If you've never heard of Quinzies, click here
Thursday nights are typically going out nights.in Britain. It all stems from the working class being paid weekly on a Thursday, blowing what they can before handing the remainder over to the wife who might allow you some cash for Friday night with the boys. Saturday was always Ladies' Night. But I digress.
Day 1: Friday
So it comes to Friday morning and I feel rough. I haven't had a drink the night before, but I got into work on Friday morning and the comments were about my heavy night. Got to lunchtime and I'd had enough. It was getting past "you look hungover" to "have you got man-flu" and my boss, Andy, sent me home. That was Friday lunch time.That was the last time liquid passsed my lips.
Man-flu, the worst thing you can get. Sore throat, sweats, shivers, can't get warm at all, headache, and suddenly I can't swallow. I don't mean "I can't have a drink" I mean "I can't swallow". At all.
As with all man-flu attacks I spent the rest of the day in bed. Salivating. It's a bit of a hassle. So I return to the settee, duvet in hand, with two pint pots. The first full of water with which I swill out my mouth, the second empty for the residue.Next time you're bored, count how often you're swallowing just saliva. It's not an inconsiderable amount.
Well, that was a sleepless night. Night 1
Day 2: Saturday
Day 2 dawned, Springlike. ie early, I'm still up, I'm still watching tv. I'm almost incapable of speech.24 hour man-flu gets like this. Normally, after a day or so I cough up a plug of phlegm, bit of blood and we're good to go. Not today. I'm still on the swill and spit routine, I'm absolutely thirsty. Get through the day but just can't move. Still with the high fever. Can't get comfortable, can't lie down, can't sit up. Every minute I'm having to spit into that damn cup. The spit is getting whiter and thicker and generally more unpleasant. It gets to "bed time" and I'm going nowhere. I've stopped weeing by now. There's nothing to come out, so there's no need to go upstairs.
As night fell, the problems began. I'd had the tv on most of this time. Banal background stuff. Mostly Discovery, probably Home and Leisure. I do like a bit of the old "This Old House" and Bob Vila. But by the middle of the night I wasn't coping. Couldn't focus, couldn't watch, couldn't anything. So my go to programme when ill is Radio 4. At this time of night it's World Service. It's like having a very nice man whisper gently in your ear.As you spit into a pint pot half full of saliva.
Day 3: Sunday
I'm going nowhere. This isn't shifting. If anything else, it's getting worse.I'm not walking, I'm crawling to the kitchen to rinse out my drinks. The day is a blur. I've no idea what happened, but that night, well, I've never taken hallucinogens and I now never want to. Voices, lights, colours, shadows. By now I have a craving for yellow melon. Galia, honeydew, I don't care. I JUST WANT MELON and I WANT IT NOW. I had no idea what was real and what wasn't. SOMEHOW I had a phone call with my mum and managed to convince her it was man-flu. I don't think she bought it but I got away with it. Promising I'd go to the doctors the next morning.
Day 4: Monday
Woke early, sent an SMS to my boss saying I wasn't going to be in. Couldn't talk at all. Got on my bike to ride the mile to my doctor. Emergency appointment. I couldn't talk so I didn't try to ring. Just turned up. Half way there I stopped. Sweating profusely yet freezing cold. I barely had the strength to make it.
The Doc agreed to see me. I must have looked like a drug fuelled crazy. Sweating, shivering, 3 nights without sleep, not washed. She took a look at me and prescribed me antibiotics for what she told me was Quinzies. No google in those days.
So a vague ride home and we're back under the duvet with two pint pots and some drugs.All very well, the only problem was, the swallowing. Put them in my mouth. No go. Nothing. Utterly futile. It's like the joke about the tablets that make you stronger. I'd take them if only I could get the lid off.
Another crazy night of no sleep and hallucinations. I pinched the skin. on the back of my hand. It just stayed in a little pinch. Dehydrated beyond question now. The melon craving is really kicking in
Day 5: Tuesday
This time, walked to the doctor. A VERY long mile. With sign language and a bit of writing on paper (I'm not making this up, I really could not speak) and she rang the ENT of Addenbrookes'. Managed to get an SMS to my then girlfriend to pick me up and drive me the 2 miles to the appointment.
It's heading into mid afternoon now. I don't know where the time went. Time was flexible. Jam Karet as the Indonesians say. Rubber time.
VERY.
No. Really. Swallow now. Easy isn't it? Really very easy. Second nature almost. But after 5 days I'd completely forgotten how. I put water in my mouth, I tried to work my tongue to swallow, and the water just squirted out of my mouth.
Mum rang again in the evening. I hadn't drunk still. At least I could talk. So she said she was arriving the following morning at 8am. My then girlfriend also turned up. It sounds bad. I don't know where she'd been. I just don't know. I do know I'd been alone and it was for the best. Maybe we weren't really very girlfriend / boyfriend yet. It's not her fault, it's mine.
Day 6: Wednesday
D Day. Mum's there. The girlfriend's there. I walk across to my corner shop. I buy a melon (yay) and a tin of pears. I figure if I can't drink water because I can't get my tongue round it, something more SOLID might help.And when I've got something warm and juicy in me I can lay into the melon.
Mum warmed the pears, I cut up the melon into 1cm square chunks. She breaks my tablets into quarters and finally I get some pear down my throat. It's an epiphany. I feel like a champion. Within 30 minutes I'm back in the saddle. I've licked this swallowing business. Pear, melon, the tablets, and finally liquids. The rest is just drinking and eating. Cold, wet juicy things. All the things you crave when you've not had a drink in 5 days.
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