One hour ambulance ride, three hour hospital visit--Salim Valji's latest (and scariest) French adventure…

For those who don't know me,  I am a huge, unabashed member of Team Taylor. I could be team captain.

I love Taylor Swift.

Let's go the more optimistic route…I love Taylor Swift Valji.

On second thought, we don't want to get sued…I love Taylor Valji Swift.

Does Salim Swift work? Nope, unless after my journalism career I plan on entering the adult film industry. 

Bottom line is that my heart would melt if I happened upon Leonards, or The Cream House, or Le Petit Pont, or any other Parisien café I frequent, and Madame Swift was there. I'd nervously introduce myself, make a joke, and try to woo her with my endless supply of humour, combined with splashes of grammatically incorrect French (although, if an East African Canadian living in Paris isn't foreign enough to her, I'm not sure what is) and that Canadian charm that I wish I had possessed when I was 16. 

How does Taylor Swift have to do with taking selfies at a Lyonais hospital? Well, she has a song called Red. Red can mean many things--love, embarrassment, pride. This weekend, red to me meant one thing--CALL 911.

I was red on Friday night. I was red on my arms, legs, face, and even on ma buttawks (to channel our inner Forrest Gump).

Pourquoi?

I was in Lyon to write an English exam (TOEFL), as part of the application process to get into Concordia University in Montreal. I arrived at 2pm, ready to take on yet another foreign city.

I took the train from the airport to downtown, got off, and went in search of food. In hindsight, this was an awful idea. I had my laptop, passport, birth certificate, and clothes on me.

I strolled around, taken aback by how slowly life moved in Lyon compared to Paris. I found a pasta place, ordered a cheap formule (trio consisting of plate, drink, dessert), and sat outside.

Bite one, bite two, bite three.

I realised I had a serious, serious problem. I knew I had consumed something I shouldn't have. What to do? Fully aware of the hallucinations I had in Barcelona over a similar reaction, I took only two Benadryl tablets. They did nothing. My physical and mental state deteriorated with every minute that passed.

I left the restaurant, the clock now at 3pm. The best thing I could do was get to my hostel, located a 15 minute bus ride away. Only problem was that I was feeling nauseous, dizzy, and panicked. I was easy, easy prey for any pickpockets around. I could barely walk in a straight line, and had a laptop, passport, wallet, and cell phone on me. 

I got on the bus, and lasted one stop before stumbling out. I needed to puke. Badly. I was right in the middle of a crowded square though. Where to go? I staggered around for some time before summoning my courage and hopping on the bus again, determined to get to my hostel. The panic was palpable, worry growing with every breath. A part of me wondered whether I'd just faint and wake up hours later with nothing.

The second time I caught the bus, I made it to Pont Konig, the closest bus stop to my hostel. The time was around 6pm. I didn't know where my hostel was from the bus stop, and asked a stranger. They pointed me in the direction of Quai Arloing. I walked to my hostel, my condition now far worse than before.

As I was walking, something awful happened, that hasn't occurred to me ever.

My entire body began turning red (sang Taylor Swift). Not a slight red, but a full on bright, bright red (it would be a full 48 hours before my body was its usual 51st shade of grey again). I began to itch everywhere. My hands, legs, back, face…everywhere was burning.

I stumbled into the hostel, barely able to speak. I asked the staff to call the ambulance.

Before the ambulance came, I was still itching, my face now having turned completely white. I also felt like I was going to explode.

And then I did.

I threw up. Lots. Thankfully, it all went in a bucket, but boy oh boy did I explode.

The ambulance came soon after, I took a ride, and sat in the hospital for three hours before being deemed home-ready.

Walking out of the hospital, I felt free, relieved, and slightly nervous for my English exam.

When I arrived back at the hostel at around 11pm, the first thing I did was thank the staff for the way they handled the situation. They reacted with humility, care, and generosity--they were all fantastic and I will never forget that. Not a bad trade, if you think about it--I get to continue living, and they get a story about a crazy Canadian guest. I'd say it's a pretty even exchange.

I ordered a pizza from the hostel bar and chatted up a lovely American who was staying at the same place (Cool & Bed hostel, I recommend for anyone).

The rest of the weekend was pretty great. After my English exam, I hung out with the American girl and her friends, then met up with a mate of mine who is from Alberta (we originally met in Montreal last summer--strange world). We hung out for a few hours, strolling around Lyon before grabbing a pizza.

I got back to the hostel around midnight, chatted with the same American girl, and went to bed. No nuts consumed, no ambulance called--I'd call that a win. The next morning, I took the train from St Exupéry and by 2pm I was back at chez moi in Conflans Sainte Honorine.

I really don't know what I'd say if I met Taylor Swift. Maybe I'd say hello, or bonjour, or bonjorno. Maybe we'd talk about the weather, or her latest album, or I'd advise her on how to politely break it off with the guy she's seeing but not really into.

Maybe she'd even be inspired by our meeting and write a song about me.

Maybe it would be called Green. 

After all, green can symbolize many things, including hope, life, and rebirth.

And on this Tuesday evening in Conflans as I reflect on the events of this weekend, not a sore throat or hive or peanut in sight, I am thankful for all three.

We're all in this together,