What My Pain is Actually Like

It occurred to me one day several months ago that I’ve never stopped to answer a question people may have, the same question I often wonder about others in my situation: When I talk about being in pain, what am I actually talking about?

In my case I’m talking about severe head pain, and what some call “malaise,” but… Malaise is what you call it when you are sick and you feel “off,” and unwell, and basically.. gross. It’s also a term you can use for having something as simple as a cold or as insufferable as AIDS, much like a fever has drastically varying levels of severity.

In “malaise” standards, what I feel is like my immune system is fighting to save my life but it may or may not actually take me down with it. Pain is usually localized, or at least, if it’s everywhere, it’s an identifiable ache. This? Maybe I should invent a new term.

Deathlymalaise. Yeah that sounds about right.

What happens in my newly coined “deathlymalaise” (feel free to use that), is this:

  1. I always have “the” headache with it, the one I’ll discuss in a moment.
  2. I have a low-grade fever, and I alternate rapidly–or maybe there is only the sensation of rapid cycling–between uncomfortably warm and sweaty, and clammy, cold, with freezing and numb extremities. It’s like when you have the flu and every five minutes you’re either tossing the blankets across the room or clambering to collect anything made of fabric and burrito yourself in it. My GP says this is my immune system. Apparently it’s trying to figure out what to do with itself.
  3. I feel dizzy and there is often a “buzzing” sensation, but whether it’s nerves sending wrong signals or my vascular system trying to sustain normal circulation, is anyone’s guess.
  4. My lymph nodes, particularly the axillary and cervical nodes (under your arms, and around your neck), have a constant, dull ache, and get stabbing sensations.
  5. I get muscle spasms in my neck, back, and all around my abdomen in general, that are so sudden and severe I usually end up screaming.
  6. I feel a burning sensation in the nerves in my face, as if they were on fire from the inside-out. I think it comes from the same inflammation responsible for my headache. The trigeminal neuralgia is thus usually activated and I have to stop myself from clawing at my face–that wouldn’t help much, now would it?
  7. I feel as if I’m going to vomit, but I won’t let that happen–I take Zofran as necessary.
  8. My joints–moreso on my left–swell and get stiff, difficult to bend or move.
  9. There is substantial fatigue during these “bursts” of deathlymalaise, but sitting or–more appropriately–lying in one place is usually not an option because this is the kind of suffering that, on the pain scale, would be at the level that it interferes with your every thought.

I’m a complete and utter wreck. And please remember, this list is only covering the malaise part of the illness, something that has been very prominent since The Big Relapse. It’s not medication withdrawal, because these symptoms are part of the reason I started taking anything to begin with, and it’s not herxing. It’s just disease. It makes me uncomfortable to even type that, but it is what it is. I can’t sugarcoat something like this.

I usually feel aghast–but almost in awe–at the reality that a person could possibly feel so horrendous, and helpless at the thought that a hospital–the place you’re raised thinking can always help you during any health crisis–cannot do anything, because there is nothing to stop what’s happening. How do you explain to someone how terrible all that feels, with the word “malaise”?

Several of my friends who also live with Lyme & Company admit to feeling this, and even writing letters or notes to loved ones during the worst “episodes” because they think surely something must be about to go very, very wrong for the human body to give out all these warning signals.

They usually say, “I feel like I’m dying.”

We really do.


The progression of my headaches has been a monster all its own. Their onset began with occipital neuralgia four months after my tick bite, almost seven years ago. Bartonella came with its own, mostly frontal-oriented headaches; I don’t have those any more. But almost without fail, I have had a particularly severe headache for 4-5 consecutive days every four weeks since the Lyme invaded my nervous system. Now, that exacerbation happens about every two weeks, thanks to the Mycoplasma.

I used to need prescription-strength medications for breakthrough pain only a few times a year for the attacks of occipital neuralgia. As things steadily progressed (especially within the past two years), I went from needing them an average of 1-3 days per month, to having 3-week-long bouts of unrelenting head paid which alternated with 3-pain-free weeks, seemingly for no reason. Since my relapse in October, I’ve needed them every day except 1-3 days per month. I guess all of this is why needing them so much frightened me: I wondered–and still wonder–if there is no turning back from this point. Regardless…

This head pain is a throbbing sensation at the back of my head, the base of my skull and down into my neck. I wouldn’t outright call it occipital neuralgia, because my attacks of O.N. are even more severe and almost completely untreatable. But otherwise, it’s just like them. Baby neuralgias? They even exhibit the so-called “ram’s horn pattern,” and the top of my head often goes numb, and I am sensitive to anything touching my scalp. There is no sensitivity to sound, but extreme sensitivity to light. I get bursts of nausea. Since vasculitis has been such a major feature of this relapse, these “headaches” may have some vascular component.

As of right now, later this month my pain management doctor wants to try a shot in my neck. I’m uncertain is he intends a nerve block for O.N. or another route, but since this has gone on so long, it’s time to try something new.


There’s not really a pretty way to sum this up. But when I talk about being in pain, to all of this is what I refer.


a rainbow at night

Having determination does not always equal curing a disease.

I don’t think some people are prepared to hear that determination alone is not enough to beat a disease. You can do everything right and still get worse, and it’s not your fault. You can’t say being motivated and refusing your circumstances (“I got better because I wouldn’t settle for anything less!”) is going to get everyone well, because it gives those who aren’t so lucky the delusion that they’re somehow responsible.

This post is for you.

The people who stay sick still matter. The people who die from their disease still matter. It is not your fault.

No one talks about these things out of fear of being attacked for it… I guess it’s a lesson to be learned by those who have that journey. As Oscar Wilde said, “Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.”

a rainbow at night

Guest blogger: “It is healthy to talk about what you are going through.”

I’m here to make another installment to my Life Lessons section, but this time, with the words of a very special guest blogger. And I don’t say very special because they are well-known, famous, or something like that. But they are, in my opinion, one of the most amazing people to exist. My dear friend–who has a birthday today, no less!–who has impacted my life in more ways than I could count, wrote this several days ago, and I thought it was way too important not to share (especially since they agreed to write something for you all sometime this year!).

I’m really tired of “not talking about your illness” equaling “being a stronger person.”  No.  It is healthy to talk about what you are going through. 

Illness is not something to be shoved away and ignored like it is dirty and shameful.  No.  Illness, disability, old age, and dying are a part of life.  It is natural.  It has been with us forever. 

Every single human being that has ever lived has dealt with it in some fashion.  Every single human being has died, or will die.  If they live long enough, those still among us will will watch a loved one die.  They will get older.  They will encounter disability in themselves or others.  They or somebody they love will get sick. 

For me, it would be unhealthy not to talk about something so inevitable and universal. 

I talk about my illness.  I am sure it makes some people uncomfortable and has driven some people away.  But it affects nearly all of my life right now, and I see no reason to pretend like it does not.

— the author of Black Cat Saturdays


No one should be made to feel like they have to deny a part of themselves or a crucial part of their life in order to win the affection and/or acceptance of another. As with anything in life, it’s all about balance. We have to find a middle ground between talking about what we are going through, honestly, and yet not being consumed by it. I know people on both extremes–those who never talk about it, and those who talk about absolutely nothing else. It is detrimental either way. The person who never talks about it–perhaps to keep people around, not make others uncomfortable, or stay in denial about their own circumstances–ends up feeling cheated, abandoned, and can lose self-respect. The person who talks about nothing else, forgets who they are entirely, and sees themselves only as “the person with such-and-such disease.”

But we are more than sick, or disabled, or terminally ill. We still exist, and we still have purpose and love to share. But in order to get to that place, we have to realize–and hopefully be accompanied by people who realize this, too–that we are also people who have to grieve in a healthy manner, who have to express ourselves as we go through this part of life, and it’s not our job to make sure everyone else stays comfortable while we do it.

As written above, we will all go through these things at some point. It’s just that we, who are already going through it, simply don’t have the time or extra energy to spend worrying about someone else’s opinion of how much we’re “allowed” to share before they feel inconvenienced…

a rainbow at night & black cat saturdays

I feel the need to share again: “The Silence of the Dying,” by the Sara Douglas.

“Pay attention to me, pay attention to how I got this, and how hard it is for me to get my health back, so you can avoid it.”

I was going to make a more drawn-out post explaining why I’m not participating in any of the awareness campaigns of May concerning my illnesses…but then I came upon the realization that I don’t owe anyone justification for my actions! Or wise inactions, as they were.

And I am comforted by the knowledge that many other people with these conditions are feeling the same way I am: For those who can advocate–and I do it at random, it does have its purpose, particularly in our government to let them know we’re still here–that is fine. If it gives you purpose and belonging, then do it. For others like myself, my entire life is an advocacy campaign. I don’t need a month. Or a day. I get 365 days, 7 days a week, 24 hours a day, of “this is what this disease does.”

Pay attention to me, pay attention to how I got this, and how hard it is for me to get my health back, so you can avoid it. Know that I was just like you, once. Know that I didn’t think it could’ve happened to me, either. That’s the biggest advocacy I can do.

Talking about Lyme or M.E. every second of every day for a month (and nothing coming of it, because people who have their minds made up are NOT willing to hear anything else) is not going to help me at all. I am not my disease. I am not Lyme disease, or mycoplasma, or myalgic encephalomyelitis, or autonomic neuropathy, or dystonia.

They’re just things that have passed into my life to help shape and change it into something else. That’s all.

I’ve spent the past decade in advocacy-mode. I’ve done my part, I think. In my absence there will be others. I personally think people learn more if you’re not yelling at them in desperation. I’ve been blessed to help several people find out they had Lyme, for example, and it had nothing to do with advocacy. You can’t force the information on anyone–if they want to know, they will seek. And if they’re interested, I am here.

So instead of advocacy, myself and several, several others I know, are focusing on what makes us feel normal. Sure, our every waking moment may be imposed upon by symptoms and dysfunction, but that is not all we are. No matter how sick I’ve ever gotten, nor how sick I will ever be, there’s always more to me than an illness. This blog is my health diary, yes, that is the POINT of this journal, to track my symptoms and such, but I don’t want anyone to get the idea that it’s all that I am. I have friends and family and pets and hobbies and interests (often obscure ones) just like anyone else. And I am an artist. Not because the title makes me feel important, but because at my core, that’s how I express myself, it’s who I become when my physical limitations allow.

“Every job is a self-portrait of the person who did it. Autograph your work with excellence.”

So yes, no posts about my conditions (though I did finish the “What is M.E.?” section a while back). It’s time to cultivate the parts of my life that inspire and enhance, what makes me feel human and normal, not advertise what makes my life a living hell for the other 90% of the day, mostly to people who already know what I go through, anyway. And I’m glad I’m not alone in thinking this.

I’ll leave you with this link: 60 Ways To Make Life Simple Again

a rainbow at night

Video: How Lyme Disease Changed My Relationship with Nature (Post Trauma Experience)

Sundays are usually busy days for my blog, so I wanted to post this so people would see it tomorrow, if they happened across my site. This video is not mine! But it helped me feel less alone, because my view of nature has drastically changed. (I can’t even get bit by a few fleas without contracting whatever the little beasts were harboring, much less ticks, which are so much more inconspicuous!)

I am so glad to know I’m not the only victim who feels this way. Normal people (wasn’t I that, once?) just don’t understand.

“I had no idea how easy it was to contract. And that it’s present everywhere. Trees, grass, dogs, people… Just about everywhere. So when I journey out into the world now, wherever there is nature, I have to be extremely careful. And I feel very conflicted, because the very thing that used to soothe me, and give me a place to go and get perspective on life, is now a place of danger. Oh, it always was, I just didn’t know it.

And when I go out, I observe people putting themselves at risk… But I can’t do anything about it.

Because if I say something, people think I’m loony. It’s just simply hard to believe, that you can get SO sick, by being in nature.”

Sometimes I wonder if people thought ticks carried cancer, if they’d be more cautious? Or if it was common knowledge that Lyme disease = Multiple Sclerosis (MS), Parkinson’s, Lou Gehrig’s Disease (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis/ALS), Alzheimer’s, and disfiguring Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA), just to name a few. :\ Chances are more likely than not you won’t ever be diagnosed with Lyme if you’re not looking, but you or someone you love will be diagnosed with one of those (or CFS, or Fibromyalgia), and then what?

Special thanks to LymeDisease.org, formerly CALDA, for sharing this on their Facebook page.

a rainbow at night

My Last Pill: An “I have overcome bartonella” post:

In the summer of 2008 I acquired an infection with the bacteria known as “bartonella,” which is transmitted by infected animals, biting flies, ticks, or–in my case–fleas. I would not be exaggerating to say it tried to kill me, infecting my entire body, particularly my heart and nervous system, putting me in a wheelchair, then bedbound, on supplemental oxygen, and very nearly having to be tube fed after being unable to eat.

Today, I finished treating it.

Like cancer, it is prone to relapse, and I don’t know if it will return one day. But in this present moment, I have conquered it. :)

a rainbow at night

How I Forgave the Doctors That Called Me Crazy

Now, I’m not about to type some grand, philosophical debate about the necessity of forgiveness that will go over everyone’s head… Or at least, I hope it won’t turn into that.

This year I feel I’ve really evolved as a human being. A lot of my focus has been to get rid of the anger I’ve felt… Another major thing I finally let go this year, actually, was the resentment aimed at those who got to enjoy things I may never get to do. Ever. Sure, I couldn’t be angry at friends or family, that was easy enough, but put me in the room with a stranger who’s telling me about how they’re going to a party that night with all their friends, and… You get the idea.

I owe that in huge part to reading Toni Bernhard’s How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and Their Caregivers, for actually giving me the tools to know how to do that–how to acknowledge those emotions without feeling I was a bad person for even having them, and focus on how much more wonderful it was that they did get to do those things, than it was that I could not. But I honestly don’t have any explanation for how I came upon the realization I’m about to share in this post, besides that my brain has apparently developed some kinder, more mature, more well-rounded ways of viewing things I’ve thought a thousand times before.

Probably close to 95-99% of people who have either Late Stage Lyme Disease or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis–or, if you’re like me, both–didn’t arrive at that diagnosis very easily. (As those are the main two diseases I have, they’re my focus, but feel free to apply this to whatever similar invisible illness with which you’re dealing/you’ve dealt.) No, it probably went something more like:

  1. Go to the doctor expecting a quick fix for unusually-persistent symptoms
  2. End up getting sent to every specialist known to medicine because primary physician has no idea what’s wrong with you
  3. Get called crazy by every single one of them when the tests either come back negative or don’t show anything significant enough to explain why you feel like you’re dying
  4. Possibly get prescribed the most strongly contraindicated “treatment” for your disease because no one knows what you really have, yet, which makes you immeasurably worse
  5. Get called crazy a few more times, and thus
  6. End up being evaluated by five psychiatrists who don’t find anything wrong with your mental state, or blame everything on a mental disorder that doesn’t actually cause anything you’re experiencing
  7. Finally get the correct diagnosis years later, through what seems like the most random series of events that ever played out in your life

Am I right?

All in all, the stage of acceptance known as “Anger” doesn’t really go away like some of the others. The resentment and anger at all the doctors who could have helped you sooner had any one of them just not been so determined to say it was “all in your head”; the anger at those who called you crazy and said there was nothing wrong with you when you actually had a progressive disease; the resentment at those who thought you were faking just because the tests were negative; the anger you experience all over again at remembering any and all of the horrible doctor visits where you were pleading for them to do something, anything, only to be told you just needed to get out more, and probably see a psychiatrist.

Trust me, I’ve been there. So when this sort-of-epiphany hit me, it was like a ten-year burden had been lifted off of me:

Did I truly, honestly think, that any one of those doctors who called me crazy, had any idea that I was actually suffering from a progressive neurological disease? Did I really believe that those people, those fellow human beings, somewhere inside knew that I was dying, and just decided to recommend exercise and antidepressants for the sheer fun of it?

If they had known that what a terrible disease the original version of “CFS” was–that it was myalgic encephalomyelitis, that it was made worse by exercise, that it was progressive in 25% of cases and fatal in roughly 1 of 20–would they have just told me to “get out more,” or “exercise more,” or “get back to work, you’ll be fine”?

If they had known that Lyme disease or Bartonella exists in the south–that it would lead to multiple sclerosis, that the tests are often negative even if you do have it, that I still needed long-term antibiotics based strictly on the clinical presentation–would they have told me there was no way I could have it, that it was harmless even if I did have it, or that it was “only fatal in people with AIDS” and that there was “no reason to treat”?

Absolutely not.

What kind of monsters did I think these people were? No one in their right mind, especially a doctor who has sworn to Do No Harm, would know the truth of a disease so destructive and still call their patient crazy. If someone was suspected of having MS, or HIV, or cancer, or a neurodegenerative disease, these physicians would have done everything they could to identify and fix the problem. If they had known what I was up against and what the right approach to treatment was, they would have done it.

But they didn’t know. And that wasn’t entirely their fault.

Sure, there are always some doctors who go in it for the money and don’t care that much one way or the other, but they are few and far between. And sure, a doctor who keeps up to date on the latest research and alternative therapies is going to be more open-minded when it comes to a rare case–such as my own doctor, who is actually using me to teach her interns. And we can’t forget that it’s not 100% the doctor’s responsibility to figure out what’s wrong with us based on absolutely nothing: We also have to be honest and not afraid to be our own advocates.

My LLMD says, The passive patient never gets better. (And that pretty much applies to anything in life: If you only sit and wait for life to bring you what you want, and take no initiative to help make that happen, you won’t get anything.) But when it comes down to it, there is a whole cluster of reasons to why most of the specialists we saw were completely incapable of giving us an accurate diagnosis, the biggest of which is lack of information. The reason we patients advocate so much is because in our hearts, we know that if someone else has the information we didn’t, they hopefully won’t have to wait so long to get accurately diagnosed and treated.

Now, there are some exceptions. There are doctors who know the facts and, because of legal reasons and public position, choose to turn and look away whenever one of “us” come their way. But that is also very, very rare. Most all of the dozens upon dozens of specialists had no idea what was wrong with me, what was wrong with you, and could only give us the best advice they knew, based upon what they thought was happening. In hindsight I really do understand how someone could think I needed psychological intervention, if they had no clue that my disease really did do all the things I was reporting.

You don’t throw a paralyzed child into a swimming pool (as happened to one internationally-recognized M.E. patient) to try to “snap them out of faking ill,” if you honestly believe they are sick–you do it if you honestly believe they are making it all up, because you have no knowledge of what M.E. actually does. If there is anyone to be upset with, it’s those in charge of spreading real facts about these crippling diseases, and who don’t do it; not the doctors who have been armed with information they believe to be true, who just so happen to be completely misinformed about what we have.

So I finally just stopped being angry at them for not doing what they weren’t even capable in the first place.

You may have heard before that, Forgiveness is letting go of the hope that the past could have been any different (a quote popularized by Oprah though she’s not who originally spoke it). And in my realization, I also let go of the thoughts that any of the doctors who had mistreated me out of their ignorance, could have ever treated me any differently based upon what they knew. If they knew better, they would have done better. I am now going to instead focus on how blessed I am to finally have my diagnoses, and be glad that I am one of the lucky ones who still had time left to begin treatment. I hope this can help some of my readers move past their anger, also, perhaps just a little more quickly than they would have, otherwise.

Be blessed in the New Year, and always!

a rainbow at night

Article: “Brain and body training treats ME, UK study says.” This is so horrible I cannot even fathom its existence.

It’s been a while since I had a good rant concerning the blurred lines of CFS and M.E. and how horrible it makes things for us… I should have known when I clicked on this article, my blood would start boiling. So I’m going to rant here, and get it out of my system.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, also known as ME, should be treated with a form of behavioural therapy or exercise, say British scientists.

Symptoms include severe tiredness, poor concentration and memory, muscle and joint pain and disturbed sleep.

This is not a disease, it’s most of the stressed out world right now. Tiredness and pain aren’t even necessary for an M.E. diagnosis, yet they remain a integral part in all the “CFS” madness. The main symptom of M.E. is “muscle fatigability, whereby, even after a minor degree of physical effort, three, four or five days, or longer elapse before full muscle power is restored and constitutes the sheet anchor of diagnosis. Without it, [one should] be unwilling to diagnose a patient as suffering from ME, but it is most important to stress the fact that cases of ME of mild or even moderate severity, may have normal muscle power in a remission. In such cases, tests for muscle power should be repeated after exercise. [A. Melvin Ramsay, M.A., M.D. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis and Postviral Fatigue States: The saga of Royal Free disease (London, 1st ed. 1986, 2nd ed. 1988).] Clearly there is a problem when the one thing that exacerbates M.E. is being proposed as the cure for it!

The authors say cognitive behavioural and graded exercise therapies were the most successful, both at reducing fatigue and increasing physical function.

With cognitive behavioural therapy, 30% of patients returned to normal levels of fatigue and physical function.

In other words, 1/3 of the group probably had no illness at all.

“Worryingly, 34% reported that graded exercise therapy made them worse.” The authors suggest that poor advice, such as suggestions to just go to the gym, could be responsible for bad experiences with the exercise therapy.

And in other words, only 1/3  had real potential of having the neurological disease Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, which is irrefutably made worse by graded exercise. Does anyone else notice that they don’t explore other options for why they got the results that agreed with their idea, yet when they find 34% were made worse by it, their first idea is to explain it away with something trivial like the patients getting “poor advice”? That’s just bad science.

The Association of Young People with ME welcomed the findings. It said it hoped that fears about graded exercise and CBT were laid to rest, and that the study needed to be repeated in children.

No one likes the AYME anymore since they took sides with the government, but, I cannot even express the amount this terrifies me. Just because you have a “CFS” diagnosis does NOT mean you have M.E.! Oh lord, those poor children! Exercise is the absolute, number one thing that you must avoid at the beginning of the disease! But because of studies like these, which group people who aren’t even sick, and people who are misdiagnosed with CFS (but who actually have things like thyroid disorders, cancers, and infections such as Lyme), with people who have classic M.E., the government uses these botched studies to propogate that this IS the treatment for “CFS/ME.” And then those children have their lives ruined by having the “treatments” forced on them, or else they are thrown into asylums for “refusing to get well” (this DOES still happen–it IS happening right NOW!), all because of things like this.

When people say it doesn’t matter, or wonder why I get so flustered when someone says “CFS” instead of M.E., or uses terms like “CFS/ME,” this is why. THIS IS WHY.

NICE (the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence) said the findings were in line with current recommendations.

There isn’t a single M.E. sufferer out there that agrees with them and their recommendations of not doing any needed medical testing, not supplying adequate pain relief, and using behavioral therapy and exercise to “cure” an often progressive disease of the muscles and brain.

Dr Fergus Macbeth, director of the centre for clinical practice at NICE, said: “We will now analyse the results of this important trial in more detail before making a final decision on whether there is a clinical need to update our guideline.”

Read as: “We will now add this to our arsenal of deluded CFS studies to prove we are right, so people can continue using them in court to force potentially fatal ‘treatments’ on M.E. sufferers.”

I will always be appalled at this. When will people wake up.

My rainbow is a little darker tonight.

a rainbow at night

July IGeneX results.

So a few weeks ago my IGeneX results returned to me.

  1. My Lyme test is more positive. This is actually good, believe it or not! As you improve and your immune system is less burdened, you get more positive results. I now have bands 31, 34, 39–the most Lyme-specific of all, 41, and 58. I’ve never had band 58 before, and I’m not happy about it because this means the bacteria are now resistant to my fever response. This might explain why I don’t even get fevers during my Lyme flares, anymore. (See, this is your proof that they evolve.) And my band 41 now has THREE stars next to it… I didn’t even know you could get three stars! I.e., a very very positive band! I applaud my immune system for its abundance of “+” marks, whereas I’m usually only capable of “IND” bands, the very weakest positive response.
  2. NO Anaplasmosis. Also good! (Tested via IFA.)
  3. NO Babesiosis. VERY good! (Tested via IFA and FISH.)
  4. Possible exposure to either Erlichiosis (HME) or (and most likely) Rickettsia. I’m thinking Rickettsia felis–aka flea-borne spotted fever–is the most probable suspect, given my history of hundreds of catflea bites and the fact that I had a changing spotted rash on my feet for two years afterward. Good news is, Rifampin can treat it, which I’m already on, so. My results are technically showing exposure to E. chaffeensis, but it says on the paper it can cross-react with at least four other types of bugs, including all Rickettsia species.
  5. I FINALLY SHOW EXPOSURE TO BARTONELLA. So take THAT, fifteen other insensitive tests from Quest and Labcorp that said I never had it!!!

Both the Erlichliosis/Rickettsia and Bartonella tests were in the middle category of either resolving or active infection, depending upon your levels and symptoms. My bartonella score was basically borderline positive, but both results came from my IgG, i.e., where I have my immunodeficiency (PIDD, and the reason most of my tests don’t show positive). Which means, if I weren’t immunodeficient and had normal levels of Immunoglobulin G, the scores would have been higher, possibly high enough to surpass the “bordeline” category. Or at least, my bartonella result would be. Regardless of anything, I do have the bacteria antibodies. I am fighting it.

If I don’t have the Rickettsia…well I just HOPE I have/had that one instead of the Ehrlichiosis! It must be the easiest to treat, because I no longer have the spots on my feet and the IgG for it was the lowest it could have been without being negative: Anything below 40 is negative, and I got.. a 40. Accommodating for my PIDD, and it’d probably be slightly higher, but this is nothing to worry about, I don’t think. With no obvious symptoms and such low levels this is most likely in the “resolving infection” category rather than “active infection” (in contrast to the bartonella whose titers are much higher and symptoms still active). Perhaps it is also low because of the cross-reaction factor? I was tested for E. chaffeensis, so if I tested specifically for Rickettsia antibodies, would it be slightly higher? Who knows.

But mainly I am so, so elated that we finally have something that says, Look, the bartonella is here, in contrast to the.. dozen or so other tests I’ve had in the past two years that said I never had it. Pfft! (Only in the chronic illness circle are you happy when tests show something is wrong.) I wish I would have gotten tested for this via IGeneX, sooner! These are my results after six months of Rifampin and Zithro–I only wonder what they’d have been in the beginning!

And by the way. The bartonella species I tested positive for was B. henselae–the cat scratch disease variety! I wasn’t even tested for B. quintana, the type that does the classic five-day fever cycle like I have… So, based upon my symptoms and flare cycle, there’s a high chance that I actually do have them both like I feared last year. (Cat fleas can carry up to five different species of bartonella.) Speaking of that, if I’m correct, B. henselae follows more of a seven day cycle, or at least a less-defined flare cycle than the B. quintana strain… So there: Maybe the bartonella seriously is the reason my Saturdays are so “inexplicably” and yet, reliably, messed up recently…!

As far as how I feel about the results… In a sense, I’m a little relieved to find out that I’ve had two strains of bartonella, and one other resolving (most likely but unconfirmed) Rickettsial infection. It helps me better understand why I became so unimaginably ill within such a short time frame.

I’ve always thought, How on earth can two infections at once bring me down that quickly, even if I did have M.E…. But basically (already having the Lyme for two years, albeit unknowingly) within a matter of two months, I got four infections at once: The bartonella and rickettsia strains from hundreds of catflea bites, and Mycoplasma pneumoniae from the children of a family that came to stay at my house during a bad storm. It makes me think that, even though I was already steadily going downhill with the undiagnosed Lyme disease, at least it did take more than two additional bugs to bring me to almost completely bedridden within eight months.

This is also proof that a negative test means nothing. People need to realize this fact, above all else. We do not have adequate testing–your levels have to be very obvious and you need to have a functioning immune system in order for the routine tests to work. Those are the conditions they were designed to work under, and even then, the CDC admits their inaccuracies are very high. There is a REASON Lyme disease is the fastest spreading infectious disease in the United States.

If you’ve ever been diagnosed with MS, ALS, Parkinsons, RA, Lupus, CFS, or Fibromyalgia, please find an LLMD–Lyme Literate Medical Physican, the people who risk their lives to stand up to the infectious disease society and treat people who are dying–or someone else who completely undestands how common these tickborne (and fleaborne!) infections are becoming. Yes, all of those aforementioned illnesses can exist on their own, but far too many doctors unknowingly use them as catch-all categories due to their ignorance of infectious diseases such as Lyme disease and Mycoplasma. And even if you have M.E., you still need to be tested, because we are suspectible to infections that most people don’t even have to think about. (You’d be well off reading a pamphlet on having HIV, and how to avoid things–like kittens!–that are considered high risk for the immunocompromised.) Lyme can also cause false positives on autoimmune tests (such as ANA and ESR), so even having “confirmation” such as that is no merit to say you’re safe. Everyone owes it to themselves to make sure they don’t have a treatable infection like this; especially when it can and does lead to death if not treated.

a rainbow at night

Guilt Be Gone! (via Chris’ Companions of Lyme)

Emotional pain can’t be cured by logic, and Lyme comes with an incredible amount of emotional pain.  You are the cause of a drastic change in lifestyle, are a financial burden, and can’t be there for the ones you love.  Lyme becomes you world, because controlling your Lyme is your survival.  All of that brings tremendous guilt.

I keep telling Cee it’s not her fault.  She didn’t go running into a hot bed of ticks with a Bite Me sign on her.  She didn’t plan to be in pain for years and almost die just for the fun of it.  It happened. … Read More

via Chris’ Companions of Lyme