It's a strange sensation when your eyelids feel like they're on fire but a sure sign that you've got a fever high enough to heat the inside of an igloo. I shivered my way through two fever-filled nights in Arambol, Goa before dropping the masculine facade of "ah, it's nothing" and finally going to the doctor.
To be honest, if it was only fever and chills I would have just stayed in bed, but it wasn't. The fluctuating temperatures combined with a tropical climate had me sweating like an alcoholic in a sauna. As a human puddle, I would put on a fresh t-shirt, lie in bed and have to ring it out after an hour. A continuous state of sogginess.
The result, a fantastically extensive heat rash took hold. Not only was I glowing on and off and leaving damp patches everywhere I went, but to add insult to injury, my body felt that more attention needed to be drawn to my sorry state. Red, blister like spots stretched down both sides of my neck, over my shoulders, down onto my arms, around my back and across my stomach. My complexion changed from bronzed and well travelled to cherry tomato pizza in a matter of hours. I swiftly went in search of a doctor...
As I lay having my pulse taken and cultivating my sweaty calling card on the black leather examination table, the doctor enquired calmly if I'd had any long trips recently. I asked if Bhopal to Goa in a week by bus, train, boat, tuk tuk and taxi qualified as a journey worthy of medical note, he gave a confirming nod.
It seemed the diesel fumes inhaled for an hour on the ferry from Mumbai, the dust streaming in through the bus window in Indore and the windowless second class carriages on the Konkan railway (complete with numerous airless tunnels) had given my immune system a hefty kick in the groin so to speak. Travelling in India had reduced my to a sweaty, fevered, spotty lump and given the slogan Incredible India another interesting dimension...
The least offensive photo of the pizza rash...
To be honest, if it was only fever and chills I would have just stayed in bed, but it wasn't. The fluctuating temperatures combined with a tropical climate had me sweating like an alcoholic in a sauna. As a human puddle, I would put on a fresh t-shirt, lie in bed and have to ring it out after an hour. A continuous state of sogginess.
The result, a fantastically extensive heat rash took hold. Not only was I glowing on and off and leaving damp patches everywhere I went, but to add insult to injury, my body felt that more attention needed to be drawn to my sorry state. Red, blister like spots stretched down both sides of my neck, over my shoulders, down onto my arms, around my back and across my stomach. My complexion changed from bronzed and well travelled to cherry tomato pizza in a matter of hours. I swiftly went in search of a doctor...
As I lay having my pulse taken and cultivating my sweaty calling card on the black leather examination table, the doctor enquired calmly if I'd had any long trips recently. I asked if Bhopal to Goa in a week by bus, train, boat, tuk tuk and taxi qualified as a journey worthy of medical note, he gave a confirming nod.
It seemed the diesel fumes inhaled for an hour on the ferry from Mumbai, the dust streaming in through the bus window in Indore and the windowless second class carriages on the Konkan railway (complete with numerous airless tunnels) had given my immune system a hefty kick in the groin so to speak. Travelling in India had reduced my to a sweaty, fevered, spotty lump and given the slogan Incredible India another interesting dimension...
The least offensive photo of the pizza rash...
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| From An Ache For The Distance |
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