The night I nearly died like Elvis
On the 16th August 1977 I was nine years old, and a huge fan of Elvis Presley. Not the bloated, druggie vegas Elvis, but the cool young hip Elvis of the movies. I was on holiday with my parents and we were visiting a small village somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. I was running back to the tea shop where my mum & dad were and a bee flew into my open mouth & stung me on the tip of the tounge. As my toungue swelled and I ran screaming and crying in agony to my mum, I noticed the newspaper headlines of Elvis death. I was inconsolable. Since then I've always had a morbid fear of dying naked on a toilet & my body being peered at and poked at by various medical personnel.

A little less than twenty years or so later (and still a number of years ago) I was on a business trip back to Glasgow (where I used to live before I moved to That London). After a couple of nights of Hotel and posh Restaurant food I decided to treat myself to a take-away from my favourite curry house that was much frequented when I lived locally. Being on expenses and money not being a huge concern I order half the menu as there were a number of things I missed and wanted to taste again.

Back in my hotel room, I turned on a movie and started to gorge myself. I banged down an enormous chicken bhuna with rice, a giant naan bread, a stupidly huge portion of chicken pakora, and some sundry starter-type items and two small bottles of Pepsi. Felt insanely full in the just had three christmas dinners kind of way and decided to go to sleep before I died.

The next thing I know, its one in the morning. My eyes snapped open, sensing something was wrong, my whole body is quivering, I have cold sweats despite having thrown off the covers and the room being cool. I run for the loo, starkers, and plonk my bum down, not quite knowing what was going on. Was I going to hurl? Was I going to die? Or was I just going to poo myself?

Suddenly, in huge stomach churning clenches, I start to have an incredibly vile bowel movement, it's mostly liquid, and my stomach muscles are cramping.

At this point I realise, I am indeed going to throw up too. I can't stand up because it's all going on at the other end, and I'll pebble dash the nice white tiled bathroom. Thinking quickly, I grab the bin, and start to heave. Unfortunately, I'd eaten so much that my stomach hadn't broken down the curry & rice, and it was coming up as thick as it went down. Having put a large portion of my dinner into the wastebasket in a single heave I realise that I need to breathe in, and my airway is totally blocked with lamb curry and rice, and I can't breathe, it's just not moving.

Twenty or thirty seconds pass while I sit there on the loo, sphincter pulsating, unable to breathe, considering how disgusting my poor emptied body is going to look when the maid finds me in the morning. Fortunately, my poor maligned stomach still hated me more than my trachea and it makes me heave again, clearing my pipes and allowing me to breathe again.

I cleaned myself up, and crawled, weeping to bed.

Mmm, I fancy a curry.

Apologies for the length of my naan & any bad korma..
( loolah potato, Sat 3 Sep 2005, 1:51, Reply)