TOURING SANTORINI: 6.8 miles

You would think this blog about Santorini would be easy: "Oh, it was gorgeous!" "Oh, it was such a peaceful place!"... No. This entry is incredibly hard to write. There's too many emotions I can't express.

Ok, first of all: “sciatica" isn't the title of Matt Damon's newest sci-fi movie. 

For me, sciatica is a twisted pelvis grinding against the furthest reaching nerve in my body... electric, stabbing pain shooting from my neck to both of my ankles. 

The year of my wedding, I exhausted all traditional doctors within my reach.

I went to specialists and on medical leave. I took pain killers. I did yoga. I iced. I carried a special cushion for seating everywhere I went. I had a Himalayan Salt Lamp and an aromatherapy diffuser to reduce stressed muscles. I was shamed for smelling like Bengay at work. I even went on an ancient medicine vegan diet as directed by a Chinese Medicine doctor, too! To be fair, he was the most help of all those doctors! The Alkaline diet of seaweed salad, soy milk almonds amongst other things reduced my muscle inflammation. The muscles didn't bother my pelvis as much but the stress from life at an advertising agency kept my muscles taut. 

However, though I learned the benefits of veganism, it didn't address the root of my pain and I went back to being an omnivore again.

I am an extremely independent girl. I was a pretty spoiled child by way of my emotions but by time time I hit college, I was stubbornly independent. Since then, I often feel ashamed when others take care of me- although that's what love means! I myself enjoy taking care of my family when I can so I should've understood that. My friends and family were all patient and concerned. My newly-wed husband was a dream, predicting my every need. He was a heavenly example of selflessness to me for 2 painful years. 

Limited in my activities, I couldn't do as many chores as I use to... I sure couldn't do much of anything for longer than 5 minutes at a time: sitting, standing, laying down in any position, carrying things, driving and riding in a moving car!

I was drooping and dripping with self-loathing...

Before the sciatica, I once walked half a marathon in the desert... Coming from a hardy ancestry, I walked that marathon -the notoriously arduous Bataan Death March Memorial in the New Mexico desert- in memory of my great grandfather (father of the grandmother I blog a lot about). A Philippine scout -the highest ranked type of fighter in the Philippine army- during WWII, he endured the Bataan Death March but died at the terminal at San Fernando. In my earlier years out of college, I often thought of him and tried to draw on his memory to make him proud of my physical capabilities. I know now that that expectation is entirely harmful towards my health. However, I still had that mindset when I was bedridden. Where was my physical fortitude? Would my great-grandfather be disgusted? Oh, the mind of a diagnosed depression patient.

That's right, my mental health -already one of my most demanding albatrosses- degenerated with my physical health and vice versa. There were times I'd cry feverishly, wondering if I'd ever know the cause of my sciatica and stop treating the symptoms.

After some time, I accepted the pain and studied pain management.

Why did I accept it? Chronic pain -as a concept- was always a palpable issue for me. My mother lives with chronic pain. Always has. It's only gotten worse with every year. Today she lives with severe fibromyalgia. Her memory, movement and -according to her doctors lifespan are all reliant on this wildcard. I don't get frustrated at how slow she is mentally and physically. I do get carried away in frustration. I often judged her disregard of a healthy, active lifestyle and diet. I remembered she was the person that taught me ambition, independence and drive in studies and in the workplace. Where was that woman, now?

Chronic sciatica humbled me greatly in dealing with anyone -including mom- in chronic pain who cannot find the will or ability to stay active. I know now that my mother, although almost everything she talks about is her pain, is still my mother... I know how pain can feel so encompassing that it's hard for her to see much else.

As for me, I am extremely grateful to say I found the root of my pain.

Two years after it started, I signed up to treat it with physical therapy. It was the last bastion of hope offered to me and I didn't want to be able to say I hadn't tried every option offered. At my first session, my physical therapist, Dr. Cory Healer (yea, perfect name) found my twisted pelvis and taught me how to pop it back into place. I was almost angry that the problem had been so basic and it's something that couldn't be found on an X-ray!

I quickly went from anger to being consumed with humbling gratuity. Yes, the pelvis is something I'd need to deal with for possibly life, but I can take that! Two months into physical therapy, pain was rare. ...For a moment, depression creeped in and whispered horrible lies: Did I deserve this sudden way out? However, my faith, helped me accept the lessons I learned from my struggle and I moved on with life. I am back to the sometimes overambitious person I was before the chronic sciatica.

Only 4 months after the reveal of my twisted pelvis, I found myself on this dazzling, steep, roughhewn 6-mile hike from Fira to Oia, Santorini (basically across the island). I felt the air being thrown out of my chest with so many of the views of the caldera.

Yes, I know 6 miles is not a big deal to so many people. Well, this isn't their blog entry!

Walking so far after struggling to walk just two minutes at a time only four months beforehand was a physical victory almost rivaling what I felt walking across the finish line at the Bataan Death March Memorial. 

Striding with tremulous nerves and exhilarated heart across the craggy peak of the caldera moved me and Dutch. I felt lifted in the air across the expanse of rock. I felt vaulted by the flurry of years worth of prayers from friends, family, deacons, elders, my husband and me (in frenzied tears). We took longer than the usual 2-5 hours but I didn't give any fucks. The presence of crosses on Catholic churches reminded me my personal savior was with me every step of the way even though I'm not a Catholic.

The sun literally soared above us. By the time we hit Oia, it was ahead of us.

Oia was filled with tourists walking the same direction, trying to beat the sunset lauded as the most beautiful sunset in the world. We all flowed in clamorous delight towards one place: Oia Castle. That's where all the photos you've seen of Oia at night are taken. I see it in almost every blogger's Santorini feed. And I don't even blame them.

This was a small island of Greek families living their everyday lives bathed in this famous sunset. Santorini snails climb walls with better views than my apartment window. Yet at that tower, on those rocks you could hear so many fervently whispered conversations in so many languages. Had we all come from different corners of this world at the end of consequentially chastening chapters like mine? How funny that after such a highly anticipated moment, and the clapping has subsided, we would all creep back to those corners of the world with hunger for the next figurative sunset in our lives!