I encourage Rolling Rains readers to respond to Liz's post on Travels with Pain below.
On Tuesday January 25, sometime in the late afternoon, I collapsed in a bathroom at Atlanta International Airport.
After a red-eye flight from California to Florida, an uncomfortable night spent not sleeping much inside a dirty motel room next door to a bunch of people having a drug party, a 4-day cruise on an enormous and confusing-to-navigate ship (ironically named theNavigator of the Seas), SATH World Congress activities including 6+ hours spent sitting bolt upright in uncomfortable chairs, the stress associated with giving two speeches, an active in-port day on Cozumel, another night in the bad motel after sunburning myself on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale, and a coach-class flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Atlanta, it seemed that my body had had enough. While in the bathroom stall, a severe pain spike started up. At the sink, I got nauseous. Then my legs weakened and down I went onto the white tile floor.
I had not lost consciousness and was thinking rationally between massive spikes of pain. But after a couple of minutes, when somebody found me, I couldn't speak coherently.