The first thing I remember is crawling around on the floor, bumping my head into things, and having absolutely no idea where I was or what I was doing. I felt dizzy, almost like the ship was trying to capsize and it was all I could do to stay upright. And that was on all fours.
Eventually I made it back to bed and collapsed, exhausted, and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Only to awaken a few hours later in the pre-dawn hours of Friday April 21, having to pee yet again. I remember getting up and heading for the tiny bathroom in our cabin and then, once again, there I was, crawling around on the floor with no idea how I got there.
This time, though, my fumblings on the floor managed to awaken my wife, known to me as She Who Must Ger Her Beauty Sleep Or She Gets Quite Cross. She demanded to know what the hell I thought I was doing. I had no answer. I could only crawl back into bed and, again, sleep.
When the morning broke and we eventually woke up, I still felt like complete and utter horribleness wrapped in a cute, black bow of yuck. So, no, I wasn’t feeling all that good. I mentioned that I thought I’d managed to pass out when I went to the bathroom twice during the night.
She was not amused. She thought it was my fault because, the day before, Sarcasmo and I had tried out some barbecued jerk chicken from a roadside stand in the Grand Caymans. She figured I’d picked up some food-borne illness. Once she got into the bathroom, though, she became a fraction less angry when she saw what had happened.
Apparently, when I passed out one time, I must have been sitting on the toilet. Because I managed to fall forward and — using my face — broke a half-moon shaped section out of the bathroom counter. Seriously. I am in no way exaggerating here. I remodeled the bathroom with my face. Oddly, there was no pain.
I just felt sheepish, thinking I really had picked up something from eating that roadside food the day before. The only problem with that diagnosis was that I didn’t feel sick — no upset stomach — and Sarcasmo had no symptoms at all. I just felt incredibly, crushingly tired. Sarcasmo was fine.
We were docked in the port of Cozumel, Mexico. Sarcasmo, Zippy the Monkey Boy and I had paid for an excursion of powered snorkeling, but we decided to cancel that and just let me rest. So off they went to explore the tourist traps of Cozumel. I stayed in bed, alternately shivering from the freezing cold and then sweating from the heat.
I was doing all right, relatively speaking, until I had to get up out of bed. That, dudes, is when things went downhill.
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