Mugged and poisoned in paradise!
Donna in hospital
Monday 15th December 2008
The moped seemed to come out of nowhere. I turned just in time to see it heading straight for me and, barely a moment later, I was lying flat on my back.
'What the…' I spluttered, as adrenalin made me scramble straight back up to my feet.
It was only then that it hit me.
'My purse!' I cried.
But it was too late.
I could only watch as the mugger sped away from me. It was the first day of our holiday and what a rotten start. My daughter, Jamie-Leigh, 9, my mum, Maggie, 49, and I had left Stockton-on-Tees behind and touched down at Puerto Plato Airport in the Dominican Republic the day before. Christmas and New Year in our very own Caribbean paradise. Bliss.
But the next morning, when I'd woken up at the Casa Marina resort, I had a cracking headache.
'Probably just the travelling,' I'd told Mum. 'Let's find the chemist for some paracetamol.'
So we'd headed towards the outskirts of the resort and I'd soon spotted a chemist just
opposite the security barriers. We'd been told by the holiday reps that it was safe to explore the town, so I hadn't been worried as I'd left Mum with Jamie-Leigh just inside the complex.
Now, though, watching the young man in the dark bandanna ride off with our spending money, I began to cry. Mum and Jamie-Leigh had seen the drama unfold from across the road.
'The money,' I gasped, as they rushed towards me. 'He stole it. All our spending money's gone.'
'It's only money,' Mum reassured me. 'Just as long as you're OK.'
Apart from being a bit winded and a few grazes on my arms and knees, I felt all right. But as Mum led me to our room and I lay down on the bed, my stomach began to ache. Within half-an-hour, I was struggling to catch my breath. Mum called the onsite doctor, who gave me painkillers and told me to rest. But the pain was unbearable. I couldn't stop crying. Worse, I'd started to shake.
'She's having a fit,' I heard Mum gasp down the phone.
Her voice seemed so far away. I was dimly aware when the doctor came to see me again. This time, he bundled me straight into a taxi.
'I've been told to stay here with Jamie-Leigh,' Mum said. 'Will you be OK?'
I nodded. Then everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, Mum's face swam before my eyes.
'Thank God,' she whispered.
Apparently the impact of the moped running into me had caused my appendix to burst, flooding my body with poisonous toxins. As the days went on, Jamie-Leigh and Mum spent most of their spare time at the hospital. But I spent most of Christmas Day in a room on my own, eating cold lumpy mash potato and cheese, watching ropey foreign telly I couldn't understand. Mum brought Jamie-Leigh in, but I told them not to stay long. I wanted her to have some kind of Christmas.
Then, on Boxing Day, the doctors allowed me back to the resort. But that night, the pain in my stomach got worse again. Mum called the doctor and, after examining me, he said I had to go back to hospital immediately. At the hospital, I was rushed off for tests, then Mum came into my room.
'Help me!' I begged.
'You've got meningitis and fluid on the brain,' she said, voice trembling. 'But you're going to beat it.'
Meningitis? How unlucky could you get?
I spent the next three days sedated and hooked up to drips. But thankfully the medication worked. And a few days later, the day before our flight home was booked, I was allowed out of hospital. Surgeons feared for my safety if I flew home, but I was adamant.
'Just take me home, Mum,' I begged. 'This place will kill me.'
A violent mugging, a burst appendix and meningitis. Not exactly the relaxing break
we'd planned…
As I was wheeled onto the plane I said a bitter goodbye to the Dominican Republic. My dream Caribbean Christmas had almost killed me. Twice. This Christmas, I'll be staying
in Stockton and relishing every soggy sprout. Paradise? You can keep it.