My Reluctant Foray Into Grief Therapy
Because I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.
The day after my Dad dies is when the burning starts. It burns from the back of my tongue to my belly button. My throat is red when I wake up each morning. I take copious amounts of prescription antacids and combine them with over the counter Gaviscon tablets and they barely keep the flames at bay.
In March, I develop a soreness on my skin that quickly develops into this oddly-shaped cluster of spots, and it’s not long before these spots are blisters. I’m thirty years old, and my body is experiencing shingles for the very first time, which is (in my case) induced by stress. Because I am borderline obsessive about any small changes in my body, I pick up the oddities in the rash and see a doctor within the perfect window of time to get prescribed antivirals and slow down the progression of the virus.
Around the same time, as I am an avid jaw-clencher, the onset of tension headaches begins. The pressure and inflammation imparted by (or maybe just causing) these headaches also impacts my Eustachian tubes and often blocks my ears. Sometimes I get a little dizzy, too.
I do an upper GI where they make me drink a liquid I can only describe as “chalk juice” and place me on a machine-table that moves me in different directions…
