An unholy initiation into the horrors of food poisoning

IN a week that was otherwise unremarkable as far as milestones go, I did at least manage to tick one item off the bucket list — and never has the word “bucket” been so apt: I finally succumbed to food poisoning.

Film Still From The Exorcist Linda Blair Who Played Posessed Child Regan Picture: Supplied

IN a week that was otherwise unremarkable as far as milestones go, I did at least manage to tick one item off the bucket list — and never has the word “bucket” been so apt: I finally succumbed to food poisoning.

Like most people who haven’t had it before, I had ­always suspected there were only two degrees of food poisoning: “Faking it” and “Dead”.

These more broadly translate as either the phone call to your boss that opens with “I schink scher musht’ve bin schomesching in schat kebab I had at schree o’clock in the morning …” or a newspaper article about yet another tragic misadventure at a sushi shop.

However, as I discovered, my science was inexact. There is in fact a middle level in which one is neither faking it nor dead, even if at several points one wishes one was.

I do not know what triggered the sudden attack, ­especially since I have never in my life eaten anything more exotic than a toasted cheese sandwich.

Indeed, given the number of diseases my lack of food intake has lined me up for, it seems somewhat unfair that food poisoning would be among them.

Still, there is little time for such philosophical rumination when you are projectile vomiting into a sink with such force that you have to episodically rear your head to avoid the splashback.

I had, until this point, thought that the Exorcist had perhaps overplayed the symptoms of satanic possession, however by 5pm on Tuesday I felt sure it was a documentary.

The only deviation from real life was that in my case the swearing was a little more colourful and that perhaps, rather than sprinkling holy water, the priest should have just asked Linda Blair if she had eaten the fish.

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Ironically, I actually had an appointment with a priest the following day, which, upon hearing of my condition, the parish office was only too happy to cancel — a dereliction of godly duty if ever there was one.

If the Dark One really was working his spells upon me it’s fair to say he was winning this round.

In an effort to compensate for this biblical loss, that night I lay pale and blanketed on the couch watching Exodus: Gods and Kings. Yet not only did the one-and-a-half-hour plague scenes fail to settle my stomach, my wife also refused to ­acknowledge this should count as a date night.

Clearly things were not going well.

Then, when all hope seemed lost, on the third day I rose again.

My God, I thought to myself. I bet no one in history has ever done that before.

To witness more miracles of survival watch Studio 10 from 8.30 weekday mornings on Channel 10.

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