Dashing through the supermarket automatic doors with nearly the entire contents of the building in my trolley, I barely made it through the frame with my huge mountain of ‘essential food’ for the festive season.
I carefully edged my way out like the launching of the QE2, into a sea of anxious, eager and inpatient customers heading towards me like a wintery surfers paradise, and set about looking for my car.
Carefully selecting items from my trolley (Jenga eat your heart out) and I managed to squeeze myself into the seat, fighting off the 12 pack of toilet rolls and enough bottles of wine to start a fledgling off-license.
Finally home and the prospect of no more venturing out for the next 48 hours made me smile, I had enough food in case we get a dusting of snow (or post-apocalyptic blizzard for that matter) and extra gifts for any unexpected visitors. Closing the fridge door with my bottom, I sipped my first drink to Christmas sighing with extreme relief.
The big day came with sweet and savoury dishes surrounding the masterpiece in the centre of the table, the turkey slowly disappearing to the sounds of cutlery and clashing glasses, and a humming of happy voices filled the room.
The feast finally ended and everyone began to retire, with slightly enlarged and saggy bellies, to the living room with the tones of the Queen’s speech filling the room, which slowly but surely transitioned to the sounds of Xmas snores and a few sprout-induced ‘surprises’.
Waking up moments later but feeling as if hours had passed, I felt such nausea that I ran like Usain Bolt to our bathroom (OK it felt that fast), to find myself staring closely at the porcelain bowl, believing myself to be another victim to the Christmas ‘over-eats’ or a particularly Grinch-like bug.
Feeling thoroughly sorry for myself, I made myself comfy on the cold tiles surrounding the loo and began to formulate a plan. As it was Christmas I knew that my GP practice would be unavailable, as well as my local pharmacy. I could ring NHS 111 for advice, and, as I knew it wasn’t anything urgent, I decided to stay put and call for assistance in the form of my husband, a glass of water and some medicine I’d retrieved in my earlier shopping trip.
A few hours later, and feeling much better, I knew I had made the right choice. By opting for self-care I’d recovered and even managed to limit the spreading of what could have been germs, or too much half-digested food. I began to relax again, mind slowly drifting back to that pack of mince pies hidden in the secret cupboard and wondering when I was brave enough to start round two.
If you feel unwell this Christmas, remember that having a well-stocked medicine cabinet and knowing what services are available could make all the difference. Choose well and ensure you pick the right care, at the right time, leaving emergency services to those who need them most.
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