When the National Academy of Medicine (NAM, formerly the Institute of Medicine/IOM) released its recommendations for Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disease (SEID) as a replacement for “ME/CFS,” I saw a lot of people spreading this myth: That “post exertional malaise” (PEM) is what differentiates myalgic encephalomyelitis (M.E.) from other illnesses. This is not true, nor is this what’s explained in the NAM’s report. At most, the report says that the presence of PEM helps distinguish it from other conditions, while it is what best distinguishes “ME/CFS” from idiopathic chronic fatigue. PEM alone is not specific to M.E., Chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), or SEID, just like unrefreshing sleep is not specific to any one disease. Continue reading “The Parts of ME: Does “Post Exertional Malaise (PEM)” exist in other diseases?”
After almost seven years with this infection, I think the bartonella may be gone for good.
If you recall from this previous post, I talked about how my health was either about to nosedive or finally overthrow this infection thanks to the millions of antibodies I now get infused into my body every four weeks (certainly many of which are bartonella antibodies, since this bacteria is so common)… Guess which one happened?
Since April, I’ve been having none–none–of those symptoms I talked about eight months ago.
My favourite part of this (aside from the “won’t have bartonella-induced damage as a possible cause of death” thing, of course) is that I finally have my personality back, without a lapse every five or six days. I am emotionally stable! I also think that toxoplasmosis may have been playing a far greater role than my doctors originally thought, because my level of extraversion is also completely gone and I am now a solid INFJ instead of the ambivert I’d been for most of my life… But that’s a topic for another day.
As I said the first time the bartonella was painstakingly beaten into remission, it’s been known to relapse, sometimes even up to 15 years later. But for right now? It’s over.
It’s over it’s over it’s over.
And now, to elaborate on all the things that IVIG has done and is doing: Continue reading “IVIG can help eradicate Bartonella infection: My success thus far.”
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 end-stage 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. Most types of pain are 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:
I always have “the” headache with it, the one I’ll discuss in a moment.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
I feel as if I’m going to vomit, but I won’t let that happen–I take Zofran as necessary.
My joints–moreso on my left–swell and get stiff, difficult to bend or move.
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.
[ETA, 2016 Feb] In Dr. Hyde’s book about Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (which back then in 1992 he abbreviated as “M.E./CFS”), he describes our malaise like this, under “Pain Syndromes Associated with [M.E.]”:
” ‘Malaise has probably occurred in every [ME epidemic] described in the literature.’ Malaise is accentuated in the Initial Stage and it recurs for as long as the disease process exists. Malaise is almost impossible to describe. It is often referred to as the pain and discomfort that one has during the acute phase of an influenza. However, it is not always the same. The patient feels terrible, feels as though he is about to die.“
“It particularly injures the sensory and dulls the cognitive abilities of the brain. The pain seems to originate everywhere, both on and within the chest and abdominal areas, head and extremities. The rapid muscle and brain fatigue that is normal in [M.E.] becomes accentuated.”
As you can see, what I described when I first posted this in 2013 is almost exactly what Dr. Hyde wrote; I was absolutely floored when I read it, and honestly, most of the book is like this: full of specific, uncanny validation about all the quirky things that occur in this disease. If you have M.E. I highly suggest you buy it while it’s still available.
Some of the other things I wrote are very specific of Lyme disease, such as the burning in my face where the infection damaged multiple nerves, and the “buzzing” sensation, which many Lymies describe as, it’s like you’re sitting atop the hood of a car while it’s running. [/ETA]
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, some 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 (or at least, I assume).
I used to requite 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 pain which alternated with 3-pain-free weeks, seemingly for no reason. Now, since my relapse in October, I’ve needed them every single 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 close this article. But when I talk about being in pain, to all of this is what I refer.
♥ a rainbow at night
This year I learned that looking forward is still looking away from the present.
Even looking forward positively, is still not living in the moment, not looking at Now. You can’t get caught up in all the things you’re looking forward to having or being, because you’ll miss the opportunities of the only life you have: The one you’re already living. It’s good to have goals! But, for some things, it is not the end result that is most important.
I’ve been noticing that now it no longer serves me to see this “attack on Lyme” as a battle to be won, where anything other than eliminating the bugs is a failure. That cannot be my focus anymore. It’s not my focus in dealing with M.E., and it cannot be my focus for dealing with neuroborreliosis, either.
I used to be okay with waking up every morning knowing I had a war to fight. Because for a while, it really was a war–beat the bartonella, do whatever I had to in order to get it under control, or it would very quickly be the end of me. And like a patient recovering from chemo and radiation, my body paid the price of all the medications needed to do that. But at least I’m still alive. I did it! I just can’t “win the war” against the Lyme that way…
I’ve had to stare reality in the face for the past several months and recognize that I may not “win the war” at all, at least not in normal standards. I have to redefine what “winning” means to me.
This is not a disease I can conquer forever with a few rounds of treatment. With my immunodeficiencies, very neurologically-oriented six-years untreated strain of infection, ten-year history of M.E., and twelve-year history of just trying to stay stable every single day, my body has been through a lot. So, to be perfectly honest, I may never get rid of Lyme disease. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to just let it take over.
I just can’t look at it like my goal is to “win,” where winning means nothing short of slowly eradicating the infection, because truly, why would I do that to myself? Why would I invest all my energy and focus into something that, for all intents and purposes, probably isn’t even possible anymore? Why would I do that, when there is another way, a way that brings me peace and also allows me to treat my disease?
Because that’s what I have left–I have a treatment, not a cure.
I used to think it could be a cure, because for most everyone, it is. Even if they find it late in the game, many will just have a longer battle to fight, but they can “win.” They can get IV antibiotics if their case is in their CNS, or they can at least take loads of oral antibiotics to make sure it dies and stays dead. That is possible, even for many with coinfections. But me?
Even if I could get IV antibiotics, they would probably kill me in the process; even oral antibiotics are almost impossible. (Almost.)
Maybe if Life had shown me the infection earlier, we could have cured it, even with all my additional factors. But that didn’t happen. I’m only thankful It brought information my way when It did. I am glad bartonella and mycoplasma happened, to alert me that I had something else going on that was about to irreversibly damage my body. I’m glad I am someone who pays attentions to those things, or I wouldn’t be here right now. But that’s the thing: I am still here, and I still have a life to live…even if it’s not the one I imagined!
I naively thought that when you go through something like this once (getting diagnosed with M.E.), twice (getting diagnosed with Lyme disease), it might be over, the whole “massive illnesses that alter the course of the rest of your life” thing…
But that wasn’t true, either. It took me almost a year to come to terms with the Lyme disease diagnosis, because inside I knew if someone like me had it, it’d probably be with me for life. I didn’t want to accept that. Then once I started getting better for a while I thought, okay, it’s not too late for me, there is still hope! And back then there was hope because it’d only gone untreated three years! And even now, I haven’t given up… But like I said, looking forward is still not looking at what you already have.
Someone shared with me a Žižek quote that pretty much sums up everything:
“Our desires are artificial, we have to be taught to desire.”
I was taught to desire an eradication and to accept nothing less. I was taught that if I did certain things, then things would work out, go the way I wanted. I fixed my focus on “I can get better again if…” and put in my head a bunch of things that could happen, should happen, that would allow me to have the life I wanted. And I went after them, like anyone would…
- “If I eradicate the bartonella…” I did, and my reward is Life.
- “Then I can get the Lyme disease under control…” But I cannot handle the treatments anymore.
- “Because a lot of people with M.E. experience another remission after about ten years.” But I relapsed, instead. Twice.
Things didn’t go how I planned, how my doctor planned, how my friends and family planned. But my life is not over. I just have to come to terms with my new reality–a life with Myalgic encephalomyelitis, and a life with chronic relapse-remitting Lyme disease. I may eventually get a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at this rate, but at the very least, that disease does not face the same mockery by the medical establishments (or insurance companies).
I have fought well and hard for the health I do have, and I will continue to fight to keep it, but I will not, cannot, see this as a “daily battle to win the war,” anymore. It is not. Now, it is better for me to wake up and think about my other goals, and have “treating Lyme” as just another part of my daily regimen, a part of my life that will never change just like having M.E. will never change. I cannot give away all of my spoons to treating a disease that will still be around after the fact.
“You are here, in this moment, able to do so much that’s worthwhile and fulfilling.
“Your life has real purpose, and when you let go of the superficial concerns, you can feel and know and follow that purpose. Life is beautiful, and by taking the time to look closely, you can see the beauty everywhere.
“All is well, and has been, and will be. The genuine goodness within you refuses to be compromised by any of the world’s ups and downs.”
“Go ahead, step forward, and live with total, solid confidence. Let every thought and action be filled with positive purpose and the knowledge that ultimately, you cannot fail.” (Ralph Marston)
My disclaimer: If you’re a fellow patient of Lyme, I beg of you not to take my own need for expression and use it to convince yourself that there’s no hope for you. You and your doctor can only figure out what’s best for you after a careful analysis of your individual situation. I’m not even saying there isn’t hope for me, but I’m fully aware of how some people think and thus how everything here might come across… It actually stops me from writing sometimes, but I don’t want that anymore.
Expect to see more of my uncensored thoughts in 2013, and stay strong, no matter what decisions you get to make. :)
♥ a rainbow at night
I may have to use the sentence structure of a five-year-old for this. Severe brain fog has kept me from typing my updates. But I may be able to get it done if I just try another way of speaking. I have a few sentences typed up from last week to go on…
Two weeks ago I set two new blog records. I feel special! :) Probably the most amazing thing about this is that my words reach people all over the world. Had you told me as a child, One day you will grow up and share your words, and people everywhere, in dozens of countries, will read them and be helped by them, I would have called you crazy. Technology can be so amazing, when used in a way that is beneficial.
I had my usual beginning-of-the-month flare, but I was able to get through it a lot better because I have adequate pain management… Or suffering-management, I should say. So much coughing, coughing, coughing. But my appointment with the pain management specialist went very well and I have what I need to cope. I no longer have to ration out meds and I think I’ve come to terms with being a chronic pain patient for the time being. As long as I stick to the schedule and not try to see how long I can last without them, I am okay.
I am able to stretch daily again, which is amazing and a big help. With continued exercise I should keep my muscle tone and gain more muscle stamina, which is really important because goodness knows what I face ahead of me.
I had my LLMD appointment but we didn’t have much time to speak because he is busy and overbooked. But I’ll take a twenty-minute appointment in comparison to no appointment. We really didn’t have time to go over much, but I have been given instructions to attempt Amoxicillin; do a round of Diflucan to make sure yeast isn’t a problem; and see a chiropractor in the event that it may help my headaches. I’ll make another appointment in January.
Right now I am taking Diflucan, one pill a day, which I can handle as long as I am properly medicated. And taking my probiotics to rebuild my poor GI tract while I’m off antibiotics. Beginning “next year” I shall attempt treatment again… Everyone is hopeful that, just like being properly medicated is allowing me to take the Diflucan, that perhaps having adequate pain management will allow me to withstand Lyme disease treatment. I am hopeful, too… Patients undergoing cancer treatment get help with their intense pain and discomfort; why shouldn’t I?
I won’t be treating all forms of Lyme. Ideally I’d be on Amoxil PLUS Biaxin PLUS Flagyl and treat ALL the forms so it would DIE AND STAY DEAD… But if we did that I, too, would die and stay dead, LOL. And Amoxil doesn’t treat Mycoplasma pneumoniae at all. But, if it’s all I can handle…? If I even can…! But who knows, maybe that is what I need right now, to ONLY kill some of the Lyme. Just like in the past when my body couldn’t deal with killing Bartonella and Mycoplasma PLUS Lyme, maybe now my body cannot handle killing Lyme PLUS Myco. Maybe now, I have to get the Lyme count down before I can deal with the Mycoplasma… Who knows!
On the plus side, that paper that explained how well various antibiotics attack Lyme, said “amoxicillin reduced spirochetal forms by ~85% – 90% and [cyst] forms by ~68%”–so that is good!
I’m just trying to go with the flow and enjoy my life in whatever form it is available to me. If you’re reading this, have a blessed holiday season and treasure your loved ones. :)
♥ a rainbow at night
It feels like I’m talking about someone else’s life, sometimes, when I go to write about this.
So, in my last post, I said I’d give myself another two weeks off treatment and then re-evaluate my state of health to see whether or not I should restart treatment for Lyme disease. Something happened to help me make that decision.
I got an ear infection. Just a minor bacterial one which I get about once a year if I’m not already on antibiotics at the time. (Well, at least compared to a VIRAL ear infection, they’re minor.) I’m a miniature pharmacy so I already had the Z-pack needed to treat it.
I took one pill (and you’re supposed to take two at first, but I didn’t think that’d be smart for me…I was right) and spent that night feeling unimaginably ill while trying not to have a mental breakdown.
Fellow Lymies already know this, but: Zithro is the cousin of the medication I’ve been on (Biaxin) to treat Lyme disease, and also a potent treatment option in itself, so taking it affected a lot more than just trying to help my ear. There was fever, chills, constant shaking, dizziness, numbness, nausea, and a host of other things, like not being able to remember my best friend’s name (?!?!). But the real “kicker” was that I felt that way from just one pill…
After being off meds for a month and a half, I can’t even handle one pill. :|
I can only handle half-a-pill, which is less than a child’s dose, and I can only hope it will be enough to cure my ear infection… But it’s definitely not enough to treat my disease. If anything, these tiny half-doses may keep things from progressing too quickly, but will also make me a target for drug-resistant bacteria, and then talk about being in a mess…!
This does take away the choice (mostly) of whether to begin treatment again or not, because it’s obvious I physically cannot do it, and mentally, I am still so, so tired.
Toward the middle of November, I thought I was doing better. I left the house three times in a week, and (not the same days, but) I had three consecutive days with no pain. So I thought I was getting over the relapse, until this happened. I was just a little crushed… But it is what it is, right?
I’m not sure what’s going to happen from here. My friends say I can always begin treatment later after I’ve rested a bit more, but this is the equivalent of waiting until a cancer is stage 3 or 4 to begin treating. The disease is advanced, it’s harder to kill, and the treatment will be that much worse. (And the Lyme disease is stage 3, meaning it’s.. everywhere. And it does not wait for you to be able to handle antibiotics.) But regardless, this may be my only option, and all I can do is hope that with more rest, I will be able to begin treatment again in the future, and be able to handle it.
If not, well… C’est la vie, que sera sera, and all that jazz.
I stopped doing the ability scale checkpoints because they are a reminder of how I haven’t made much progress since finishing bartonella treatment. Now, I don’t want to make that sound mediocre… If that disease was still present, I wouldn’t even have the luxury of wondering whether or not handling treatment was an option; I’d just be dying very quickly again!
But the truth is still that I kept waiting for a stable period to make an assessment, and that has yet to happen. I repeatedly had to pause treatment, take such-and-such different medication, take this-and-that medication to balance out the first one, then relapse, recovery, relapse again, and whatever progress I did make, I just kept going downhill again.
I made my last checkpoint at the beginning of this year and I can honestly say I am still at that place, in general, with the obvious adjustment that my symptoms are more severe for the time being due to relapse. But at least I am not any worse than that. I like being able to breathe and walk on most my days. And I do think I am a bit recovered from this relapse that began at the beginning of October.
I can handle longer periods of light, I can be out of bed more, and I have longer stretches with less pain. The translation of that is: I can usually use technology for several hours a day instead of bursts of twenty-minutes until I couldn’t bear it anymore; I make it out of my room several times a day instead of barely once, and sometimes I can leave the house; and my “usual” needed dose of pain medication is once a day, instead of always twice a day…and I have random days where I don’t need any at all. So,
- without intervention of medicines like caffeine (which is the only thing that enables me to do things like take a bath, or have a stable blood pressure), or pain medications (which are the only reason I can be active at all); and
- with 100% being completely recovered,
I am currently at 15% physical ability and 20% cognitive ability. As we all know, there are better days and worse days, but in general…
And with 100% meaning completely symptom-free, I am at 10% symptom severity. Though I think the chart should be in reverse for that section, because initially “10% symptom severity” sounds as if I only have symptoms 10% of the time, and it’s the exact opposite I contacted Jodi about this and she switched the chart around, so with the new version, I’m at 8/10 severity level:
“Moderate to severe symptoms (6–8) at rest. There is moderate to severe pain (6–8) and/or sensations of illness/dysfunction throughout the body and brain for much of the day. Symptoms are severe (8) following any physical or mental activity with a recovery period as low as hours, or as long as days to months, or longer. It is all the person can do to just get through one day at a time.”
Thankfully I do have medications to help me get through this difficult time, and all the support in the world from my friends, fellow spoonies, and doctors, about whatever decision I have to make. (My family unfortunately has no idea of the magnitude of this… Right now, I’m not sure I’d want them to know, until I can give them an idea of what we’re looking at…) And I have an appointment with a pain management specialist next week, and I see my Lyme disease specialist on the twelfth. So this is where I am at!
♥ a rainbow at night
(P.S. – Today is my 2-year WordPress Anniversary!! I never imagined so many people would be helped by the words I share. Thank you, all. Stay strong with me!!)
As far as my relapse conundrum, I could not continue treatment, after all. I just.. stopped. I am still so emotionally drained, and my body is at wits’ end. I’ve been off antibiotics for a month, now, and I’m flaring at the moment because of the usual beginning-of-the-month bug-flare that happens… Only this time I am not protected, so it’s scary to think of what they’re doing in there! How can one feel this close to having the flu and not actually have influenza?
On Samhain I ultimately decided to take another two weeks off and just restore my body as much as I can, with only the necessary things and as few medications as possible. I don’t think I have any yeast problems from the long-term antibiotics, but I’m going to take a few doses of candidiasis treatment, just in case. And then I’ll talk to my LLMD and see where we can go from here.
I can’t thank you all enough for the responses to my last post. At any given moment, I am ready to reach out for help, or curl into a ball and never speak again. It’s a constant back and forth. I want to say, “the disease is what makes me want to retreat,” but it’s not even that. It’s my response to it. It’s knowing that I do have some control here, I do have a choice, and I’m terrified of making the wrong decision. Continue this grueling treatment regimen and make myself worse, an inevitable decline, or forego treatment completely and still begin an inevitable decline. But I’ll tell you what.
My intuition says to stop.
And I always, always listen to it. It says I need this break. It says I could use it to heal my body as much as I can, and in two weeks I may know clearly again what next step to take. I can’t believe in God as much as I do, and ask Him to guide me, and then not follow what I feel is the right course of action, even though I can’t explain it.
That became even more apparent today when I really wanted to take my antibiotics again, because the thought that these infections are inside me running amuck and I have nothing to stop them, is very frightening. It was then that I noticed how strong my conviction was to not resume my treatment…
Anyone think I’m crazy, yet?
I can’t help but notice that the idea of treatment helping me, which has always been my motivator in the past, has not even crossed my mind. It’s as if somewhere inside I know that to continue with it at this point in time would do me harm. Logically speaking, I think that not treating is also pretty bad, but somehow, not as bad as taking these medications; at least not right now.
So that’s where I’m at.
I also had a visit with my new neurologist, and it wasn’t as productive as I thought it’d be. Part of that is my body’s fault because I only got to ask him half of what I wanted–I was so bad-off that morning I almost passed out in their waiting room.
In response to my relapse he said, “There will be good weeks and bad weeks, good months and bad months.” And apparently when you tell someone you have myalgic encephalomyelitis they don’t think twice about you having severe daily headaches and eye pain (i.e., “I guess you do have headaches”). But he’s a good doctor who at least didn’t outright call me a hypochondriac. I’ve noticed with having this lesion on my brain, people tend not to think you’re “just exaggerating” quite as much. He said it was post-infectious demyelination, but it wasn’t changing in size so he didn’t feel I needed a repeat MRI for right now. My various damaged nerves are healing up, so that’s a good thing! So much so, that he didn’t think I ever had facial palsy…! Luckily that’s in my notes from my last neurologist. :\
He also thinks all my movement disorder problems are Tourette’s… Which is wildly inaccurate, but because he thinks Tourette’s Syndrome is just a “group” of movement disorders rather than its own thing, and that it should be diagnosed only after the other movement disorders have been ruled out, it would make sense for him to say that. I can always see that movement disorder specialist should things progress even further, so. (I know it’s not Tourette’s because, while my TS does act up when I get new infections, it acts up completely differently than the problems I’m currently having.)
He said do NOT take any triptans for my migraines (the main reason I went to see him, actually), and gave me Cambia powder to try for my next attack. Which my insurance won’t cover, of course, so I’ll rely on samples, like the other three medications I can’t afford. He diagnosed me with complicated migraine and said I really should be on a preventative medication with this type of diagnosis, but I mentioned that not ALL my migraines do the whole “Hey I Look Like I’m Having A Stroke” thing. I’ve had them fifteen years (or at least that’s when I was finally diagnosed), so it makes sense they’d eventually progress, but I only get “those” maybe once a month or every two months…which is probably not very good, but good lord I just can’t handle another medication right now, especially when my options for preventative medications are very limited! I think he actually ran out of ideas for me since Topamax is practically my only choice and it lowers my intracranial pressure. :\ But at least Migraine is a well-studied disease and, should I live long enough, they will probably come out with something new, soon.
The best news I have is: (1) I got to visit a friend (actually, I returned to the scene of the crime of where I caught Lyme disease), and I recovered pretty easily from it with all the careful planning and tailored resting schedules. And (2) I invested in a tilting overbed table. I don’t think I have words to describe how useful it is. How have I never thought of this before? Person who is in bed most of the time, desks that go over the bed… Regardless, this thing is amazing. What I really love is the little mini-desk on the side that always stays flat so you can put stuff on it!
♥ a rainbow at night
…Or bartonella. Or mycoplasma. Or similar infections that are commonly found in the same tick that carries Lyme disease. Unless you’re like me and you happen to get them from other sources like fleas, because you’re immunocompromised and collect infections like some people collect stamps.
I’m not sure which is the true culprit. I know I started getting occipital neuralgia about four months after my tick bite, so that is definitely Lyme disease-related, but I haven’t had an attack of that in a long time; I think it’s been a year?
My serious cranial nerve involvement began when I got Bell’s Palsy immediately after contracting mycoplasma pneumoniae, an infection that usually causes “walking pneumonia” but has been known since the 1970s to also wreak havoc elsewhere, like the nervous system. It can cause just about everything that Lyme disease can, and persist even after treatment by mimicking the body’s own cells. My right eye twitched and my face drooped. I’ve mostly recovered, but some of the damage is permanent. Then my left eye began twitching and it got damaged. That is also permanent. It was all downhill from there as far as nerve damage goes, but I’m here to talk about the ones in my face.
I began treating with Rifampin and Doxycycline in January 2011, and all hell broke loose: That’s when the autonomic neuropathy made itself apparent, culminating in its diagnosis a few months later. I can’t coordinate how it all fits together, but I know my vagus nerve became damaged, my trigeminal nerve got involved somewhere, the Bell’s palsy is a factor (i.e., damage to the seventh cranial nerve, literally called “the facial nerve”), and my migraines are connected.
When the autonomic mayhem landed me in the hospital, I would try to eat something, get an “episode” where my vagus nerve would trigger all sorts of things it wasn’t supposed to, and I’d get a migraine. I got so many migraines I had to be on Topamax for almost a year. Now these days, instead of my nervous system having a meltdown, I’ll sometimes get facial pain when I start digesting, again triggering migraine-like pain on the right side of my face until the digestion stops. This can happen even if I haven’t eaten, but the act of eating can apparently be a huge trigger for trigeminal neuralgia; more on that horror story, below. But how did they all end up triggering each other?
- The trigeminal nerve is implemented in migraines and facial pain.
- The facial nerve can also be implemented in facial pain (ha, no kidding!), and the tongue numbness I get.
- Episodes of trigeminal neuralgia can involve the trigeminal nerve and the facial nerve simultaneously.
- And the vagus nerve–as it pertains to this post–is responsible for digestion-related reflexes…
But again, how did it come to be that my vagal reflexes got connected to my trigeminal response, in ways they previously were not? All I know for sure is one or more of these infections attacked my cranial nerves, and I’m left with odd, painful remnants as my body has attempted to heal.
After my last post, the “tension-headache-thing-that-wasn’t-quite-a-tension-headache”-thing went away and was replaced with the worst episode of trigeminal neuralgia I’ve had to date. Perhaps the tension-like pain was a precursor? (A Lymie friend on Twitter mentioned that she often gets headaches or migraines before her trigeminal neuralgia attacks, too.)
The best way I can think to describe what happened is that, I ate a bowl of crunchy cereal, and immediately after it felt like my teeth were going to explode. It’s one of those things where, if someone else told me the level of pain they were in, I would swear they were exaggerating because how is that possible? My other attacks have been similar–extremely severe, extremely sudden pain that makes you start shaking from its intensity–but it’s never lasted quite this long.
I remember a long time ago writing about another unusual headache, something that acted like “an ice pick headache that keeps on going.” In hindsight, that headache that felt like someone stabbed me in the forehead may have been an episode of trigeminal neuralgia, too. :\ It certainly sounds like it, from what I wrote.
I hate how deceptive it can be, when it starts to fade away only to attack you suddenly again. It took several days to completely go away and stop fading in and out. I have moments of unexplained facial pain daily, anyway, but nothing so severe as that. For my usual, spontaneous facial pain–the kind that is often tied to my digestion for some unexplained reason–butalbital is a huge help. It’s a huge help in my neuropathic pain in general, actually, even though I’ve never heard of anyone else using it for that. Half a tablet of Fioricet (or Bucet, which is the same as Fioricet but without the caffeine; most doctors don’t even know it exists) and that kind of nerve pain is usually gone.
Like occipital neuralgia, nothing much helps trigeminal neuralgia, or at least nothing that my system can tolerate. (Things like carbamazepine are completely out of the question for me.) That night, I was already on hydrocodone and ibuprofen, but had to take twice as much as I usually need, and it still only dulled it enough so that I wasn’t shaking. I couldn’t lie down and put any pressure on my skull until it began to ease.
The gratitude I had for being able to take those pain relievers cannot be put into words. And I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that something can hurt that much, and that I went through it. If you’d have told me two years ago I’d be going through something that would make my face feel like I was being stabbed and my teeth as if they were going to explode out of my skull at any moment, I’d have called you crazy.
I feel so much for people who have to go through TN, especially if they have no idea what is causing it. At least I know what is causing mine.
If you do need to be properly evaluated for Lyme disease–and unless you’ve specifically seen a Lyme Literate Medical Doctor or LLMD, you probably do–you can read this and call IGeneX to order a testing kit for your doctor. Igenex has an accuracy rate of 95% and tests for all possible reactive bands, unlike standard testing which only checks you for the most common thirteen and produces a staggering rate of false-negatives. Additionally, you may watch Under Our Skin, an excellent documentary film containing people with illnesses like Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s, and ALS, who found out Lyme disease was the cause of their symptoms; most recovered. (Not in the US or want more help? Click here.)
♥ a rainbow at night
(Postscript: This is not related to TN, but with this month’s Lyme flare up, I had my old parkinsonism symptoms of slow movements and “freezing” while walking. It’s been a few months since I’ve had those, and they definitely caught me by surprise, especially with how slow my hands were functioning. Those of us with Lyme disease know how startling it can be when you’re doing (relatively) “okay” then suddenly your body thinks it has succumbed to Parkinson’s overnight! Luckily, as usual, it only lasted a few days and I am all right, now.)
The most important thing to report this time is that my random cough continued to be persistent and began to worsen, so I saw my primary physician who says I now have asthma. (Well, asthmatic bronchitis–two in one, aren’t I lucky!) If I were to assume this to be infection and/or herxing related, I would say this:
Since I’m fighting Mycoplasma pneumoniae, a bacterium that usually causes pneumonia (but also loves to attack your nervous system), my best guess is that treating this beast has caused a lot of herxing/die-off/inflammation in my lungs, where it’s most likely been hiding out, at least partially. And said die-off may be causing the inflammation that’s triggering this asthmatic response… I mean, it can’t be any coincidence that as soon as I start trying to kill the pathogen that has caused lung problems for me in the past, I get inflammation in my lungs. Right?
But if that’s not it, then I have genetics to thank. I’m going to go with “will hopefully go away as I treat Mycoplasma” theory until it proves itself otherwise. At least I’m not having any trouble breathing. I just have this cough, which, after three days on Dulera (which is literally just my Nasonex in an inhalable form…mixed with formoterol), I’m much, much better. :)
I’m convinced I had PANDAS (PANS) as a child; it just wasn’t a diagnose-able condition back then. If so, then I definitely still have it, because my body has clearly reacted the same way as an adult, as I’ll discuss later below. It stands for “Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychiatric Disorders Associated with Streptococcal Infections,” and is basically what it sounds like: An autoimmune response to strep that causes damage to the brain, primarily resulting in neuropsychiatric illness like obsessive-compulsive disorder and tic-disorders like Tourette’s Syndrome. (PANS refers to “pediatric acute-onset neuropsychiatric syndrome,” the same as PANDAS but without being caused specifically by streptococci.) In the “My Story” section, I ponder over whether or not something triggered my childhood-onset disorders of OCD and Tourette’s Syndrome, whether that might have been a brush with tick-borne infection, or something similar. After realizing there is an actual condition that does exactly this, it all makes too much sense:
- my primary immunodeficiency disease makes me extremely susceptible to infections (especially Strep)
- a history of autoimmune responses to things (like vaccinations)
- the fact that both my OCD and Tourette’s were acute-onset
- those conditions flare up whenever I get additional infections, especially bacterial
As Lisa Wolk-Kilion writes for one national magazine:
“Although the word ‘pediatric’ is in both names, it is surmised that the disease is not merely a childhood one. . . The encephalitic-type illness is brought on by an infection, resulting in antibodies that barrage the basal ganglia. … Once the autoimmune system is damaged, any germs can trigger a PANS flare.”
So, an autoimmune disease that responds to infection by attacking the brain. I was practically a walking target to get myalgic encephalomyelitis in the future, wasn’t I? :\
People with a history of PANS/PANDAS are supposed to stay on prophylactic antibiotics until age 21 to prevent additional episodes of this infection-triggered disorder that might lead to further brain damage. Now I wonder: If my doctors had known about this, if I’d have been on prophylactic antibiotics until age 21, would that have prevented the trauma my immune system went through after I got that Hepatitis B vaccination, where I contracted every infection that passed my way for the next two years… Thus, would the bug that triggered my M.E. still have triggered it, if I hadn’t been so beaten down? Or maybe I wouldn’t have gotten it… It doesn’t quite matter, at this point. I don’t think major events like this are coincidence, and if I was supposed to learn through the experience of illness then no matter what, I would have gotten something. But. It’s interesting. Like another piece of my puzzle…
On that note, I have to state the obvious, that Mycoplasma and Strep are very similar in this respect: They usually cause upper respiratory infection, but in the immunocompromised, they can wreak havoc everywhere, especially the nervous system. You know what happened to me when I got both Bartonella and Mycoplasma a month apart from each other in 2008? My Tourette’s syndrome and stuttering flared up so bad I could barely talk for three months. I also got extremely paranoid, showing clear neuropsychiatric involvement. Additionally, that’s when my movement disorder began worsening. I had the beginnings of the dystonia since getting Lyme disease (even though I didn’t know I’d gotten Lyme, yet), but after those two infections, things progressed very quickly. (The Tourette’s and stuttering eventually died back down, though they love to pop up at random, especially when I’m under emotional or physical stress.)
Treating Bartonella helped the dystonia symptoms A LOT…a lot a lot. But the thing is, the antibiotics that treat Bartonella are the same antibiotics that treat Mycoplasma (or at least the ones I was on, except for Bactrim), so I have no idea of knowing which infection is responsible for it. It’s not gone yet (as evidenced by my oromandibular dystonia showing itself more lately), but the worst parts of it stopped progressing after a year on Rifampin (with other antibiotics).
This is one of the reasons I can’t type up a post explaining my Bartonella experience and treatment: Because even though I can pinpoint a lot of which symptoms were caused by Bartonella–especially the ones that recurred every 5-7 days–I have absolutely no way of knowing exactly which infection caused what, specifically in regards to my dystonia and other related movement disorders. Because I got those infections a month apart from each other, and I treated them both at the same time. I can type about my theories, but I can’t put a bunch of information out there that people are going to read, without being sure. All I have are correlations, and patterns, which I happen to have a talent at spotting.
Two years ago I hypothesized that Mycoplasma (which I easily tested positive for on the first try, unlike the others which I had to coax out with speciality labs) was going to play a much larger role in my health issues than I had at first assumed… I had no idea how right that would be.
“The association of mycoplasma with diseases like arthritis and chronic fatigue syndrome, which has been implicated with a response of the body’s immune system against its own components, is consistent with the growth and behavior of mycoplasma. The absence of a conventional cell wall allows mycobacteria to penetrate into the white blood cells of the immune system. Because some mycoplasma will exist free of the blood cells and because the bacteria are capable of slow growth in the body, the immune system will detect and respond to a mycobacterial infection. But this response is generally futile. The bacteria hidden inside the white blood cells will not be killed. The immune components instead might begin to attack other antigens of the host that are similar in three-dimensional structure to the mycobacterial antigens. Because mycoplasma infections can become chronic, damage to the body over an extended time and the stress produced on the immune system may allow other microorganisms to establish infections.
“Strategies to eliminate mycoplasma infections are now centering on the strengthening of the immune system, and long-term antibiotic use (e.g., months or years). Even so, it is still unclear whether antibiotics are truly effective on mycoplasma bacteria. Mycoplasma can alter the chemical composition of the surface each time a bacterium divides. Thus, there may be no constant target for an antibiotic.”
Mycoplasma Infections via Encyclopedia.com
World of Microbiology and Immunology | 2003, The Gale Group Inc.
If anyone has any experience or information they want to share with me about PANS/PANDAS or similar things triggering OCD and Tourette’s Syndrome, feel free to comment or contact me.
♥ a rainbow at night
Updated December 2015 to add helpful links about PANS/PANDAS
On Thursday, the 5th of April, I upped the minocycline to 200mg a day. For the next few days I only noticed a greater need for sleep. Since starting the minocycline in general, I had a greater need for lortab/vicodin (at least once a day) to deal with the head and neck pain (read as: severe), so that also got worse temporarily before tapering off into less-severe pain.
Mostly because of this, my sinuses were really bothering me (hydrocodone causes a release of histamine, and when you stop it, then you can get a rebound release of it), so I had to take Nasonex for several days–it helped so much, and by days Three and Four of being on it, I was outside taking pictures of flowers!! I figure it might have been helping subdue some of the herxing because of its immunosuppressive tendencies. After day Four I was able to stop that, too, since my sinuses had returned to normal.
Then on the 9th I got a fax from my doctor saying my liver enzymes were very elevated. This, after them being perfectly normal two weeks earlier, and me still taking milk thistle three times a day!! I was upset, but I had to stop all antibiotics again.
I don’t know if it was from not taking my antibiotics beginning that morning when I got the fax, or rebound inflammation from stopping the Nasonex, but I felt absolutely horrid starting that day, and did every day after/have every day since. We’re talking complete flu-feeling and just.. awful. It was the metaphorical equivalent of hitting a bear over the head once, and then standing there staring at it. Lyme is a very, very angry bear. To further my physical suffering, a few days later my Lyme flare up began! D:
And then an old Lyme-related friend came to visit me: Dystonia.
(I tried to kick it out–you must mean the house down the street; no Kit, here!–but, that didn’t work.)
And not just dystonia, but that special brand of dystonia with parkinsonism thrown in there that makes me unable to walk, that makes everything on my left side either fail and freeze, or flail and dance. (Why does Lyme like the left side so much? No one can figure it out, not even the doctors.) It began on the 14th, when I got out of bed, took two steps, and my left leg decided it wanted nothing to do with this “walking” business. Luckily, there are wheelchairs. I still had a lot of movement problems even wheeling about the house, but standing up makes it so much worse in general, even if I’m not trying to walk. It got worse on the 15th and 16th…
I wish I could adequately describe what this type of movement disorder is like. A dear friend of mine in Pennsylvania with Lyme disease has the exact same problems I do (also hypertonia, also brain lesions). A typical “episode” of this happening might start with me attempting to walk. A varying amount of time passes before I slow dramatically and then my left leg will start to drag. If I stand in one place it often curls inward. If I try to walk it is essentially frozen, or moves so little that I might end up walking on the tips of my toes to compensate. Something around my hip/thigh happens and my leg jerks upward, causing me to simultaneously fall forward, often twisting my neck to one side at the same time “for some reason.” I don’t always have to be walking for this to occur. I know low oxygen (or at least low oxygen ratio) makes this worse, because supplemental oxygen always helped in the past.
“A major principle of body movement is that all muscles have an opposing muscle. Movement is possible not just because one muscle becomes more active, but because the opposing muscle relaxes. …Rigidity comes about when, in response to signals from the brain, the delicate balance of opposing muscles is disturbed. The muscles remain constantly tensed and contracted so that the person aches or feels stiff or weak.”
Other times it involves my face and neck–like an episode of Bell’s Palsy that isn’t so much the nerves (I don’t think, at least) as it is the muscles contracting, and causing issues like facial grimacing, an inability to open my left eye all the way (lots of times I cannot look upwards, which is truly disturbing–I don’t think this is dystonia but I wanted to mention it anyway), and my tongue might tremor, etc.
This time, much to my dismay, my arms were involved, interferring with my typing. :( It wasn’t the M.E., and it wasn’t the neuropathy that’s started to invade my arms causing the weakness, but something different. (It’s probably impossible for me to put the difference into words, but I know what that feels like.) They were doing the same thing my legs did–gradually getting slower and slower and it was as if the nerves were failing to send adequate signals, where in my head I was sending them the action I wanted them to perform but everything was going very..very…..slow……… :| (But not the paralysis and takes-five-days-to-recover like the M.E. muscle failure; this is far more neurological.)
And then the 17th happened. Or rather, the night of the 16th, when I tried to sleep. I spent all night waking up every hour going “omg I’m going to vomit” and “omg why is everything moving” and then when I woke up once at 7am, the back of my head was killing me (figure of speech, of course). And thus began the cycle of the next five days. But at least after about the 18th, the dystonia and parkinsonism got better and I could walk again. Oh, the things I had happen every morning… One morning was like I described above; for another, it was all I could do just to roll onto my back and take medicine; for another there was gastrointestinal nerve problems that immobilized me in pain; then to add insult to injury, I woke up dehydrated, because I usually do during Lyme flares. It has been an incredibly difficult couple of weeks!
What got me through it was knowing that it would pass.
And it did.
The 22nd I felt good enough to take a ride to the city, with the help of adequate medication for pain and inflammation. Right now I’m waiting for a supplement to arrive (tomorrow), so I can resume antibiotics.
I can’t thank God enough for such an absolutely amazing doctor to get me through all of this. Especially after so many years of people who didn’t know what they were doing, no idea how to help me, or just passing me around from doctor to doctor. (From primary to cardiologoist to neurologist to immunologist to infectious disease specialist to another cardiologist to another neurologist to a movement disorder specialist to…) I feel safe in God’s hands and my LLMD’s experience to get me better. He called and told me this herb collection to order for my liver, called Liver Chi. He says he has patients with Lyme-induced MS who are on triple IV antibiotics, their liver enzymes inevitably going high, but who can’t stop treatment for fear of their disease progressing. He thinks I am in that group with the rate that my symptoms progress the moment I stop antibiotics. And if this supplement (a mix of chinese herbs) has been able to bring theirs back down to normal, on all of those antibiotics, I’m sure it can help me get back in treatment! So he said to take a two-week break (which I have), and.. essentially, don’t wait, get the herbs, and resume treatment whenever I got them. And of course keep checking my enzymes.
I’ve been indulging my creativity to help me cope, so here are a few pieces:
♥ a rainbow at night
PostScript: Things I want to add into this post but have no idea how:
Ibuprofen always helps. Always.
My PCP says I should tell my cardiologist about the fact that I feel like I’m going to pass out when I take a deep breath–I actually had to lie on the examining table this time, which is new. My first guess is my usual lack of my heart rate variability and the fact that it’s supposed to vary when you inhale deeply, but mine often doesn’t… But that’s autonomic neuropathy for you.