The Cure for Lyme Disease
And other Dis-eases
We went chasing the birds this past weekend.
To listen to this post:
This was a big deal because, well, it was the first time I’ve really been out in the woods since I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease when we returned from the UK. The whole thing was kind of a trauma because this: You wait until you are 55 years old to travel abroad and then one night when you are at Molly Gallivan’s in Ireland, along the Ring of Kerry, you spike a fever and begin to shake with chills so violently that you can barely choke down the shot of moonshine the host offers. That night, you wake up drenched in sweat to the point you can wring out your night gown and you think, “Okay. I have a little bug of some sort. It will be fine.” The next morning, the fever seems to have broken and you think, “Whew! I’m glad that’s over.” Until that night when you find a red, swollen, angry rash on the back of your right knee and you fear the worst: blood clot. Even though that doesn’t make sense in your mind. So you spend twelve hours in a Dublin ER to have a blood clot ruled out and not be given a definitive diagnoses, but you leave sleep-deprived with a script for pain meds and an antibiotic (“Just in case.”) While you were in the ER, you started having debilitating nerve pain in your jaw and neck, so while your husband tries to nap in the hotel room, you walk seven blocks through the Dublin city streets to the nearest pharmacy because the pain will not let you rest. All the while, in the back of your mind, are those two ticks you picked off yourself before you left on the trip—one on your hip, one on your ankle. But you never found one on the back of your knee. So it couldn’t be that, right? But you fill the antibiotic prescription (“just in case”). And after a couple days of antibiotic, your stiff neck begins to relax and the nerve pain eases up. But you never feel quite right. So when you get back home, you call your doctor and they get you in a week later for some blood work and an exam. That’s on a Friday. So when the nurse calls on Monday and says, “You tested positive for Lyme’s” you feel a panic run through you. Because you know you got those ticks in your own back yard. And what are you going to do if you can’t go outside? And if you think you’re panicked, wait until you tell your husband, who then reads a zillion things on the internet and says things like, “We can’t leave the leaves like we’ve been doing” and “We might have to pull up all that mess in the back and plant grass.” And you think about the milkweed you planted two years ago and how it is finally thriving and the fleabane that cropped up where you pulled out the daylilies and all those wild blackberries you decided were more helpful to the birds than the groundcover you planted before you knew any better (to keep out the “weeds”). And your heart begins to sink because it feels like the very things that make your heart sing are the things that now have made you sick.
And you feel a little scared to go out and water the garden, which has always been the thing you do immediately when you get home from work—the thing that helps you unwind and tunes your ears to the song sparrow’s song and sharpens your eye to the whirring flight of the ruby-throated hummingbird across the yard. It’s where you first fell in love with monarch butterflies and noticed how the morning dew reveals the spider’s lacy hiding places. The back yard is where you fell in love with the earth, what convinced you to enroll in the Naturalist program and grow your own food.
So you spend a few days feeling mad. And you have a little pity-party with some good friends. “It feels like every time I find my place, something happens to blow that up.” You say. “It happened with writing. It happened with ministry. Now it’s happening with nature.” But then you hear yourself say something you know is true. “But I’m not giving up this time. I cannot give up this thing that brings me so much joy.” And friends start telling you stories about so-and-so who had Lyme and how they are perfectly well now. And another friend reminds you about permethrin and sends you a link. And gradually as you continue your antibiotic treatment, the pressure in your head stops pressing, the stiffness in your neck lets up, your joints stop feeling like a stop-motion cartoon.
And then the day comes when you realize if you don’t get out in the woods soon, no one will be able to live with you. And so you go chasing the birds. In long pants and sleeves, permethrin treated socks and shoes, a hat … And you are standing on the edge of a wetland being serenaded by American redstarts and white-eyed vireos and common yellow-throats, well-hidden in the full trees. The honeysuckle is in berry and the wild roses wink pink between all the green. And suddenly, a male scarlet tanager flies from out of nowhere and lands right in front of you, enticed by the honeysuckle fruit. The sight of that brilliant red-orange bird awakens something inside of you and there is joy. So much joy it leaks out through your eyes and laughter wells up from inside and you recognize your true self for the first time in a while.
There is no cure for this bug (thank goodness) but it is the cure for so many ills.
Have you tried it? Are you feeling down? Peaky? Lonely? Go ahead. Step outside. It doesn’t have to be anywhere extravagant. It might just be the back yard. So many delights still to be found there.
A poem for you:
most people
would not see
the small spindly-
legged spider
huddled
on the shower floor
she is so thin
and pale, almost
invisible. but I
see how she
makes herself
into a bundle
when the water
begins to fall; I
see how she struggles
to climb the walls,
damp with condensation
what kind of spider
are you? I ask, as
we both breath moist
air. it is dim in here—
what will a spider
eat? will you starve?
is it cruel to let you
stay? dying a slow,
lonely death? or, do
you know what you
are doing?
I do not know, I think,
as I gently aim the spray
of water away from her
frail body
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Laura,
I am so sorry to learn you've been diagnosed with Lyme disease, and that you became so ill on your trip abroad.
I know a number of people with Lyme, one of whom went 10 years with no diagnosis, because her symptoms were so similar to MS and chronic fatigue syndrome. That you could be diagnosed early on seems to indicate that diagnosis has improved. Being able to receive antibiotics is also supposed to be helpful. I'm glad you are feeling better.
Your photos of the birds are wonderful. Nature is so essential to good mental health. That it carries its dangers as well - ticks have become so prevalent everywhere - is difficult to accept. I am glad you didn't allow the diagnosis to take from you the passion for the natural world that you've always expressed.
I hope your new book does well.
I have several good friends with Lyme and realize how hard it can be. I’ve had MS for decades. As a Rehabilitation Counseling graduate student, I wrote a workbook on grief associated with health issues the year I finally got a definitive diagnosis. People need validation and acknowledgment of what they endure. Enjoyed reading your article. I love photography and writing too. Being outdoors is so healing. It’s so sad a tick can change lives so much.