An Englishman’s Stomach is not for Bali – the food is simply far too gnarly
For around a week, I was confined to my bed, mostly following an incident which brought me to my knees. If there is an omniscient, omnipotent God who reprimands negative behaviour, then I have paid the price for whatever it is I’ve done wrong. There are plenty of things I’ve done wrong that’s for sure so maybe I had it coming.
My ‘Bali Belly’ story begins with a very enjoyable morning, out surfing on the reef at Sanur. After a few hours, my pleasurable start to the day was interrupted by a familiar cranking feeling in the pit of my stomach and a couple of wretches. It was time to go in, which was around half a mile paddle, as being alone at sea was no place for being ill. I made it to shore using all my willpower and the mantra ‘if I don’t get to shore I’m in big trouble’ (or expletives to that effect).
On dry land, my legs buckled and I cascaded into a vomiting, groaning wreck like a boat that had been cast onto the shore after a storm which broke it into pieces. I called for help, and help came in the form of Jonny, the owner of Rip Curl School of Surf. Jonny knows what to do in most situations, as he’s an adventurous sort who has been to some far-flung places where there are no doctors and where it’s important to know what to do in case of a medical emergency. Jonny gave me oxygen, which helped a lot, and advised me to see a doctor, which I did, accompanied by my wife Tash.
At the hospital, and since I was showing some pretty fierce symptoms, it was decided to give me an ECG just to check all was well with my ticker. After the ECG machine had printed out the results, the doctor came over and looked at it. He was very solemn looking and declared, “it’s a heart attack”. I believe this almost gave me a heart attack, or rather another heart attack according to what I was told.
My life flashed before me, I would not see my kids grow up, and this was the end of the world in my mind. When the doctor saw my dismay, he said, “it’s absolutely OK, don’t worry”. What did this man mean, how could it be OK that a healthy guy like me had suddenly had a heart attack?
The Doctor continued, “It’s a heart attack, NOT”. Was this some kind of joke? No, the doctor seemed to be in dire need to brush up on his English or better still to use Bahasa, which I could translate using my Google app designed for the purpose. I would add that perhaps when one is delivering information on life threatening conditions it is not the best time to practice language skills. Anyway, it was a “heart attack, not“, which I was assured means the same thing as “it’s not a heart attack”. This was all that mattered. Relief all round, it was a case of ‘Bali Belly’. Still, this left me bed-bound for several days, too weak to move, but at least my heart was OK. I would recover from a stomach bug. I had had a heart attack not. Phew.
Now what is it about Bali Belly that can bring a grown person to their knees and make a hospital doctor consider the possibility that it might be a heart attack? Well, Bali Belly is a blanket term for something that makes you vomit like crazy and often follow through from the rear with diarrhoea. It reduces people to quivering lumps of jelly, praying that they feel better soon, a hideous thing.
I’d like to offer some advice on avoiding Bali Belly, but I have no idea what passed my lips that caused the interruption to my daily life for almost a week, that’s part of the mystery of Bali Belly. It could have been something you ate three days ago, could have been something you had 2 hours ago. You’ll never know where to point the finger of blame. This seems quite convenient for the food vendors, although I’m sure they don’t use it as an opportunity to use old meat they forgot to put into a fridge. I’ve just become more cynical as I simply don’t understand how it can be that food poisoning can be quite so brutal as it was in my experience.
Tune in here for next week’s ‘An Englishman in Bali’ series.
