G.I. Lou

G.I. Lou

9^th February 2012

Whenever someone hears “G.I.” you tend to think of G.I. Jane. In this case, it’s G.I. Lou… but not the G.I. you’d normally think of… This time it's gastrointestinal.

My cabin mate’s multiple alarm clocks woke me up this morning. With plenty of time to spare before going to training, I headed into the Crew Mess for breakfast. About 20 minutes later I was starting to feel ill. Half an hour later, I was borrowing Aideen’s cabin key (her cabin is located very near to the training room) and sticking my head down the toilet! Marie, our trainer, sent me straight to the medical facility.

Arriving at the medical facility, one nurse told me it was closed for crewmembers and that I should have come earlier! Explaining what was wrong, I was instructed to take a seat and wait. Just as she was leaving the room, I had to jump out of my seat, ask where the nearest bathroom was and hurled my guts up as soon as I saw the toilet!

The nurse, realizing it wasn’t sea sickness, gave me a shot in the bum (which burns like hell, makes you sleepy and reduces the nausea) and informed me, I was to be confined to my cabin for 12 hours. Originally I thought it was something I ate, like cold scrambled eggs, but the nurse reckons it’s the start of the G.I. virus which is making its way around the ship. We are currently on High G.I. Level Alert. When getting food in the mess we all have to wear plastic gloves (similar to the ones you’d find in petrol stations).

My BM, Dave, wasn’t in the lab, where his work desk is situated. Giving him a call I explained what had happened. Apologising for being ill just makes me sound and feel guilty. Talking to someone who thinks you are bullshitting just makes you feel worse. Again, saying sorry, even though it can’t be helped, the final reply I got was an annoyed, sturdy, almost sarcastic “Yes. Thank you” before being hung up on.

Unfortunately the crew shop was closed so there was no chance of getting a drink before locking myself away in my cabin for 12 hours. Clarita’s cabin number is the only one I know, but the chances of her brining me anything are slim. Clarita’s terrified of going near sick people, even if it's the slightest cough... in case she's infected with tuberculosis!

So now, here I am in my cabin, unable to leave until 08.00 tomorrow to report back to the medical facility. That will determine whether or not I can work tomorrow on Castaway Cay.