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A pair of California Condors flew over us, bright and early one morning. I marveled at their unmistakeable white wing markings. And then I threw up.
That’s the kind of week it was. Rare and beautiful—–and dark and scary. Susie and I are back from a road trip. I was eager to share with her some of the rural scenes along the California coast I’ve covered as a T.V. reporter. We made it as far North as Carmel before heading East into Paso Robles wine country and back to the coast again.
I’m not allowed to drive. Something about brain surgery and seizures. So I spent the week as copilot as Susie winded up Highway 1 and then East through the oak forests and bright sunshine. We’ve been together for 30 years so we know each other pretty well. Having read Susie’s blog entry from those days, I see how I may have been having more fun than she was. A little under the weather, I slept for some of the trip on the bed she’d made for me in the back of the RV. She drove and worried. I slept and recovered.
The condors are part of a captive breeding program in an effort to save the species. The throwing up is part a cancer treatment program in an effort to save just one man. The meds that keep my brain from seizing can be toxic to the liver in high doses. My dose was too high—causing my road trip sickness.
Now that we’re home and I’m taking the right meds—I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in months. My right side has feeling and movement again. I’m able to button my own shirts, tie my own shoes and brush my own hair—you know, the stuff adult men take for granted. I want keep this good feeling going.
But more than anything, I want to get some doctor’s visits out of the way, pack up the van and hit the road again. Eastern Sierra this time. There’s an illusive marmot I want to find.