It is incredible how much better a good night’s sleep in your own bed can sometimes allow you to feel, and how much it can help you regain your usual perspective on the world. It has been quite a rough, nasty few days to be honest: I was considering keeping all this to myself because it was such a nightmare, but as usual the blogger in me has taken over. Basically, it started six days ago, when John and I were in Paphos. After quite a few Keo beers the night before, I woke at about 4am, feeling slightly strange and disoriented. I lay awake, unable to get back to sleep, until John woke at around seven. When he did, he passed me our hotel room’s television remote control so I could watch a bit of TV before getting up and dressed. But then I noticed something: my fingers wouldn’t press the right buttons on the control, and I could suddenly sense something was very, very wrong.

It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I had had quite a few nasty absences over the previous few days, but this was of another order. My fingers were going haywire, and it seemed like reality itself had gone out of kilter. It was rapidly getting worse. I told John, who phoned an ambulance.

I cannot remember the next few hours, so forgive me if I omit the detail; I just know that they were the most unpleasant, frightening hours I have ever experienced. Reality seemed to have become chaotic, time seemed somehow to be repeating on itself. It was horrible, and something I hope never to go through again. I must say, though, that the way in which John stood by me that day, looking after me, making sure I had the medical help I needed, was truly humbling. I doubt there are words in any human tongue which can come close to expressing the gratitude I owe him, save to say that I don’t think I would be here now writing these words, had it not been for his help. I will now forever regard him as something akin to a brother – Samwise to my Frodo, Spock to my Kirk.

We spent the day in the hospital. I had many tests, including a blood test and EEG. My memories are predictably extremely hazy. I’m not sure how many epileptic seizures I had, but it was several.* All I remember is being unable to stop my arms and legs shaking. There was talk of keeping me there overnight, but I preferred to be taken back to our hotel, as it would be easier for me to eat etc there. I’d been put on a drip of some kind, and the fits were easing off. John took me back to our hotel, and I had a fairly good night’s sleep.

That was a few days ago, and fortunately since then I have seen no sign of a recurrence, although to be honest I didn’t feel quite right for three or four days. I don’t think there is any clear cause, but obviously I must do all I can to prevent it happening again. That includes improving my diet and avoiding alcohol at all costs. I went to the local hospital yesterday to get checked, but nothing was found. My deepest regret is that this nightmare ruined what was turning out to be a wonderful, fascinating trip. Again, my profound gratitude goes out to John: not only did he once again take me on an amazing holiday, but this time he helped me through the most unpleasant few hours of my life. How lucky I am to have such a friend.

*I presume they were epileptic, given my absences are essentially a mild form of epilepsy, but of course I could be wrong