You give me fever...

Beautiful song, but clearly with lyrics from someone who has never had an actual fever. Five days into a fever, I feel somewhat of a veteran at it, and therefore well placed to criticise.

BE WARNED: This may sound a bit whiney, mostly because it is. I apologise to anyone who has got anything serious or worse wrong with them and I realise I am being a big girl about it and will be fine shortly. Just thought some of it may be amusing!

I have for the last few days been cycling (in the cyclical fashion rather than the jolly red bike with basket fashion) between shivering under 4 thick blankets, and sweating away with the thinnest of PJ’s on.

The cause? A suspected kidney/bladder infection, as it’s been accompanied by quite a bit of lower back ache. I tried the “sleep through it/drink water through it” approach that usually works for most ailments, and even resorted to the serious step of taking some Nurofen.

After 36 hours of continuous fever, broken sleep and slowly more aches appearing everywhere (presumably from being in bed) I decided it was perhaps a good opportunity to develop my French conversational skills in a doctor’s surgery environment and risk getting suppositories as treatment. Ok, I cheated with the first part in getting someone French to book me in, but I am ill after all.

It should be noted here that all attempts to be glamorous at this point were totally disregarded – I showered and changed into non pyjama clothes but that was about it. Except for the fact I happened to have a French manicure at the time… unplanned, I promise.

I managed to drag myself out of my apartment and find the nearby doctor’s surgery. It was a choice between 3 flights of stairs or getting in a lift so small that if you walked into it, you’d have to back out of it the way you went in as there was no room to manoeuvre in there. Visions of broken down lifts, fainting, sweating too much and filling it up like a bucket all sprang to mind. So I walked up the stairs. Shame it was the wrong staircase. Needless to say, on the second attempt I opted for the equally small lift and prayed.

Once in the waiting room, I had to wait a customary half an hour past my appointment time to be seen, which made me feel very at home, although I was beginning to wonder why a number of people who had turned up after me seemed to go in first. Whilst sitting there patiently trying not to fall asleep on the spot, pass out or do anything else unbecoming of a young lady it occurred to me that Doctors waiting rooms would be much better if they reduced the large amount of out of date crap reading material and replaced it with a couple of up to date magazines, for those people who are there with ailments that leave them for the most part feeling ok, or those waiting with others.

For those who have used up every last bit of energy getting themselves there (and perhaps up the final 3 flights) there should be an area of padded floor for them to collapse onto, rather than trying to stay poised on a rickety old church hall style wooden chair. Rant over.

So then came the next test, trying to communicate with a French only speaking doctor. However, he was jovial and kind, and didn’t do anything unexpected, merrily jabbing around my stomach and back to find out “yes that does bloody hurt” which unfortunately I could only translate into French as “ow”. Amazing I thought, it’s the same word! Apparently though it is not the same word and I should have been saying “aie!” – I hope I did not get misdiagnosed as a result.

Next stop was a very swish looking laboratory – where having asked me (as the doctor had done) for the two very essential pieces of paperwork I should have with me proceeded to deal with me in a very efficient manner as if the question had never been asked. I dutifully filled my bottle and was told I could get the results in two days time.

In the meantime, the Dr had prescribed me some antibiotics which cover most things, but he said would be adapted if necessary once the results came in. Great, drugs, anything, give them to me! Pharmacies are everywhere in France, so I didn’t have to shuffle far to find one.

By this time, I was in the grip of a fever again with the shivers, so the pharmacist gave me a few odd looks as I stood there shaking and trying to stop my teeth from chattering. Probably wondering if I was an alcoholic, genuinely ill or a bit of a loon.

I was safely back in my bed within an hour and a half, where have remained pretty much ever since. Unfortunately this hasn’t been the fun, too ill to go to work but can manage a duvet on the sofa watching TV. I haven’t even read a book or magazine since Monday. It has been the kind of aching fever that actually had me sat bolt upright in bed, cross legged last night trying to sleep which of course didn’t work but did relieve my headache for a bit.

So anyway, I got my results today, and instead of confirming what I pretty much 100% knew to be a kidney/bladder infection….. I have

E.COLI!

Goody. (I am surely back in the running for the best illness prize with my friends in India - Delhi Beli or E.Coli. Got to be close contestants?!) Fortunately the anti-biotics I was taking are fine for this too, so with a bit of luck things should be getting better soon.

I’m afraid this is a bit sparse on photo’s this time. Probably a good thing I think you’ll agree.

So to any of you who are also worried about getting e.coli, here's a few useful pointers on what to avoid (the crosses show what I've had recently - so let that be a warning):

Undercooked meat (that would include steak perhaps?) x
Apple juice x
Cheese x
Undercooked vegetables x (I thought they were better for you that way?!)
Potatoes x
Lettuce x
Ham x
Bad water x Is French tap water bad?
And let's not forget the famous case found in chocolate in England not too long ago...
chocolate x

Right then. Looks like a diet of evian and overboiled fish for me, minus the vegetables and of course not reheating the rice. Celebrity diet it is then. Who'd have imagined all those poor waifs were simply trying to avoid getting ill...