Until Rula Lenska joined us on a quest in Nepal I had no idea that actors
and expeditioners suffer from the same problem at the end of the show. Both tend to
get 'post-project depression'
(PPD) or 'after-expedition
blues'.
When a play ends or the filming of a series finishes, Rula explained, the cast is
suddenly split up, left to find new jobs or return home for a well-earned rest. The
friendships and working relationships break up, the team disappears and a
different lifestyle starts overnight. So it is with expeditioners and, I imagine, ocean
voyagers.
Dr John Davies, one of Britain's leading exploration medics, once
started a lecture at the Scientific Exploration Society with the statement:
"Expeditions may endanger your health."
He went on to point out that, for the novice, the experience can be an introduction
to the negative aspects of one's personality that are easily
suppressed in normal daily life. However, with appropriate counselling and support,
this can be a journey of self-discovery leading to increased confidence and a more
enlightened attitude to others.
Seasoned adventurers, like experienced actors, recognise post-expedition blues, the
symptoms of which are similar to bereavement. This is triggered by the loss of
one's new-found 'family' of
expedition friends in a widely different culture and suddenly being cut off from the
excitement on return home.
"I just can't face going back to
nine to five in the Tax Office," groaned an Inland Revenue
Officer who had spent three months in the Gobi. A routine and mundane lifestyle
aggravates the condition and, for many, it is cured only by involvement in another
challenge. Returning explorers also face isolation from family and colleagues, who
have no concept of their recent intense experience. They are often perplexed by
the indifferent response to their stories and may end up silent and withdrawn. The
envy and resentment of the uninitiated, who imagine that one has been on a jolly
picnic or at best some self-inflicted masochism, is also common.
"Don't know what you've done
to my mother," complained a son after his mum had returned
from one of the Discovery Expeditions in South America.
"She's awfully quiet." But
meeting the lady in question at a reunion a few months later I found her in great
spirits, reliving the experience with her old pals.
John Davies, with whom I have been on many trips, advises
'returnees', especially the older ones, to spend
several days enquiring about the day-to-day problems that have occurred in their
absence before slowly beginning to recount their experiences. So, on being met by
my wife as I stepped off a comfortable British Airways flight from Delhi recently, I
asked: "How are those new trees in the garden coming
on?"
"Have you gone
mad?" replied Judith, well used to a dozen tales of high
adventure before we reached the car park. But perhaps I'm
beyond hope!
However, there may be medical problems, as I discovered a year after a Sandhurst
expedition in Ethiopia, when my right leg started shaking uncontrollably while I was
lecturing. 'How strange,' I thought, trying not to
notice the offending limb. Two weeks later, lying racked with a fever in hospital, it
was found that I had malaria, by which time I also had blurred vision and had lost
nine kilos in weight. But, once diagnosed, malaria is usually fairly easily cured, and
the doctors knew I'd been to the tropics.
Sadly not all ailments are so quickly dealt with, as I realised after 12 months of visits
to the St Pancras Hospital for Tropical Diseases. Strange hot flushes, violent
stabbing pains in my stomach, aches and itches in awkward places were making
life extremely uncomfortable. "There's
nothing wrong with you," boomed one of the
world's leading specialists in tropical diseases after exhaustive
tests proved negative. "You young fellows imagine
you've caught everything under the sun if you spend six weeks in
the jungle. When I was in Burma..." he droned on. My morale
at was rock bottom and it took great courage to return to the hospital a few weeks
later, after the symptoms had become almost unbearable.
As luck would have it, a charming and much more sympathetic Asian doctor was on
duty and, in no time, he had me face-down on a trolley with a flexible viewing
device inserted up my rear end and my shirt over my head.
"Keep him still," he beseeched as two
strapping Fijian nurses pinned me down. "Oh, my
goodness," exclaimed the physician. "What
a fine example. Excuse me, sir, but you have a splendid parasite. It is quite
unusual to see one so well developed. Would you mind if we allowed a class of
medical students to see it?" Before I could even protest, I was
wheeled into a theatre full of students, many of them, I noted, looking between my
legs, were extremely attractive young women. One by one they came forward,
without even a titter, to peer intently up my bottom. At last I was taken away and
the awful tube removed. "What now?" I
asked.
"Oh - just swallow these pills and
you'll be as right as rain," smiled the doctor.
So it is my advice that if you feel ill after an overseas visit, go straight to your
GP and say where you have been. Mark you, they might
diagnose jet lag, which can affect one more than most care to admit.
This handbook contains useful tips on surviving the onslaught and reducing its effects
to the minimum, so I'll not dwell on it. Suffice to say that when I
get home I keep going until nightfall, doing simple, uncomplicated things such as
unpacking or weeding, then I take a very mild sleeping pill and totter off to bed.
With luck I can usually sleep for six hours. The important thing is to avoid stressful
situations and don't make any important decisions until after your
body has readjusted. In my case this usually takes 24 hours. Indeed, even weeding
may not be a good idea. Having stepped off a long flight from Mongolia, I pulled up
all my wife's carefully planted ground cover instead of the weeds.
If I am still feeling low, I concentrate on writing my thank-you letters (if not done on
the plane!) and amending my packing list while memory of all the things I forgot to
take and all unnecessary items that went with me is still fresh. Then
it's down to sorting out photos, slides, videos and writing reports
and articles. Next come repairs to kit, getting cameras serviced and preparing
lectures.
If you start to feel sorry for yourself, you are not really bringing the benefits of your
experiences to your life at home. Indeed I expect you will find that you have
changed but the world has not.
The whole point is to keep active and look forward to the next challenge, and, if you
can't afford another trip, why not use your vigour and energy to
help others in your area, sick children, old people or anyone who could use some
voluntary assistance?
For the adventurous there is the opportunity of supporting organisations such as the
Duke of Edinburgh's Award or Riding for the Disabled and there
are dozens of environmental groups needing help.
The great cry is, if you want to avoid PPD, keep busy.
