Sri Lanka and deciding our next step. Having missed out on all our hotel bookings for midweek, we intend to check in to the massively imposing Mount Lavinia Hotel which should hopefully have some aircon for George. The heat here is constantly around 28 degrees so a little respite is needed. Preliminary discussions of our options will most likely see us choosing the option to jump back on the railway inland to Kandy; the very historic and apparently beautiful ex-capital of the island. George is currently still undecided about what happens from there regarding his health. Last time we spoke he was 50/50 on returning to the UK with the view of rejoining us in Bangkok, or to continue as planned, into the less sanitized depths of India.

I'm hoping he'll fly to Mumbai and assess it from there.