Urrrrp!

Friday evening, I fly to London, and thence by train to St. Bees, Cumbria, for the start of my hike eastward on the Coast to Coast pathway (western half, only).

Sunday evening, I began feeling queasy. Queasy turned to nauseous, and nauseous turned to hanging my head over the rim of the toilet.  After several repetitions over the course of the next few hours, I eventually succeeded in emptying my digestive system of whatever was disturbing it -- including, so it seemed, the interior lining of my stomach.

Monday, I lay in bed most of the day.  No longer nauseous, but totally wiped out.  Just going downstairs to get a glass of water was an exercise in balance and determination.  Eating was out of the question, until I tentatively nibbled on a piece of toast in late afternoon, and then a small bowl of cereal before bedtime.

Today, I'm once again eating, but still languishing about the house -- lacking in energy, a bit spacey, but obviously improving.  I'll be ready for departure on Friday, even though packing will now be a last minute operation.  (It never takes nearly as long as I anticipate, in any event.)

But this entire mini-crisis has been a reminder to me of how the best-laid plans of mice and men, etc., etc. etc.  Even for a guy who loves to lay plans -- especially for him, perhaps -- fate throws the occasional monkey wrench ("spanner," I guess, since I'm bound for England) in the works.  I can't depend with absolute certainty on my body's working to perfection -- or even to the level of less-than-perfection to which I've become accustomed.  Even though I take Vitamin D tablets regularly.  I'm not a robot, a machine that requires only an occasional squirt of oil to operate on all cylinders.

Hardly original thoughts, are they?  And yet, when you're used to decent health, it's startling to find it lacking.  This has been, as I say, merely a mini-crisis.  But it reminds me that I'm mortal, a piece of living meat with an ever-shrinking shelf life. 

I have to learn to take nothing for granted.  And I need to fully appreciate these days when bad health is merely a temporary inconvenience, an irritation, a brief interruption in my well-laid plans -- and not yet an irreversible condition.