17 July 2006

Devoted Readers,

As in every great saga, there will come a day when our intrepid adventurer has a misadventure. I had been considering, two days ago at dinner, that I had not been drinking enough water. I should have listened more firmly to that small niggling idea; for sure enough today it came back and bit me in the ass.

I was sitting in class (International Law) sort of feeling gross but soldiering on, when I noticed something peculiar. The room, which had been about 90 degrees when I had come in, now felt like it was 40. I was cold and sweating, and life became increasingly uncomfortable from there to the point where I had to excuse myself, fearing that I would make a scene by passing out in front of my fellow students. The instructor granted my request, adding that I did look a bit peaky.

The day was still oddly cold, although I passed a girl complaining of the heat so I knew that it was only me that felt like I had been dunked into an icebox. My hands were trembling like leaves and I felt particularly crappy as I managed the three flights of stairs to my room, firmly telling myself that vomiting was not an option. My body was sending me bewildered and somewhat reproachful messages, and began to shiver as I finally got into my room, found my water bottle, and made myself take a small and careful drink. Freezing cold, feeling sick to my stomach and weak, I lay down upon the sofa and told myself not to fall asleep. Dehydration is a bitch, but a conquerable one, that just needs time, some water (or preferably Pedialyte or Gatorade) and some quiet. I drank again every so often, in small sips so that I could keep it down, and wished for a blanket but was too tired to go into the other room and get it.

This was about the point where my room mate and our friend Eugene came in, saying “Are you all right?� and then “Whoa.� My face had looked rather pinched and pasty in the mirror. Helpfully they gave me a pillow and threw a blanket over me, for which I will always be immensely grateful. They asked if they should call the Porter, and I said no, give me an hour and if I’m sicker then, well, let us be off! I then spent the next two hours huddled under the blanket, drinking a little water every so often and slowly, very slowly, feeling my body give the tiniest sigh of relief and begin to feel better again.

It was very odd, for I never thought I would be grateful to feel heat and humidity, but after waking up (yes shame on me for falling asleep) I suddenly felt oppressively hot under the blanket and knew that things were getting back to normal.

A spot of dehydration always brightens one’s day, and what’s more annoying is the fact that it is completely preventable. It’s one of those illnesses that make you feel very silly afterwards, knowing that if you had not been such a blockhead you would have been perfectly fine.

At any rate, I missed the formal dinner, which I am sad about. It was sure to be a lively affair with Jillaine Seymore, my International Law tutor, there. I had really wanted to know more about her, and try to absorb some of that sharp and deliciously insightful wit. Just earlier in the day, Eugene had been late to our class. Hah, never again I think, for in two sentences she threw him up and slammed him down and that was that.

Never be late to class in England.

And to quell any apprehensions this story may have caused, I sit here, four hours later, perfectly fine save for the slightest of headaches and a rather hungry stomach. That’s the fun part about dehydration. You bounce back from it fairly quick.

fin