My grandfather died on March 13. My wife and I flew east for the funeral a few days later. This was my first flight since my back pains began. I took a pillow to cushion my tailbone. It didn't help. By hour two pain radiated upward. By hour three the pain had spread into either side of my butt and down my legs. It felt like molten iron was being poured into my nerves in small batches. I gritted my teeth and suffered.
In Pennsylvania there was no rest. The family was exhausted from the months-long decline of my grandfather and mourning. My wife and I jumped in to help and grieve. We ran errands and traveled to see family. Cooking all meals - impossible. Finding a restaurant that could accommodate my diet - impossible. There was little choice. I ate gluten and eggs and the other things that I know make me ill. It did not seem to matter.
The days preceding the funeral felt endless. Emotionally, it felt like slowly marching toward a cliff from which there was no return. I lingered in memory for those few days. I did not want to say goodbye. I marched on.
My wife and I flew back to San Diego on a Tuesday. I eased back onto my diet and returned to regular yoga. But the Friday after we returned, sickness came. Irritation, poor sleep, nausea, anxiety, headaches, fatigue, muscle pain marred my days and nights, still mar my days and nights. This morning (it is around 3 AM) is the first time I have had the energy and focus to write. There's not much more to say...
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