8/12/2019 Paxos Travel Story

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Now, Megan, just please promise me for just this one, blissful holiday nothing will go wrong?

Were just about to board the plane to Paxos on a family holiday and my Dad turns to face me.

It wasntan unreasonable request. I seem to have a knack for ruining holidays. Take Australia, in the

middle of the outback and I chose to have a near fatal peanut reaction with no hospital for miles. Or

skiing in the Alps, where my arrogance on the slopes led to being embarrassingly carted down in a

bright orange body bag. Or Switzerland, where I moisturised and woke up with cheeks the size of

two bright red tennis balls, and lips resembling two thick slugs.

Arriving on the island, I was confident having two relaxed weeks ahead. The small, serene island

offered stunning simplicity. The shimmering bay welcomed us in to the quiet, yet bustling village.

The intense sun browned our faces and the cheerful local atmosphere and hospitality warmed our

hearts.

Searing pain burned through my abdomen, clutching my stomach I awoke abruptly in my bed. The

room was cool but my skin prickled with heat. Bracing myself for an onset of severe food poisoning, Istumbled into the lounge. Soon, Dad came ambling in on his routine 3am mission to acquire a snack

from the fridge. Sending me back to bed, he told me there was no boat trip for me to Anti-Paxos the

next morning.

I woke up catching everyone sneaking off and announced I was coming with them on the boat,

ignoring my Dads complaints.

Then the pains started pounding through my stomach again. Gritting my teeth, I smiled and waved

away my parentsconcern. Then promptly lay flat on the floor of the boat. Everyone else surveyed

the tranquil scenery and I counted the cracks of paint on the ceiling. Intermittently groaning

dramatically, so that strangers around me slowly edged away in fear that I was suffering from a bout

of sea sickness.

After the day long trip to the island with, of course, no medical facilities, Dad tells me to pack clothes

for hospital announcing I had appendicitis. I disagreed, telling everyone it was food poisoning and

my GP father was merely a hypochondriac. On this basis, I refused to pack anything or wash my sea-

salt encrusted hair.

One cowardly blood test, one painful emergency boat ride to Corfu, one further ambulance ride,

one quick poke and one speedy operation later, I woke up shivering, got stitched and bandaged up

and went into shock. My father kindly waited until I recovered at 4am to state: I told you so.

For the next four days, I watched repetitive Greek dancers do their version of the Hokey Cokey on

TV, uncomfortably used a bedpan, wore the same clothes, solely ate chicken in a bowl of water and

reserved my best frowns for a sadistic nurse who chose to inflict pain on me through needles.

This summer, Im going to Swanage.