I limped over the UK border at my weakest point, and perhaps that was for the best. The plane ride from Chicago to London was wonderfully uneventful, until the final hour when my insides turned against me. Not the kind of turning that left me reaching for that little paper bag in the pocket in front of me, but the kind that caused me to dash to the minuscule loo more than once, despite the illuminated fasten seatbelt sign. Yep. That kind. Sorry if this is getting all too personal. I debated whether to write this blogpost and after I wrote it, debated whether to publish it. They say good…