snoopy
Guest
I can't update the thread anymore - the Youtube videos are crashing Firefox on Linux. 
Deleted account W
Guest
I can't update the thread anymore - the Youtube videos are crashing Firefox on Linux.
Post it here and I'll move it across
garfield
Registered user
still loving reading about your trip.....still waiting for the real craziness to happen....keep 'em coming please.....(when you fix the tech problems).........
snoopy
Guest
- Joined
- Jun 26, 2002
- Messages
- 8,331
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Your'e a star man snoopy. I love the honesty in your writing, I think alot of people wouldn't tell the whole story and I really appreciate that. Heat exhaustion is a very strange thing. It happened to me once in Death Valley when I was a "know it all" 21 year old. I panicked just like you and on finding shade completely calmed down...
anyway i'm blethering... bed time for me... you just keep writing and let Greg know there are some more videos for him to upload
AndyT
anyway i'm blethering... bed time for me... you just keep writing and let Greg know there are some more videos for him to upload
AndyT
Deleted account 230523001
Registered user
Looked at the piccies and read the report.
I will do the Video stuff once I have more time.
Looks like you had a good experience, I was in the exact same region at the same time I think, got a little too relaxed to remember the days really.
Did hundreds of miles off road, didn`t get cholera, was in a nice truck though.
Strikes me if things had got bad for you, if you would of had my or BHT`s number we could have come to your aid......It would have been a pain in the arse, but I am sure we could have done something to help.
I got stuck in the sand once, and we nearly had to put the tent up in the dark once as I seem to remember, and I think one hotel didn`t have a bar, thats about as bad as it gets really........
Fair do`s mate, good report, always nice to see 'care in the community' going the extra mile and sending you on nice holidays.......
I will do the Video stuff once I have more time.
Looks like you had a good experience, I was in the exact same region at the same time I think, got a little too relaxed to remember the days really.
Did hundreds of miles off road, didn`t get cholera, was in a nice truck though.
Strikes me if things had got bad for you, if you would of had my or BHT`s number we could have come to your aid......It would have been a pain in the arse, but I am sure we could have done something to help.
I got stuck in the sand once, and we nearly had to put the tent up in the dark once as I seem to remember, and I think one hotel didn`t have a bar, thats about as bad as it gets really........
Fair do`s mate, good report, always nice to see 'care in the community' going the extra mile and sending you on nice holidays.......
Gaz
Registered user
Quote of the year:-
" I haven't got a pair of pliers with me....!
" I haven't got a pair of pliers with me....!
mystic
Registered user
Really enjoying this. All credit to you, ........ and thanks for the considerable time and effort in putting all this together! As Andy T says, your 'warts and all' approach is what makes it so engrossing.
Mike
Mike
Mr K
Registered user
I'm thinking The Dawg should come on a Team Ballistic Tour and put on 2 stone .....
snoopy
Guest
Hmm must get the rest of the report done...
Chris ... would make sense since the bike is still over in Spain.. Spanish tossers said Friday which turned into Monday so having to go the week after to get it.
Greg ... maybe, maybe not. Hell I might be hit by a bus tomorrow. I'd rather die by my incompetence than somebody else's.
Chris ... would make sense since the bike is still over in Spain.
. Spanish tossers said Friday which turned into Monday so having to go the week after to get it.Greg ... maybe, maybe not. Hell I might be hit by a bus tomorrow. I'd rather die by my incompetence than somebody else's.
Greg ... maybe, maybe not. Hell I might be hit by a bus tomorrow. I'd rather die by my incompetence than somebody else's.
We've all got to go sometime, but I'd prefer to go when I'm about 110; in my own bed and at my side a pair of young female blondes that I've just shagged - not in my mid twenties, dehydrated when it's 110 at the edge of the Sahara and with a bike that I've just shagged!
Greg
You have my mobile number if your having bother when you get there or on the way back ring or text me you know i'm going to be a day or two behind you.
it's not a failure asking for a hand.snoopy
Guest
I've told them on the phone you could pick it up but they have gone down the path already and are following their rule book. Shame they haven't checked the Friday flight prices - they are in for a shock.
Mr K
Registered user
Is there another episode to come 
I dunno; Youth of today, swanning around "the foreign" and slacking-off when it comes to the ride report...
In my day....blah...blah.....
I dunno; Youth of today, swanning around "the foreign" and slacking-off when it comes to the ride report...
In my day....blah...blah.....
st247
Registered user
.....
snoopy
Guest
After reaching Zagora I headed North towards Mara. About 50 mile before it the rear tube blew. This was my fault, a really stupid mistake that I was going to regret big time. After all the sand I'd forgot to pump them back up and was running 15PSI on the road. I'd been told before I set off the rims on the 650 are grooved to stop the tyre rotating. Oh well.
I stopped and did the old removal of the rear wheel which by now I had down to a fine art. The effort from the previous days struggle was showing and I wasn't really thinking straight. I stuck in the spare 21" as this will "get you home" and gingerly road it to Mara.
But I didn't. 10 mile later this tube blew. I stopped by the side of the road again and tried to patch the original tube. It made another 100 metre then blew again. For the third time that day I removed the back wheel, cursing that I'd been so stupid and secondly for not carrying a rear tube, going on bad advice that a 21" will cover a 17" rear.
I got lucky this time and made it another 3 mile or so before it blew again. The split in the tube kept expanding and I didn't have large patches left. I'd repaired the split near the valve and that was holding up. I stopped at a small cafe on a mountain pass where they served delicious orange juice squeezed in front of you. It almost made it worth it.
This time with some help and a mechanic the tube had a much better repair (he took itin his car somewhere). While I waited two British bikers passed and turned round to see if everything was alright - they'd spotted my plate on a tired bike. First thing the first one said was "you alright, 'cause you don't look it!" They were stopping at the first place down the road. After getting the bike back together I head off and found there bikes about 30mile outside of Mara. I stopped here and stayed the night. It give me an opportunity to sort my kit out a little as I was in a bit of a knackered state.
I had bowl movements during the night. They started as simple diarrhoea and what I thought would have been a night of recovery wasn't.
I left really early the next morning as I felt a bit sick. I just wanted to get back home now as everything had fell apart. I went straight past Mara, but only after I tried finding a garage or anything that had a 18" tube. No such luck, but Casa would have one of course. So on the motorway I went to Casa.
The fun started just before a service station. The rear tube blew and took several attempts before it would stay up after getting the tyre back on the rim. I set off not knowing what to expect but Casa wasn't too far. If I kept the speed down I'd coax the thing there.
I didn't get very far. Actually I had 50 mile or so to Ben Hir or whatever it's called. I road the bike on the hard shoulder all the way there at 10mph at 35degree heat with it snaking all over, destroying the rear tyre and obliterating the tube. The reason for this was two people had said getting a new tube (and then the tyre!) at Ben Hir would be no problem. One guy offered me a lift to Casa by putting the bike in the back of his lorry. Fatally I didn't take this offer as I only had 2 mile to Ben Hir and I trusted this place would be able to help. When I got there there was nothing of the sort. The town was a shit hole. Somewhere in the middle of it all a backstreet mechanic in a rusty market place was taking the wheel of my bike. I was surrounded by a mob and they all wanted cash. One promised he knew someone that would have a tube back at Mara. I believed the tyre, though truly ****ed, would stand up to a little more abuse.
I left the bike expecting to come back to it with all my stuff nicked. Actually this never happened and I reckon I looked so utterly gritted they didn't want to chance it. I needed a van other than the one the mob had proposed because it wasn't cheap. I found one and after haggling it down to 45 quid I had the bike put in it and we drove down to Mara.
Naturally, the guy was fresh out of 17 or 18 tubes. He did have ones for the mopeds they all drive. The van man was getting annoyed but I'd only paid him part of the cash. Until he found me a solution as promised like **** was he getting the other half.
The solution came as part of a shagged 18" wheel. I took the tube out and, well, words can't describe how ****ed this tube was. One of the patches was made from another inner tube and was 3 by 4 inches in size. You can imagine how I felt. The guy was demanding a tenner for it. Supply and demand. Without it I was ****ed. With it I was probably still ****ed. The mechanic kept pointing out that the tube was sticking out of the tyre wall in three places. Yes I can see that you dumb **** I wanted to say.
However it did seem to work and after another hour I was back on the same bloody motorway to Casa. All was going well. I had nicked a load of large patches from the **** that sold me the shagged 18" and made it past the same service station. The tyre subsequently blew just before a bridge about a mile later.
This time I felt like crying. I was in a right state. I wanted normality. Why didn't I pump the tyre back up. It all seems logical now, but looking back at how exhausted I was it seems reasonable.
I haven't come back to the bowl movement yet. This had turned into the usual nasty African spell and I was shitting everything I drank about 5 mins after it's consumption. I'd not eaten a thing that day as my appetite had gone. I tried drinking lots of water but it was flushed out soon after. I still had control of my bladder but when I needed to go I really needed to go.
Now I'm not a believer, but there no other explanation for why a recovery truck passing on its way to Casa was so suddenly in my rear view mirrors. Oh thank you lord!!!
It was around 6PM. The driver and his two mates told me they intended to pull in at ... Ben Hir ... and get some rest. What they were actually wanted was payment and lots of it. Suddenly the friendly passing by had turned into the usual shafting supply and demand Arab. My words were to the point. "Go **** yourself." and I think he understood. He presented a really small bill after I began balling my hand into a fist.
The bike was removed from the truck at this same place, e.g I'd made zero progress in a day, and in the dark using a head torch I removed the rear wheel not knowing if I was due a kicking at this shit hole. Passers by said I needed to move asap, but I couldn't. I felt really vulnerable. There was a bar nearby and it was about 10.30hrs. I switched the head torch to red. I thought this might warn people off...
The same mechanic kid that had my wheel earlier in the day came upon me with his mates. I chatted as I went about the fix, they were 16 yrs old and had gleaming 50cc mopeds that they cherished. The mild steel had been polished like chrome. God help them if it should rain! The mechanic, rightly, had deep reservations about the tyre wall. He found an old 18" tyre (no tube) but I explained this was 17" and so it wouldn't work. The companionship was relaxing as my nerves were on edge. It's all good what a little friendly chatting between strangers can do.
I spent two hours regluing the huge patch on the shagged 18" tube I'd bought previously then using large patches to enforce the tyre wall. I hoped to stop the tube bulging through and popping. At 00.30hrs I left the side of the road on the non-motorway route to Casa.
I stopped and did the old removal of the rear wheel which by now I had down to a fine art. The effort from the previous days struggle was showing and I wasn't really thinking straight. I stuck in the spare 21" as this will "get you home" and gingerly road it to Mara.
But I didn't. 10 mile later this tube blew. I stopped by the side of the road again and tried to patch the original tube. It made another 100 metre then blew again. For the third time that day I removed the back wheel, cursing that I'd been so stupid and secondly for not carrying a rear tube, going on bad advice that a 21" will cover a 17" rear.
I got lucky this time and made it another 3 mile or so before it blew again. The split in the tube kept expanding and I didn't have large patches left. I'd repaired the split near the valve and that was holding up. I stopped at a small cafe on a mountain pass where they served delicious orange juice squeezed in front of you. It almost made it worth it.
This time with some help and a mechanic the tube had a much better repair (he took itin his car somewhere). While I waited two British bikers passed and turned round to see if everything was alright - they'd spotted my plate on a tired bike. First thing the first one said was "you alright, 'cause you don't look it!" They were stopping at the first place down the road. After getting the bike back together I head off and found there bikes about 30mile outside of Mara. I stopped here and stayed the night. It give me an opportunity to sort my kit out a little as I was in a bit of a knackered state.
I had bowl movements during the night. They started as simple diarrhoea and what I thought would have been a night of recovery wasn't.
I left really early the next morning as I felt a bit sick. I just wanted to get back home now as everything had fell apart. I went straight past Mara, but only after I tried finding a garage or anything that had a 18" tube. No such luck, but Casa would have one of course. So on the motorway I went to Casa.
The fun started just before a service station. The rear tube blew and took several attempts before it would stay up after getting the tyre back on the rim. I set off not knowing what to expect but Casa wasn't too far. If I kept the speed down I'd coax the thing there.
I didn't get very far. Actually I had 50 mile or so to Ben Hir or whatever it's called. I road the bike on the hard shoulder all the way there at 10mph at 35degree heat with it snaking all over, destroying the rear tyre and obliterating the tube. The reason for this was two people had said getting a new tube (and then the tyre!) at Ben Hir would be no problem. One guy offered me a lift to Casa by putting the bike in the back of his lorry. Fatally I didn't take this offer as I only had 2 mile to Ben Hir and I trusted this place would be able to help. When I got there there was nothing of the sort. The town was a shit hole. Somewhere in the middle of it all a backstreet mechanic in a rusty market place was taking the wheel of my bike. I was surrounded by a mob and they all wanted cash. One promised he knew someone that would have a tube back at Mara. I believed the tyre, though truly ****ed, would stand up to a little more abuse.
I left the bike expecting to come back to it with all my stuff nicked. Actually this never happened and I reckon I looked so utterly gritted they didn't want to chance it. I needed a van other than the one the mob had proposed because it wasn't cheap. I found one and after haggling it down to 45 quid I had the bike put in it and we drove down to Mara.
Naturally, the guy was fresh out of 17 or 18 tubes. He did have ones for the mopeds they all drive. The van man was getting annoyed but I'd only paid him part of the cash. Until he found me a solution as promised like **** was he getting the other half.
The solution came as part of a shagged 18" wheel. I took the tube out and, well, words can't describe how ****ed this tube was. One of the patches was made from another inner tube and was 3 by 4 inches in size. You can imagine how I felt. The guy was demanding a tenner for it. Supply and demand. Without it I was ****ed. With it I was probably still ****ed. The mechanic kept pointing out that the tube was sticking out of the tyre wall in three places. Yes I can see that you dumb **** I wanted to say.
However it did seem to work and after another hour I was back on the same bloody motorway to Casa. All was going well. I had nicked a load of large patches from the **** that sold me the shagged 18" and made it past the same service station. The tyre subsequently blew just before a bridge about a mile later.
This time I felt like crying. I was in a right state. I wanted normality. Why didn't I pump the tyre back up. It all seems logical now, but looking back at how exhausted I was it seems reasonable.
I haven't come back to the bowl movement yet. This had turned into the usual nasty African spell and I was shitting everything I drank about 5 mins after it's consumption. I'd not eaten a thing that day as my appetite had gone. I tried drinking lots of water but it was flushed out soon after. I still had control of my bladder but when I needed to go I really needed to go.
Now I'm not a believer, but there no other explanation for why a recovery truck passing on its way to Casa was so suddenly in my rear view mirrors. Oh thank you lord!!!
It was around 6PM. The driver and his two mates told me they intended to pull in at ... Ben Hir ... and get some rest. What they were actually wanted was payment and lots of it. Suddenly the friendly passing by had turned into the usual shafting supply and demand Arab. My words were to the point. "Go **** yourself." and I think he understood. He presented a really small bill after I began balling my hand into a fist.
The bike was removed from the truck at this same place, e.g I'd made zero progress in a day, and in the dark using a head torch I removed the rear wheel not knowing if I was due a kicking at this shit hole. Passers by said I needed to move asap, but I couldn't. I felt really vulnerable. There was a bar nearby and it was about 10.30hrs. I switched the head torch to red. I thought this might warn people off...
The same mechanic kid that had my wheel earlier in the day came upon me with his mates. I chatted as I went about the fix, they were 16 yrs old and had gleaming 50cc mopeds that they cherished. The mild steel had been polished like chrome. God help them if it should rain! The mechanic, rightly, had deep reservations about the tyre wall. He found an old 18" tyre (no tube) but I explained this was 17" and so it wouldn't work. The companionship was relaxing as my nerves were on edge. It's all good what a little friendly chatting between strangers can do.
I spent two hours regluing the huge patch on the shagged 18" tube I'd bought previously then using large patches to enforce the tyre wall. I hoped to stop the tube bulging through and popping. At 00.30hrs I left the side of the road on the non-motorway route to Casa.
st247
Registered user
kin ell, you smash a truck load of mirrors
snoopy
Guest
I pulled off the road to kip at about 11. I couldn't kip though, every hour I was up and out of the bag for a little runny turd. Dotted around the field were these very thin weetabix patches and every time in the pitch black it became harder not to stand in one. I'd forced water down and I felt bloated, though I hadn't eaten for over 24hrs.
During the night I lost control of my bladder and couldn't get out the bag fast enough. There was an accident. I'd exhausted all my bog roll by this stage and used a spare pair of boxers to wipe up where I could. The smell made sleeping in this close quarters bivi bag even more difficult. It was a bad night. By the early hours I noticed that I was shitting pretty much pure water, but it had started containing puss and began to smell of such. The aroma in the bag started to change. I longed for the antibiotics that I left in a mates landy back in Newcastle.
Having made my way closer to Casa I felt more optimistic about reaching the BMW dealer. The tyre had held up but the inner tube was bulging through a hole where the patch I'd applied to the wall itself had failed. It was only a matter of time, only this time there was no more puncture repair patches or glue for that matter. I kept trying to hydrate but 10 mins later it would rear end. I found staying on the bike would control my bladder otherwise I had a couple seconds before the unavoidable would rear end. I continued to Casa.
The BMW garage was a pain to find with no address but after an hour I kept getting closer and closer and eventually found it. Despite being a motorad dealer they didn't have rear tyres or tubes to fit but found a local dealer who did. I followed a scooter to a place 10 minutes away. The rear tyre was snaking quite badly and I expected it to blow en-route, though it didn't.
Two hours later and a Tourance was fitted to the rear. I made a late ferry from Tangier and forced myself to eat a big mac as it was 48hrs since I'd touched food. I vomited this all back up on the boat 5-10mins after eating it.
I'm typing this part of the report a good while after the trip and only because I found the write-up that I'd wrote on the last leg of the journey. Interestingly at this point my notes say; "I don't remember where I stayed that night and despite trying my hardest to retrace the route I've no recollection at all. It's probable that I had a turd stop somewhere secluded and slept on the grass there and then."
The following morning I made steam up North of Southern Spain until the point where my rear chain came off. The last time I'd checked the condition was after Zagora and there was no wear on the rear sprocket and the chain didn't need adjusting. Now the sprocket was so bad the chain couldn't rest on the teeth and several links had seized. WTF!
You remember the Spanish travellers I'd hooked up with? One had wrote his email on the back of a BMW card at a city called Seville. Seville was only 10 mile back! I had the address of somewhere that could sort this shit out. Could I make it? Sure I could! Click click click into GPS and away I went.
At BMW Seville I was milked for a new BMW chain and sprockets. They also fixed the 1/2 remaining clutch lever, replaced a bolt that was missing and oiled some bits and pieces. They also pointed out that the rear linkage bearings had collapsed and moved the rear arm up and down to show the free play before it hit the shock. The terrible off-roading began to make sense. The condition was "dangerous" he stated in the best English he could manage. Sure thing pal.
By the time I'd got out of Seville (about 1PM) my "condition" as I refer to it had worsened. I was crapping pure water but the puss smell had became worse. I still felt bloated but nothing had gone through for days. I'd also been drinking much less water and my concentration was dwindling. I GPS'd the nearest hospital (Midelt) and headed straight there.
I was quickly processed by nurse and doctor but I had to speak to the doctors dad as nobody spoke English. God only knows what they thought by the state I was in and how bad I smelt. Before I knew it they'd stuck a drip in me, done some blood tests and I was in a room with many others on intensive care / life support machines. I received a text from Forry but couldn't be arsed to answer it at that time.
My clothes had been removed and I'd been given blue overalls in an extra large waist. Things started to get hectic in the place and my head was filled with the beep beep beeps. Next door they were delivering babies and the screaming was bloody awful. My drip stopped working with an air lock not long after I got into the bed but nobody came to check on it and I'd been in there for 4 hours. I recall it was down only 75ml. I'd recently witnessed my grandmother on IC dying in hospital and it was the single most distressing thing I have ever endured. The memories were returning and I began to panic. I took the saline out of the holder and tried to keep the blue pants from slipping down and ran for it. I became disorientated and dizzy and remembering trying to focus but crashing into walls. I remember trying to control my body but it was like being punch drunk.
Two/three nurses got me into a room with a chair and fixed the saline. I do remember going into the ladies toilet to do the business but not sure when only a nurse screaming on at me. I asked to see the doctor (nobody could speak any English remember) but she was busy and I txt'd my mam an update. She'd done some research and found Cholera or Samonela to be likely possibilities so I wrote these on a sheet of paper and held onto it for her arrival. She never came for hours during which the drip was having a little more effect and the room wasn't rolling no more. Another txt came through and I added Doxycycline, tetracycline or/and cotrimoxazole to the paper.
At 11pm to 00:00hrs she came and I give her the piece of paper. She didn't understand the word Cholera and I had no means to translate and I felt bewildered at this. The names of the antibiotics seemed to make some sense but again she was confused. I tried pointing to them and then to me but it felt hopeless and she was busy running around with other cases with all the other chaos going on. The hospital made the NHS look like Bupa. It was a tragic state of affairs and I was plonked in the middle of it. Gone in ill, became delirious and only recently had they fixed the drip. **** this. I got my stuff and left.
It took ages to get my kit on and I felt a little dizzy still but the fresh air felt really good. My priorities were simple. Find somewhere to rest for the night and first thing in the morning find a chemist (because Spanish chemists sell all antibiotics over the counter) and take a wide spread and dosage of the aforementioned.
During the night I lost control of my bladder and couldn't get out the bag fast enough. There was an accident. I'd exhausted all my bog roll by this stage and used a spare pair of boxers to wipe up where I could. The smell made sleeping in this close quarters bivi bag even more difficult. It was a bad night. By the early hours I noticed that I was shitting pretty much pure water, but it had started containing puss and began to smell of such. The aroma in the bag started to change. I longed for the antibiotics that I left in a mates landy back in Newcastle.
Having made my way closer to Casa I felt more optimistic about reaching the BMW dealer. The tyre had held up but the inner tube was bulging through a hole where the patch I'd applied to the wall itself had failed. It was only a matter of time, only this time there was no more puncture repair patches or glue for that matter. I kept trying to hydrate but 10 mins later it would rear end. I found staying on the bike would control my bladder otherwise I had a couple seconds before the unavoidable would rear end. I continued to Casa.
The BMW garage was a pain to find with no address but after an hour I kept getting closer and closer and eventually found it. Despite being a motorad dealer they didn't have rear tyres or tubes to fit but found a local dealer who did. I followed a scooter to a place 10 minutes away. The rear tyre was snaking quite badly and I expected it to blow en-route, though it didn't.
Two hours later and a Tourance was fitted to the rear. I made a late ferry from Tangier and forced myself to eat a big mac as it was 48hrs since I'd touched food. I vomited this all back up on the boat 5-10mins after eating it.
I'm typing this part of the report a good while after the trip and only because I found the write-up that I'd wrote on the last leg of the journey. Interestingly at this point my notes say; "I don't remember where I stayed that night and despite trying my hardest to retrace the route I've no recollection at all. It's probable that I had a turd stop somewhere secluded and slept on the grass there and then."
The following morning I made steam up North of Southern Spain until the point where my rear chain came off. The last time I'd checked the condition was after Zagora and there was no wear on the rear sprocket and the chain didn't need adjusting. Now the sprocket was so bad the chain couldn't rest on the teeth and several links had seized. WTF!
You remember the Spanish travellers I'd hooked up with? One had wrote his email on the back of a BMW card at a city called Seville. Seville was only 10 mile back! I had the address of somewhere that could sort this shit out. Could I make it? Sure I could! Click click click into GPS and away I went.
At BMW Seville I was milked for a new BMW chain and sprockets. They also fixed the 1/2 remaining clutch lever, replaced a bolt that was missing and oiled some bits and pieces. They also pointed out that the rear linkage bearings had collapsed and moved the rear arm up and down to show the free play before it hit the shock. The terrible off-roading began to make sense. The condition was "dangerous" he stated in the best English he could manage. Sure thing pal.
By the time I'd got out of Seville (about 1PM) my "condition" as I refer to it had worsened. I was crapping pure water but the puss smell had became worse. I still felt bloated but nothing had gone through for days. I'd also been drinking much less water and my concentration was dwindling. I GPS'd the nearest hospital (Midelt) and headed straight there.
I was quickly processed by nurse and doctor but I had to speak to the doctors dad as nobody spoke English. God only knows what they thought by the state I was in and how bad I smelt. Before I knew it they'd stuck a drip in me, done some blood tests and I was in a room with many others on intensive care / life support machines. I received a text from Forry but couldn't be arsed to answer it at that time.
My clothes had been removed and I'd been given blue overalls in an extra large waist. Things started to get hectic in the place and my head was filled with the beep beep beeps. Next door they were delivering babies and the screaming was bloody awful. My drip stopped working with an air lock not long after I got into the bed but nobody came to check on it and I'd been in there for 4 hours. I recall it was down only 75ml. I'd recently witnessed my grandmother on IC dying in hospital and it was the single most distressing thing I have ever endured. The memories were returning and I began to panic. I took the saline out of the holder and tried to keep the blue pants from slipping down and ran for it. I became disorientated and dizzy and remembering trying to focus but crashing into walls. I remember trying to control my body but it was like being punch drunk.
Two/three nurses got me into a room with a chair and fixed the saline. I do remember going into the ladies toilet to do the business but not sure when only a nurse screaming on at me. I asked to see the doctor (nobody could speak any English remember) but she was busy and I txt'd my mam an update. She'd done some research and found Cholera or Samonela to be likely possibilities so I wrote these on a sheet of paper and held onto it for her arrival. She never came for hours during which the drip was having a little more effect and the room wasn't rolling no more. Another txt came through and I added Doxycycline, tetracycline or/and cotrimoxazole to the paper.
At 11pm to 00:00hrs she came and I give her the piece of paper. She didn't understand the word Cholera and I had no means to translate and I felt bewildered at this. The names of the antibiotics seemed to make some sense but again she was confused. I tried pointing to them and then to me but it felt hopeless and she was busy running around with other cases with all the other chaos going on. The hospital made the NHS look like Bupa. It was a tragic state of affairs and I was plonked in the middle of it. Gone in ill, became delirious and only recently had they fixed the drip. **** this. I got my stuff and left.
It took ages to get my kit on and I felt a little dizzy still but the fresh air felt really good. My priorities were simple. Find somewhere to rest for the night and first thing in the morning find a chemist (because Spanish chemists sell all antibiotics over the counter) and take a wide spread and dosage of the aforementioned.
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