This story could just as easily be titled “The Time I Got a Giant Needle in My Butt” or “The Dodgy Lamb That Turned Me Vegetarian.” Either works, honestly. But for now, let’s stick with the hospital theme. It’s one of the weirdest, most terrifying—and in hindsight—funniest travel experiences I’ve ever had.
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It was 2012, and I was living in London. My friend and I had scraped together just enough cash to book ourselves onto a budget tour through Turkey. We were broke, as usual, and the group tour was the only way we could afford to travel. Somehow, we’d landed in one of those rare, golden situations where everyone on the tour was genuinely cool. You didn’t care who you sat next to on the bus—everyone got along like old mates, and the whole thing just worked.
A few days into the tour, we rolled into Kusadasi after a long bus ride down from Istanbul. It’s a beautiful seaside town, and even though our hotel room didn’t have a view (or much of anything, really), the location was perfect. We chucked our bags in the room and headed straight to the restaurant for dinner.
The buffet was what you’d expect from a budget hotel—some sad-looking salads, limp vegetables, and a questionable selection of meat. I was still very much a meat-eater at the time, so I ignored the salad and went full carnivore. Chicken? Sure. Beef? Absolutely. Lamb? It looked a bit suspect, but I figured, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Famous last words.
Dinner turned into drinks, but I was completely wrecked from the bus ride and decided to skip the party and head upstairs for a shower and an early night. My friend stayed behind with the group while I retreated to bed.
That’s when things started to go sideways.
I got hit with the chills almost immediately. The kind that start in your bones and work their way out—icy cold on the inside, boiling hot on the outside. Goosebumps. Shivers. Sweating. I knew what was coming: a full-blown stomach situation. I’ve travelled enough to know the signs. I mentally prepared for a long night spent going back and forth between the bed and the bathroom.
But this was different. My fever went into overdrive. I was delirious, confused, and rapidly dehydrating. Cold showers didn’t help. I wrapped myself in blankets, turned the heater on, and curled up into a miserable, shivering ball.
At some point in the middle of the night, my friend came back to the room and found me looking like death warmed up. I was pale, shaking, and couldn’t really speak—just mumbled something about being cold. She panicked, understandably, and got into bed to try and warm me up. Unfortunately, that only made things worse.
By 4am, it was clear something was really wrong. I managed to drag myself out of bed, crawl to the bathroom and—sorry for the visual—vomited blood. That was my tipping point. I freaked out, called out for help, and burst into tears.
My friend shot out of bed and raced downstairs, yelling for help. Thankfully, the hotel was directly across the road from a hospital—something I now suspect wasn’t a coincidence, given what they were serving at the buffet.
Within minutes, a doctor and nurse were rushing across the street with a first-aid kit. They came into the room, checked me over, and confirmed I needed to go to the hospital immediately. Our tour guide arrived just in time to translate. He looked genuinely worried and said, “Matt, you need to stay. We can’t delay the tour. I’m really sorry.” And just like that, they left us behind.
The doctor, my friend, and the tour leader helped get me into a wheelchair and wheeled me across to the hospital. They took me through dim corridors, into an elevator, and down—way down—to what I can only describe as the hospital basement of nightmares.
Picture what you think a creepy Turkish hospital basement looks like. Now darken it. Add some peeling paint, flickering lights, and a total lack of windows. You’re there. I was wheeled into a room that screamed “organ harvesting” and then… I saw it.
The needle. The biggest bloody syringe I have ever laid eyes on. The doctor motioned for me to roll over. I knew where it was going. Dignity? Gone. He jabbed me in the backside with that beast, hooked me up to fluids, and gave me something strong—because the next thing I knew, I was out.
While I was passed out, my friend went back to the hotel to make sure they didn’t throw out our stuff—passports, cameras, everything.
I woke up to a new doctor at my bedside—smiling, calm, and fluent in English. A true angel. He explained that I had a severe bacterial infection in my stomach and bowel. That dodgy lamb? Yeah. It wrecked me. He apologised for the horror-movie basement room and said I’d be moved upstairs now that a room had opened up.
They wheeled me up into what was, to my surprise, the nicest hospital room I’ve ever seen. Big windows. A stunning view of the Aegean Sea. Fresh air, sunshine. It smelled like saltwater and hope. I lay there breathing it in, finally feeling like things might be okay.
Over the next two days, the staff were incredible. They explained everything clearly, helped sort out our travel insurance, liaised with the hotel, and checked in regularly. I started to recover, slowly but surely.
Eventually, we had a decision to make. The tour was a few cities ahead, and we only had a week left before our flight home from Istanbul. Should we bail and stay in Kusadasi until our flight, or try to catch up?
My friend found a local guy who said he’d drive us the whole way. He rocked up with bleached blonde hair, a stack of energy drinks, and a playlist full of Deep House. He slammed his first can and off we went—blaring music, speeding down the highway, and praying we didn’t die in the process.
Hours later, we caught up with the group in the next town. Everyone was stunned to see me alive and upright. Last they saw, I was a sobbing wreck being wheeled away to what looked like certain doom.
For months after that, my stomach couldn’t handle much. Lentils, rice, bread. That was it. And honestly? I never really went back to eating meat. That lamb turned me vegetarian, single-handedly—and also gave me one of the most surreal, ridiculous, and unforgettable travel stories I’ll ever have.