Positive Strides. Baybush Publishing

on the floor, and used needles just left lying about. Slowly the seizures subsided, and I drifted into sleep. Garry quickly went back to the garage to collect the bike and our bags. Then, he settled in for a lengthy bedside vigil. He pondered the severity of the situation and considered letting my mother know. If my condition had deteriorated any further, there could be hell to pay for not informing her. He watched me sleep. At least I was calm and resting. Given the distance from Dublin, the impossibility of moving me, and the sheer hell the woman would go through worrying about me, he opted to wait for some improvement in the situation.

      There were no sheets so Garry used the saris I’d bought in Goa to cover me. On one occasion he reached for a clean sari and a large rat scurried from it’s cozy hiding place in my backpack. ”You’ve a rat in the hospital,” Garry told a doctor. ”Yes Sir,” he smiled “Many rats.” During the hours that followed, Garry was regularly pestered buy nurses and porters for rupees. ”Rupees for chai, Sir?” ”Rupees for food, Sir?” Their job seemed to end as soon as my drugs were administered. Garry sat for hours on end swatting the hoards of mosquitoes to stop them from eating me. The toilets were so filthy he found it hard to stop throwing up while using them. I’d been unconscious for hours when Garry approached a doctor. ”Please, I’m very worried. Will she be okay?” ”Why you worry, you think we’re no good” he said frowning. ”I didn’t say you were no good. I’d just like to know if she’s going to be okay.” ”You think we’re no good!” he yelled, looking at a nurse for support. “Why you no take her somewhere else so?” he scowled walking off. Garry only wished there was somewhere else, but both he and the doctor knew this was the only option.

      I remained in a trance-like state for a further two days; not totally unconscious, but not at all aware of what was going on around me. Garry would talk to me all the time. ”It’s okay, Rachel, I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Can you hear me Rachel? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” he say time and time again. It was only on the third day that I actually started to acknowledge Garry. ”Great to see you again,” he said choking back his tears. ”Where am I?” I asked, looking around me, very puzzled. ”Just take it easy, you’re in the hospital but you’re getting better.” A neurologist came to see me and told me to increase my dose of tablets and drink lots of water. There was nothing more the hospital could do, we checked out and went to the smartest hotel Garry could find. When the whole story was relayed back to me I was almost glad to have been unconscious, it was a hellish experience for both of us, I was just glad it was all over. We stayed in Hubli for two days and considered our options. I was still very weak and disoriented and the chaos of Bombay would be intolerable. We were only about l00 kilometers inland from Goa. Lovely, familiar Goa, with its peaceful beaches was exactly what we needed. We found a clean comfortable guesthouse and spent our days relaxing on the beach.

      During the day, I would sleep under the shade of the palm trees, and we’d eat in the small restaurants that dotted the beachfront. ”What are we doing here in Goa?” I’d ask. “Were chilling out, you’ve been in the hospital, remember?” ”Ah, that’s right. I asked you that before didn’t I?” My short-term memory was gone. I knew we had left Edinburgh and come to India, but what had happened in the past few weeks was a mystery to me. I had no idea why we had taken so many notes about our trip and couldn’t recall that we had ever considered writing a book about our travels. We had taken to eating dinner in a particular restaurant which made good solid food and wonderful salads. It was also impeccably hygienic. John, the restaurateur, sometimes joined us. He was a tall man in his late forties, distinguished and authoritative but very well mannered and polite. He came from Naji Babad in the north, a place we were hoping to visit at some stage. His restaurant in Goa only operated on a seasonal basis and he would be back home in the wet season. Perhaps we would meet up and tour around-he too was an Enfield freak and loved our bike. At any rate, we made plans to do so. His company during that time of respite was calming and reassuring.

      The peace and stability of Goa worked wonders. During the second week, I was feeling stronger. I became strangely giddy and laughed a lot. Perhaps it was a reaction to the illness. It soon passed, as did my detachment and disorientation. We took small trips to the market and into Old Goa. Nothing too strenuous, but pleasant all the same. Gradually, we began to get restless and we knew it was time to move on. It was good to be back in full health and the open road awaited us.