I arrived back home yesterday from what turned out to be a wholly unusual trip to the USA. I was on business in Texas, and decided to spend a few days in New York on my way back as I had a potential client there and wanted to catch up with the Skepchicks and see some art/stores/sights. Wrong. So very, very wrong. My brain wanted to do that but my body wanted to catch an illness that had me confined to my hotel room for the entire trip with a fever, the most severe sore throat of all time, and nose vomit. Yep, I heaved through two orifices at once. I get boasting rights forever. I was too ill to fly and ended up having to stay an extra few days.
By day 4 I was so ill I had to get the hotel to send a doctor to my room (that’s not cheap at 8am on a Saturday morning, either), and he promptly prescribed antibiotics for the throat and Vicodin for the pain. Vicodin…we don’t have it in the UK and I knew it only from my obsessive love of Greg House so was a little dubious, but I had it anyway because I needed to kill the pain and fast. I’m sorry to say that it was instant addiction. I don’t do substances, of any sort. I’ve never been drunk, nor tried a cigarette or any narcotics, so an opiate was going to be an interesting experience. Within about 15 minutes I went into a sort of mild floating reverie, like I was pushing through a lily-covered lake with my face. It was a delicious sensation, although oddly the pain didn’t exactly go away. I just sort of stopped caring that it hurt.
It dulled the pain enough for me to scrape two hours of lucidness out of the Skepchick meetup, but I was very sorry to miss most of it and also sorry that I wasn’t my usual perky self (the cleavage excepted). It was lovely to see so many of you, although Rystefyn, you are too loud to exist. I think you were a figment of my drug-fuelled mind. And why is there no photo of the penis I drew on your face?
Anyway, I’m home now and much better, but I have 10 Vicodin left and truthfully, they’re calling me. I’m going to resist, and throw them out instead of down my throat, but I am sort of delighted to have something in common with my beloved Dr House. That, and on my last day of NY I had my first Reuben. Be still my beating arteries.