Name Your Poison

It's been a while since I've written anything, predominantly due to a number of work trips to Australia's own Purgatory (otherwise known as Adelaide).  But I'm back, and stronger than ever after a weekend of attempted liver-cide.


Two weekends ago I suffered the misfortune of entering my "late twenties", the same week as a good friend also celebrated her birthday.  We decided to mark the occasions with a joint shin-dig, punctuated with liberal servings of home-made cocktails.


The afternoon and evening went off without a hitch, however with the addition of liberal splashes of spirits to a blender, we were soon out of booze and devoid of coordination.  The most logical solution was to head to the nearest karaoke bar, where we proceeded to holler our throats raw until the early hours of the morning escorted us home.


Waking up far too early on Sunday morning, my first thought was that I had maybe eaten a spoonful of sawdust.  I had lost my voice and felt so dehydrated I was sure I resembled a raisin.  Getting up to fetch a drink of water, my temples throbbed and my shaking muscles almost propelled me into a wall.  Steadying myself, I managed to rehydrate and collapse back into bed.  


Three hours later I awoke again.  This time, I approached consciousness with far more apprehension.  I opened one eye: so far so good.  The other now...Oops, too much movement, abort!  


Streaks of sunlight from what was an obviously glorious day attempted to sneak through the cracks in the blinds; I thought I'd see how my comrade in celebration was doing.  She replied to my message of doom and hangover with "totally with you on that one!  Had a good long bath, but still feel like something that just slithered out of the primordial stew".  I knew exactly how she felt.


Finally surfacing from my horizontal world at 1.33pm, I devoured a croissant and about half a kilo of bacon and began to traipse the road to recovery.  The evening brought with it a feeling of exhaustion but relief that my head was back to its normal size.  A whole day to recover, I must be getting old...


Throughout my time at university as a pharmacology student, I learnt a lot about how alcohol affects the human body, and the reasons behind the trip down Struggle Street the following day.  The knowledge of the processes involved are not comforting in the slightest, which compels me to describe them:


Once alcohol is consumed through a process of shots, down-in-ones, drinking games and peer pressure, it finds its way into our bloodstream.  From here, an enzyme called alcohol dehydrogenase breaks it down into a nasty compound called acetaldehyde.  This is not well tolerated by the human body and causes all the symptoms we know as a hangover.  In my case, this involves nausea, headaches, shaking, a heartbeat I can feel in my ears and a compulsion to curl up in the foetal position for approximately 6 hours.  


The body does get rid of acetaldehyde, but it does so at a constant speed regardless of the quantity to dispose of.  There is sadly no way to speed up this process, although perhaps that's a good thing because a solid hangover certainly deters me from drinking for a good long time.


Despite the well-documented knowledge of how the body processes the poisons of a night out, almost everybody will have a tried and supposedly true hangover 'cure'.  I've been through the fads of blue Powerade, ibuprofen, Berocca, hash browns, lollipops and on one occasion, beer (successful but extremely difficult to attempt).  These have been met with varying degrees of success, but deep down I know that they don't accomplish much.  My boyfriend swears by rainbow flavoured paddle pops for every ailment (including a hangover), and would probably run to the corner store before he called an ambulance in a crisis.


I've seen some weird and wonderful anti-hangover concoctions.  Many of these were seen at 8am university lectures after a celebratory event.  Desks were adorned with water bottles, energy drinks, fresh fruit or confectionery in an attempt to stay coherent for the entire hour.  Many people cook a full English breakfast on a seedy Sunday morning in an attempt to soak up the pain and suffering, while some people will jump back on the wagon and have a glass of Chardonnay at the breakfast table.


So what's your favourite hangover buster?  Do you fry up some mushrooms or head down to the 7-11 for a Slurpee?  Or do you take the road of sense and avoid the booze the night before?  I would love to climb on a high horse and say I'll never do it again, but let's face it; I've said that before and I'm sure it wasn't the last time...




Blue skies,


-E