Can I have separation anxiety for an entire country?

This is our last morning here in Silica Nirvana. We took one last early swim/float – OK, NOT so early BUT it was still dark out at 9 AM. The sun doesn’t get its lazy ass outta bed until 10:30! Now we’re just waiting for the airport bus. 

Something unhappy and a little scary happened while here in ground zero for chill-dom – I began to decompensate. That is, my body AND brain got sick of working overtime to make up for that fat, eggplant sized tumor in ma bean. What this looked like was this:

Bigger troubles with walking. It’s to the point that coming down the hallway from our room to the lagoon was EXHAUSTING and I had to hold on to the walls so's I didn't topple.

My shaking has become way worse to the point that I can’t hold a cuppa, a glass ‘o’ de grape or even plain old wasser, fer fuck’s sake, without spilling it everywhere. And DO NOT have me carry a plate of  food anywhere! Curious – is this how Jackson Pollack got his start? Did he have neuro issues too?

Not only does my handwriting resemble that of a spastic toddler (only FAR less cute and charming), typing has become difficult to say the least. Like most of y’all, I’ve been keyboarding more than scribbling manually for eons now. That and I’m doin’ the graphic designer shtick but what’s up? The damn keyboard confuses the hell outta me now. It’s all unfamiliar and shit. By the by, THIS is creepy

There’s other crap goin’ on too but, HEY, we won’t bore you further with my tales of woe, now will we. Nein, we will not.

Doc P, a forward thinking dude, was afraid exactly this would happen once I was 4,000 miles from MGH and his office. He wrote me a ‘script for dexamethasone (an anti-inflammatory more or less), which I started taking on Wednesday, yesterday. I probably should have started on Tuesday latest BUT in a rare moment of NOT embracing reality, I kept telling myself that this shit was all about trip stress.

Emmm, no. I don't think I can wait for surgery.
Not until February, when my fave bean surgeon, Fred Barker's, available.
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It’s now mid afternoon. Jen and I are at the normally jam-packed Keflavik Airport, near Reykjavik. I hate this airport. It was once a tiny place, easy to get around, with astounding views of the lava fields. Not no more. As tourism here has surged…well the joint’s had growing pains (UNDERstatement!). We got here extra early and stuck my weak ass self in a wheelchair. Yeah, I could get by (slowly, painfully) without one but, long’s I have this steaming pile of mega annoying bullshit crowding me, Imma take advantage.


So, apart from this scary as fuck shit, HOW was Iceland? Wonderful, magical as uszh. We'll be back next year. Possibly we's addicted to the island.