The Human Firehose

I enjoyed reasonable health as a child. There were the usual childhood diseases, a bit of juvenile asthma & the occasional skinned knee but nothing more.

My adolescent years were similarly uneventful health wise, despite some self inflicted assaults on my state of well being. Too much booze didn't make me sick, I learned, just sleepy. Too many cigarettes didn't make me throw up, just light headed.

It wasn't till I got married and raised a few kids that the concept of projectile vomiting entered my vocabulary. If you over fill a baby with milk the infant simply off loads the surplus. Sometimes the liquid above internal plimsoll line just oozes out but occasionally new parents are treated to a spectacular geyser display whereby partially digested milk is simply sprayed with amazing gusto over distances of several metres.

This ability of the stomach to violently expel all contents is apparently something of an evolutionary survival skill & persists into adulthood. Just ask Jamie & Graham...............

Captain's log, entry 5, star date pukie-point-Townsville-point-food poisoning;

Late PM: Retire on a full belly after a three course meal with drinks, conversation, coffee & a couple of after dinner mints. The full porkie!

Sometime in the wee AM: Awake to a sound similar to the signature noise of a goods train passing by the motel doorway, a deep ominous rumble as the juggernaut approaches followed by a whooshing rush as it roars past. Remember becoming sufficiently conscious to think, 'I don't remember seeing a railway line on the taxi ride in?'

Later in the AM: Awoken again, this time by a thump, the ricochet of two bodies colliding at the bathroom door. By dawns pastel light I see Graham and Jamie bounce off each other, charge head long to the doorway again only to become wedged this time together in the narrow archway. They extract themselves, Graham dives quickly through the gap while Jamie bolts for the balcony door instead. 'Boy that's what I call needing a leak', I muse sleepily.

Around 8 AM: Get up & get dressed. The other occupants are very quiet. Fuss about noisily with some maps & stuff, still no movement from the apparently lifeless forms in the other bunks. Ask Graham is he coming to breakfast. Graham does not respond. Give him a shake. Still nothing. Listen for breathing. Thank God, at least he is not a corpse. Check my other room mate. Jamie is sort of a light green, browney, pupley colour. At first I thought it was puce coloured light, filtered by the drapes. But when I draw the curtains back both bodies evidence a Count Dracula reaction & retreat from the harsh light of day under the blankets. McLean's lightning deductive powers leap to the fore! 'these guys aren't well", I decide.

Mid morning: I return with the expeditions medico. George did training as a vet, warns Jamie against the dehydrating effects of high sugar drinks, prescribes tea & charcoal. Jamie experiments with this concoction & offers himself for hire as the human fire hose. If the sheer force of the blast does not blow out the flames, Jamie reckons, the colour would be sufficient to frighten the combustion into submission.

Lunch time: Everyone is maudlin because everyone knows what our two downed comrades are going through; - The rise in body temperature actually makes the chill touch of porcelain feel good as you hug the bowl. - The rising tide of nausea as the stomach muscles work up increasing waves of contractions ready for the next onslaught. - The dull pounding headache, the old shoe in your mouth where your tongue ought to be, that fragile, dizzy feeling. - The sincere wish that well meaning visitors would just piss off & leave you to die in peace.

We go for a tour of the city, some of us visit the pictures, people hang around. Nobody interested in choppering.

Mid afternoon: Graham, the younger of the two afflicted surfaces briefly. Ah the recuperative powers of the young! Maybe Jamie will come good later to-day? Alas it is a futile attempt to keep up appearances. We haul both victims down to the local medical centre and it is another day before a life of flying returns.

*** EOF STARCORE LOG ENTRY ***