Misery on the bus: gluten & vomit bags

Waves of nausea hit me hard. Why does this have to happen while I’m on the bus? Why? I can’t close my eyes, because we’re driving way to fast on this winding, lousy road, full of potholes. I wobble in my seat when we hit a big on, jiggling my agitated stomach in the process. Since I can’t close my eyes, I just stare to the seat in front of me, leaning against the window. I know all too well what’s coming. Marnix peeks at me; he also knows. Nothing to be done about it now.

I am so very miserable. Lies and deceit. I do think I know what’s the problem. It wasn’t lunch, which looked suspicious enough. No, it was the rancid, disgusting Indian chips. A snack that, according to the list of ingredients, does not contain gluten and should be safe to eat. But my body doesn’t care about that. Even though I have to sit in this freaking night bus for the next 14 hours.

By now, I am well prepared, I have my small plastic bags close at hand. You can’t image how useful 1 litre bags are. I am resigned, I will suffer my fate, because there will be no way out. It’ll only be a bit worse now. I’ve been here before, and it will pass. Ha-ha. Silly me.

Glutened: the complete process

• Step 1: A while, not much happens. Then, I will get nauseous. I might get a headache or a gurgling tummy. Red alert.
• Step 2: Intensely nauseous
• Step 3: Puking. Repeatedly.
• Step 4: Repat step 3 till there is no more food in my stomach or intestines. And then some more. This will be a couple of hours. I will be throwing up regularly.
• Step 5: Lying on my bed, exhausted. Trying to sleep a bit when the worst has passed.
• Step 6: 5-8 hours later I can eat some light food again. My stomach will be upset for a day or two.

But without any doubt, this is about to become my very worst gluten-experience ever. Why? Because of my ‘good preparation’: the 1 litre vomit bag.

The bag

Sometime halfway my vomiting marathon, I doze off a little bit, out of sheer fatigue. Blessed mercy, a moment rest. My plastic bag, at this point, is quite full, but I feel so rotten, I can’t dive into my bag to get a new one. I cuddle my bag a little bit and relax. Somewhere during nap, the little bag bursts open at the bottom.

And I wake up with a litre of vomit splashed all over my lap.

No. Oh no. No. Really everything we own is now covered in sick. The floor of the bus. My jacket, Marnix’ jacket. My bag. Even my darn gloves. I don’t wanna know how, but even the side of the bus is dripping. Suppressing the emerging panic, quickly I undertake action by shoving most of the mess out through the window. By hand. I guess my beloved woollen sweater is cannot be saved (it was, but my jeans were done). This is disgusting. But the bus is not there yet, and we just cannot get out in the middle of nowhere in India. So we stay and I have to sit in my own mess for hours, cursing my diet and my strangely functioning body. Yeah, travel is so nice and all.  

Ziplocks and all

But to be fair, normally it’s not so miserable, even when I am sick. It is awful, always, but this is a whole new level of ghastliness. Try and learn from my mistake. Moral of the story: plastic zip lock bags are no good when it comes to puking I guess?

It’s been years since I was sick, before travelling. I very conscious about following the diet and where I would eat at home. I can’t now. And I’m surprised to learn my reaction has changed. It used to hurt so bad I would be crying, but not anymore. The explosive puking is new. Still, the gluten experience is absolutely dreadful. That part did not change, I guess. Oh well. Sometimes I am sick. Mostly, I’m not. It is what it is. Mostly gluten free preferably.