So ... Bali, huh? (Part 2)

 Part 2 … Oh shit … The burn

We had no special plans for our time in Bali other than to spend time together and see what took our fancy, so we had a fairly lazy start to our second day. After enjoying breakfast, we decided that taking a book down stairs and hanging out by the resort pool was a good low-stress way to enjoy the morning which had dawned bright and sunny.

We found a couple of lounges with an umbrella and settled in. We applied sunscreen (that we’d had to buy the day before given we didn’t pack any) and made sure we were under the umbrella. I then went for a swim. I’d debated bringing a rashie to wear, but ended up neglecting to pack it. The Balinese sunscreen had seemed expensive, so rather than blow an entire tube on my large pale abdomen, I decided making sure I was in the shade of the umbrella was a good compromise. So I lay there, contorting myself to ensure I stayed in the shade while I enjoyed my book.

What none of the resort’s information tells you is that their shade umbrellas are apparently rated at approximately SPF 2.

So a couple of hours later when I stood up, Caroline said … “You look a bit pink.” Not long after that, having abandoned the sun, it was quickly apparent I was more than ‘a bit pink’.

I can’t recall the last time I’d managed to get that badly sunburned, but I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I mean, it wasn’t like go get a doctor bad, but it was going to be uncomfortable … especially with a plane ride home looming.

We headed back to the pharmacy where we’d bought the sunscreen and where some bright spark had said, “no, we won’t need he after-sum lotion” and well, bought some after sun lotion.

I was disappointed that I’d likely have to spend our final day trying to avoid the sun, but it could have been worse. Like, I could have been holed up in the hotel clutching the porcelain and wishing everything would just end like the last time I’d been in the country.

It was some time after dinner that my belly gurgled a little disconcertingly. It wasn’t much after that I was re-visiting my last trip to Bali; alternately sitting on or clutching the porcelain and wishing everything would just end.

I won’t be too graphic, I’ll just leave you with the disconcerting thought that at the point everything that is being ejected from your body seems to maintain the same colour and consistency regardless of its aperture of expulsion, things are grim.

It wasn’t a pleasant night. The following morning wasn’t a whole lot better. At least I knew what I’d be doing to keep out of the sun for the day. And it happened to be AFL Grand Final day, so that gave me something to keep my mind off things. Even if the people down by the pool celebrating and enjoying the day reminded me what some of the other options could have been.

The biggest looming issue was the fact we were flying out the next morning (Sunday) to be back for work on Monday.

Caroline was good enough to stop by a medical clinic and get some advice. They basically said if I was still having issues the next morning that I shouldn’t fly, but that if we wanted, I could be administered a drip.

It sounded a little bit extreme.

But as the day went on and I continued to turn my insides into outsides and pondered my chances of recovering enough in the hours remaining before our flight, it started to sound more and more like a good option.

And so we made the call.

The doctor, a nurse and an assistant all attended our hotel room and put me on a drip, administering me anti-nausea and anti diarrhea drugs, along with a vitamin shot to get me going.

Now the online reviews had people raving like an hour after the drip they’d be ready to play in their own Grand Final and sink piss until all the hours of the morning. I’m not going quite that far. But I did manage half a bowl of unappetizing mildly warm white rice that evening and a single fried egg with a piece of toast for breakfast the next day.

And most importantly of all … I flew all the way home without resorting to the little paper bag in the seat back pocket, and without a desperate dash down the aisle, pushing people out of the way yelling CODE BROWN! CODE BROWN!!!

Ask me if I want to go back to Bali … I dare you.