Drip, drip, drip...

I'd travelled to the very middle of the US of A on Sunday. Small town about two hours from Saint Louis. My suitcase had opted for a later flight than me, so I had to wait for her (yes, we'd had words since!), but me and all my belongings eventually arrived and were ready to start the job Monday morning.

The job was half complete by 5pm Monday afternoon. I was tired, so I picked up some food at the supermarket and went back to the hotel. I made attempts, but I quickly just accepted that I didn't need food and went to bed.

Was followed was a night of being violently ill again and again and again. By 3am I finally managed to pick up the phone and call for help, and by 5am I was admitted to the local emergency room.

I remember the doctor and nurse explaining how they'd need to run some tests and put me on a drip to re-hydrate me. I remember trying to imagine how in the world they'd do that without using needles and tubes - there was NO way I'd have the courage for that! Well, guess I wasn't consulted on that one, but the nurse was good at her job and got me through it all, and when I was released four hours later I was definitely on the mend.

Less than 24 hours after leaving the emergency room I started my journey home. The job was still only half done, but we'd found alternatives, and the job will be completed in time.

First a two hour drive back to Saint Louis. Well, two and a half, this time. I needed breaks. Some hours to kill at the airport, then a one hour flight to Chicago. Fours hours to kill there, but I was in good hands. The lady in the lounge recognised me from previous visits and noticed my pale colour. She made sure I got whatever I needed, and then it was time for the main flight. Seven and a half hours. For the last three of them I was counting the minutes.

A total of 19 hours from bed to bed. The one I have here in Dublin is certainly preferred. Nothing beats home!

PS: I'm on the mend and have started eating again.