Resuming Antibiotics for Lyme-Induced Multiple Sclerosis (MS)

© a rainbow at night

In case you missed it buried within my last post: I learned I do have multiple sclerosis. My neurologist said the official diagnosis as of right now is “Clinically Isolated Syndrome,” which can present with or without optic neuritis. Mine presented with, but I recovered well from that attack and my ophthalmologist confirmed there is no permanent damage to my optic nerves.

CIS and MS are the same disease process, but since MS literally means “multiple scars,” CIS is what you call the first episode, because there are a few people who never go on to develop another attack. But that wasn’t actually my first attack, or even my first documented attack. Because I refused to get a spinal tap at the time, the last lesion was attributed to “post-infectious demyelination” or “atypical MS.” They wanted to test my cerebrospinal fluid for Lyme antibodies at the same time as MS markers, and I couldn’t afford to risk a false-negative Lyme test, which my insurance could’ve used to deny coverage for my antibiotics. I have personally watched someone have their treatment revoked until they did additional spinal taps to prove the bacteria were there, and there was no way I was going to chance that happening to me, as horrendously ill as I already was.

I’ve had about five neurologists since 2008 because they keep moving, so my current neurologist is under the impression this is only my first attack, hence the CIS model. Most doctors rigidly hold the belief that neuroborreliosis (Lyme disease that has spread to the brain and spinal cord) and multiple sclerosis are not related, so my “official” diagnosis will change depending on which doctor I see and their level of understanding about my history. At any given time it’s one or more of the following:

  • Post-infectious demyelination
  • Clinically isolated syndrome
  • Multiple sclerosis
  • Atypical MS
  • Relapse-remitting MS
  • Neuroborreliosis
  • Inflammatory disease of the central nervous system
  • Demyelinating disease of the spinal cord
  • Disease of nerves in arms, legs, hands, and feet (what even is this diagnosis?)
Image from “LYMEPOLICYWONK: Misdiagnosis of Lyme disease as MS” by Lorraine Johnson, JD, MBA, and the Chief Executive Officer of LymeDisease.org. Click for more information.

Without medication, I regularly and predictably relapse about twice a year, about 5 months apart. I think the reason for this is, when my immune system starts to run out of options against the accumulating spirochetes, I usually develop a bacterial infection and require a short course of antibiotics, and those antibiotics also beat the Lyme back into remission for about 4-5 months max. But then the bugs build back up again, and my immune system gets stressed again, and I can’t fight off another bacterial problem again, requiring another short course of antibiotics which tithe me over for another 5 months… And so on. Rinse and repeat for the past five years since stopping Lyme disease treatment in 2012.

It wasn’t always so much like clockwork, though, for many reasons but largely because since “the big relapse” in 2012, I’ve only been able to tolerate an infant’s dose of antibiotics for maybe two days before my brain felt like it would explode. That is, until this year’s miracle happened:

In March, I was able to complete a 10-day course of antibiotics with absolutely no problem, for the first time since The Big Relapse. So, coupled with my new diagnosis, I decided to brave Lyme disease treatment again.

Yes, you read that correctly. What I wrote here five years ago has finally come to fruition:

“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. … 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.”

My God, to be typing these words… There have been a lot of tears this past week. Over all my suffering, over all the life lessons learned, over all the years it looked like I would never make it here because of the constantly relapsing infections, over all the miracles that took place just in time, every time, so that I evaded further damage, and that I’ve actually healed from much of the damage already sustained… But mainly, over the fact that I am now here, having survived it all physically and mentally, and in a position where I am able to do something about it.

I made it.

And I’m starting treatment again.

We’re going to push it back into remission ON PURPOSE with an ACTUAL TREATMENT PLAN and an ACTUAL DOCTOR, not just skate by on whatever antibiotics I end up on, hoping it’ll be enough to fend off MS for as long as possible. The diagnosis is here! Time is up!


I’m doing pulsed antibiotic therapy this time–please research if you haven’t heard of it–because it turns out this is the best way to handle late stage Lyme disease that anyone knows as of yet. Continuous antibiotics may be necessary at first, but it will eventually come time for maintenance dosing instead of sustained eradication, because while chronic Lyme disease cannot be cured, it can be managed.

And please don’t come at me with your “it CAN be cured!” comments: People can be functionally cured, where the bacterial load is so low that it cannot cause problems, but there is no known way to permanently cure late stage Lyme disease, yet. It goes up there with all the other infections your body just learns to adapt to and live with, but which can cause problems again if conditions arise, and that is okay.

I wish someone had told me this when I first got diagnosed, but we truly are so much more advanced as a society in our knowledge of “chronic Lyme” than we were 11 years ago when I got infected. Back then, biofilms in Lyme were just a hypothesis, as was the idea that antibiotics were causing the bacteria to hide instead of die, both of which are proven facts, today.

It’s actually a comfort to know that even the strongest of bodies cannot keep these spirochetes under complete control, because it keeps in perspective that this is not just “my” body’s failure, or “your” body’s failure, but it’s not even a failure at all: It is the natural course of this disease to relapse and remit, and it is not your fault. There is nothing you were supposed to have done to keep it from doing whatever it’s doing, what it already did, or what it’s trying to do. I repeat, it is not your fault that you still have Lyme disease, and again, late stage Lyme disease CAN be managed. Alright.

Now, according to this 700 patient survey, only 55% of people with Lyme-Induced Multiple Sclerosis get better with antibiotics once the disease has advanced to this level. However, I’ve beaten the odds many times before, so I’m just going to do what I can do for as long as I can do it. This online research has many limitations but it does mirror the general consensus I’ve heard throughout the years.

Image from “LYMEPOLICYWONK: Do antibiotics help patients with Lyme disease who are also diagnosed with MS?” by Lorraine Johnson, JD, MBA, and the Chief Executive Officer of LymeDisease.org. Click for more information.

The reason for these hit-or-miss success levels is believed to be because killing the bacteria when they have already initiated an attack on your nervous system has the potential to further advance the disease instead of abating it, because when the bacteria die they cause an inflammatory reaction. Adding further inflammation, in the form of your immune system going in to clean up dead bugs, to an area that is already inflamed because the immune system is already active there, will make things temporarily worse. The $64,000 question is whether the brain will recover or is there so much infection that this additional inflammation caused by the dying bacteria will be just as bad if not worse than the inflammation caused by just letting the disease take its course.

People with tapeworms in their brain face a similar dilemma: Because a dead worm in your brain could trigger such a massive immune response to clean it up, many must simply live with the parasite latent in their brain instead of attempting to kill it, which could actually turn around and kill them, too. We need to realign our focus with living a good life, not becoming “bug free.” They are not mutually exclusive.

I couldn’t pulse antibiotics five years ago because treating bartonella was the priority, and you cannot do pulse therapy with bartonella bacteria present. They mutate far too quickly in their attempt to survive, and become resistant to the antibiotics used. Some antibiotics like Rifampin can lose their efficacy after just one break in treatment, rendering it permanently ineffective against the strains present. So, long story short, I needed continuous antibiotics for bartonella for about two years, with lots of complications, it still relapsed, and only starting IVIG two years later saved me. But before all the latter happened, I made it about six months on continuous Lyme-specific antibiotics–the same ones I’m on now–before I hit the infamous treatment wall and became too ill to tolerate absolutely anything. I.e. “The Big Relapse.”

(I feel like I repeat myself a lot here, but I know most people don’t have the time or energy to go back and read how I got here or why my treatment is taking/has taken this route. All that is available, though, if you’re interested–there’s a directory of categories and tags/content at the bottom of this site.)

We’ve no way of knowing how I’ll respond to things this time, but just based on how I responded to mere Amoxicillin at the beginning of this year, I think I stand a chance to respond favorably. I’m running out of time to do something here, regardless. According to my last MRI, there’s a potential “something” in the front part of my brain that they’re going to “watch.” I just did two spinal MRIs and should find out the results this week.

One amazing thing I learned, though–again, only by getting a copy of my MRI results–is that I have successfully REmyelinated! The biggest brain lesion from my first Lyme/MS attack is fully healed!! About a year or two ago, I suddenly realized I could walk in the dark again without falling over, which I hadn’t been able to do since my hospitalization around 2010/2011. I assumed my brain had found some way around this damage by using its innate plasticity (i.e. maybe it formed some new pathways to circumvent the lesion) but no! Even better! It HEALED!

I am so proud of my body and its resilience. It’s things like this that inspire and remind me that it’s not too late to heal, and that my body still prioritizes towards homeostasis and wellness.

I’ve finished my first pulse, and I already feel so much clearer in my head it’s ridiculous. I owe this entire post to those antibiotics. In fact the last several blog posts I published before this one were antibiotic-induced (haha), where I hadn’t been able to finish anything since they wore off. The only thing I managed to type for this post before starting treatment last Thursday was one paragraph that took me an hour and a half, that absolutely exhausted me and ultimately made such little sense I had to delete it altogether, anyway. But after antibiotics? I typed the entire draft of this post you’re reading, in one day. Another day was spent editing, and today I finished polishing it up to be scheduled for tomorrow morning. But go ahead and tell us, IDSA, how antibiotics don’t do anything for us, will you?

Experiencing this phenomena again essentially confirms to me (1) how I was ever able to maintain this blog all those years ago, and (2) why I steadily and progressively lost the ability to write the longer I went without antibiotics, eventually getting to the point where I could only post when I’d taken an antibiotic or two, or when I’d scraped together one paragraph per month until I had something legible:

All I ever needed was treatment for this disease.

Damnit.

Until next time,

Kit

Advertisements

Trusting Myself to Build Healthy Relationships After Surviving Narcissistic Abuse

Into the Fire

Sometimes, mental illness makes me overly reactive. Other times, as I’m “coming back,” I retain that “edge” needed to take constructive action towards the situations that actually needed it, all the tiny things that simmered low on my priority list because I had more important fires to tend. But even though fire burns, I remain grateful for its role in purification.

“Pre-menstrually we tap into our firepower — our ability to rage and destroy. … The greatest gift of our moon time is in learning to clear space and enter the darkness, in order to be reborn as fertile, creative beings once more. We learn that this letting go, this cocooning in the darkness, is integral to our health. Again and again we must learn to be comfortable in the formlessness of transformation, and rest in the mystery.”

— from Burning Woman, by Lucy H. Pearce

In the past, this edge had sometimes been the only thing connecting me to my power, the only thing to show me that the things I was upset about actually had merit and deserved greater attention. Lucy also paraphrases this very astutely in her other book, “Moon Time”:

“I use the sword of my intolerance to cut deep and true. I keep hold of my vision and manifest it.”

I can think of no better metaphor than this. Allowing the innate wisdom of our frustrations to guide us to their roots, the one place from which we can actually enact change, because we’re finally courageous enough to look at why these seeds have sprouted in the first place. So maybe…

Maybe I should pay more attention when people breeze past painful details I’ve chosen to privately share with them, because that’s a clear sign they lack empathy.

Maybe I shouldn’t keep any digital platform that worsens my mental health, especially just to stay in touch with people who have lots of other ways to stay in contact with me, if they wanted.

Maybe it’s okay if I don’t want to be the only one who tries to keep in touch, 100% of the time.

Maybe I shouldn’t give privileged access to my life to those who only want to be spectators, or to those who only want to get involved in the fun parts. Maybe it’s okay to not be okay with that.

Maybe I should remind everyone that you are not entitled to anyone’s personal information just because you ask kindly, because kindness should not be a manipulation tactic.

Maybe I should remind everyone that my “no” demands as much respect as my “yes,” and that I will not be coerced into feeling a sense of obligation to perfect strangers.

Maybe it’s okay to trust my intuition when things don’t add up and I feel someone isn’t being honest with me.

And maybe I’ll try appreciating myself more for carefully selecting the people with whom I’d like to build long-lasting friendships from here on out, instead of chastising myself for being cautious.

Because I want and need to get back to offering myself to this world, and maybe it’s finally safe for me to believe I CAN manage my new mental and physical limits, and get back to living within them on my own terms, instead of constantly apologizing for not being able to meet everyone else’s.

Responsibility

For the longest time I’ve been trying to find the right way to interact with others, as a survivor of all types of abuse. For example I used to think it was normal to build a relationship with someone emotionally unavailable, because in my formative years it was very dangerous to have my own needs, emotional or otherwise. What better way to emulate not having your needs acknowledged than to pursue someone who would never acknowledge them?

I think that’s another reason me being unable to be there for anyone during my recent downward spiral, affected me so drastically. It’s no secret I live with obsessive compulsive disorder, which constantly tells you that you’re an awful creature who’s going to end up hurting everyone and then tries to convince you secretly like hurting people. (Oh, did you think OCD was just hand washing?) So while all my mental illnesses were jacked up on steroids, OCD really latched onto the idea that by taking time for myself to heal, I was the abuser, now. It makes no rational sense, but such is disorder. Anyway.

Narcissistic types are drawn to people like this, and those struggling with codependency: people-pleasers with an addiction to approval and/or relationships, who feel their only value lies in being who or what someone else wants. I’ve been a recovered codependent for years now after at least ten years of treatment, but I still attract narcissists because they are also drawn to compassionate, empathetic people who enjoy listening to and validating others; you know, people who will give them their “supply” of attention.

Sometimes it’s still hard to trust myself about this, initially. When I start to like a person I immediately think, “What if I only like them because subconsciously they’re exhibiting behaviors that mimic those of the pathological human beings I grew up with, and this is just another quick dead end?” That does happen to me quite a bit, but that’s the chance any of us take in attempting a new relationship. Now, I can spot the red flags relatively quickly and be on my merry way, instead of wasting years in unfulfilling one-sided relationships that I unfortunately tolerated.

When things aren’t working out in your relationships, you have to ask yourself: Which patterns do I keep repeating, and what is my role in it? What are you putting up with that you probably shouldn’t? What do you need yet aren’t actually requiring of anyone? To put it bluntly, what aren’t you requiring of yourself?

It’s uncomfortable being around those who don’t have empathy, but if I see the red flags and still keep them in my life, I’m just as much responsibile as they are, for the pain that comes from being around them. You know the Maya Angelou quote by now: “When people show you who they are, believe them, the first time.”

It’s painful when others don’t want to keep in touch with you unless you’re the one bridging the gap, but if you’re always the one meeting everyone else on their terms, you will eventually discover some friendships existed ONLY because you were meeting them on their terms.

And it’s jarring when people pop back into your life out of no where feigning interest in your well-being, only to disappear into the background again if you happen to be in a rough patch. But I’m the one who has to look that dead in the face and decide either “Yes, I’m okay with this person only being in my life in this superficial way,” or “No, I’m absolutely NOT okay with opening my life up to people who only show interest in being spectators, not friends.”

In other words, my dears, there comes a point in your healing from abuse where you understand you are no longer a passive victim but an active participant in the way your life and relationships are unfolding. When you know better you do better, etc. Victims don’t have any responsibility for their situation; that’s why they are a victim. This means they don’t have any power, either. That’s also why they are a victim. We may have been made victims in the past by predators of all varieties, but now, we are transitioning to survivors, which means we not only get to take responsibility for our healing, but we also have the privilege of taking responsibility for whatever new relationships we build along the way. We’ll make lots of mistakes, but don’t worry: Mistakes are just a natural part of burning through toxic bridges and outdated ways of existing, so that the fresh new ground underneath–fertile, healthy foundation–can finally be revealed.

Strength

I am a creature of many strengths, but I must regularly take inventory that I haven’t surrounded myself with people incapable of showing love. I have to remember that with my gifts of knowing how to make people feel heard, accepted, and appreciated, comes the extra need to protect those gifts from those who just want to take advantage.

I finally trust myself now to not be afraid of my own boundaries or the reactions of others once I set them. I finally see that it’s not my fault I attract predators, that boundaries are okay, and FOR ONCE–even if it’s only this very moment that I type this–I DO NOT FEEL GUILTY. It’s one thing to think these things and live by them just on their virtue, but now I actually FEEL this truth; the gentle power and mutual respect that lies within every human’s right to set healthy emotional boundaries.

The fact that anyone gets confronted with another’s healthy boundary and then runs away, is just a tell-tale sign they don’t like being told “no.” And I’ve realized that if someone is too weak to hear my “no,” they will never be able to handle my “yes.” They will never be able to handle me, at all. I am a force to be reckoned with, and I need to start surrounding myself with other strong, loving people who can handle everything I am. Sure I have difficult patches, but everyone does, and OCD be damned, that doesn’t make me a monster. I need more people in my life who know their worth, who recognize their resilience, who can hold their own, and who see boundaries as a sign of another healthy individual.

You see, narcissists can’t handle being around strong people. That’s why the moment you show them you have a backbone–that you can say “no,” that you aren’t afraid to speak up for your needs–they find another target or lash out, because they know if you’re not looking for others’ approval they don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to trying to manipulate you. You can’t be controlled by fear, obligation, guilt, or them playing the victim by being offended. There’s certainly a large gradient between “immature” to “narcissist” and then further down the line to “psychopath,” but I am DONE surrounding myself with these types. Any of them. All of them. I’ve had enough to last me twelve incarnations. For all I know it’s already BEEN twelve incarnations of me trying to do exactly what I’m doing right now: Learning day by day, month by month, year by year how to keep energetic vampires out of my life.

Recovery

I learned I do have multiple sclerosis. More specifically, the official diagnosis as of right now is “Clinically Isolated Syndrome,” one of the MS disease courses, which can present with or without optic neuritis; mine presented with, hence those particular symptoms. There’s less than a 15% chance I won’t have another attack, and a 95% chance this IS caused by my untreated neuroborreliosis (Lyme disease). This isn’t my first attack, or even my first documented attack, but since the last one (that they found by accident while I was hospitalized) was attributed to “post-infectious demyelination” or “atypical MS,” and most doctors hold the belief that neuroborreliosis and multiple sclerosis are not related, the “official” diagnosis–clinically isolated syndrome, atypical MS, relapse-remitting MS, neuroborreliosis–will change depending on which doctor I see and their level of understanding my history.

I am now mostly recovered from this most recent attack, and my ophthalmologist confirmed last week there has been NO permanent damage to my optic nerves! Also over the last couple of months, I’ve successfully been able to manage my problem of becoming too easily overstimulated, and I’ve been learning to identify the tiny things that precipitate a shutdown. For example I’m able now to share with people that I need to retreat, before I need to retreat, before I feel forced to disappear without any warning at all.

I’m also significantly better cognitively, after a short course of antibiotics for some random infection back in March. Maybe Lyme or Mycoplasma is playing a role, or it’s the PANS/PANDAS–an autoimmune disease that first presents in childhood which causes my body to attack my own brain when I’m battling any infection–or it could be related to the MS and its own inflammatory process in my nervous system. Or some combination of all of it, who knows. But! What I do know, is that I knew I knew I KNEW this wasn’t just something I was doing to avoid life!!

After finally coming out of my extended mental and physical relapse, after seeing the results of my lumbar puncture, after getting the diagnoses from my neurologist and ophthalmologists, and feeling my profound improvement after antibiotics, I feel… It’s as if I can trust myself again, because it gave me solid proof that my brain really was significantly altered, and it had very little to do with me “choosing” to isolate. I isolated because my brain was trying to process trauma, while being inflamed by lots of extra immune cells, while trying to prevent neurodegeneration and/or blindness, while fighting pathogens literally designed to spiral into my brain tissue, AND I have an autoimmune disease that makes these processes not only cause new mental illness but exacerbate all the preexisting ones. It makes perfect sense why I was unable to function normally or converse at any length.

I spent months rationalizing everything to the end point that I must just be inherently careless and awful. And I had started to believe it. Now I know better.

And if it happens again, instead of being terrified that I’ll lose everyone I love, I will know what steps to take to attempt treating the symptoms, AND feel more confident that I can share with whomever happens to be present that this is literally a symptom of disease, not just maladaptive behavior of my personal choosing. Between that and having unlearned the unproductive coping mechanisms I tried along the way, I have so much more faith that I will be able to deal with whatever happens…WITHOUT believing the guilt.

As I think my writing showed, I was making a lot of progress, and finding significant healing, until the flood happened… I feel back on track now.

Burning Women

Thank you Lucy, for teaching me and millions of other women that the energy in I’ve Had Enough doesn’t automatically have to be feared, especially for those of us who’d never seen it used correctly:

“In the heroine’s journey we realise that the dragon lies not in a far-off land, but curled within. And so we are called inwards. Into the dark cave of our unconscious. …

“This power is mine. I have come to claim it.” Repeating it until you, and the dragon, know it for truth. …

And suddenly the danger is gone. No fight necessary. That dragon had sat on your power for so long it had come to believe it was its own. You had spent so many years listening to the myths of the dragon, hearing him growl within, you got so scared of these stories, that you never thought to come and meet him for yourself. The dragon never was your enemy. The treasure never was his. It’s yours. It always was. All he was doing was waiting for you to claim it, protecting it from those who would steal or misuse it. He knew his job was to protect it until you were able to care for it as fiercely as he. Until you knew yourself as its rightful owner. Until this great wealth would be used wisely, not to do damage to yourself or others. Until you were learned enough in the ways of the world not to squander it or give it away. That was his sacred role, as your greatest ally and protector. …

[W]e are brought up to hand over our power, to let others take care of it, and ourselves, in exchange for us taking care of them, emotionally, physically and spiritually. It is a heavy burden, one usually done unconsciously, and yet expected culturally. A woman who is not willing to engage in this exchange is usually shamed as selfish and immature. But it is an exchange. So as Burning Women we make a new deal: I take back my power, and I learn to take responsibility for myself…and you in return take responsibility for yourself. We may share ourselves and our lives, experience deep love, care, intimacy and connection, but we are each the keeper of our own power. This is the move from co-dependency — the model engendered by our culture — into independence. Intimacy, penetration and sharing through choice, and consent, not obligation.”

Burning Woman

Thank you Marianne Williamson for also shining the Light on this topic with one of my favourite quotes from you:

“Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.”

A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles”

And thank you Roshi Joan Halifax, for eloquently explaining the value of anger–again, especially for those of us who’d never seen that used correctly, either–when you spoke these words:

“I think one has to understand anger in perspective. Anger, for one thing, has within it the seed of wisdom associated with clarity, with discernment. If you cut the value of anger out of your experience, in a way you’re taking some of the structure that allows us to see clearly into things as they are. So the seed of wisdom in anger is discernment. That’s the first thing. The second thing is, our anger toward the experience of disempowerment that is going on… We should be angry. And that sense of moral outrage, in other words the violation of equity. . .gives us the arousal level necessary to mobilize ourselves into action.

“And it’s essential that we act. We can’t just sit there, gaze at our navel, and say it’s all love.

“Love does not mean that we are passive in the face of harm. I think Martin Luther King was clear about the relationship between love and justice. Anything that stands in the way of love is unjust. The absence of justice points to the absence of love. So I don’t separate love and justice in this regard. I see them as intimately intertwined.”

— Be Here Now Network: Mindrolling Ep. 183 – “The Integration of Justice and Love”

Until next time,

Kit


Relevant Links:

The Path of Least Disruption

“You don’t have time for perfect,” reminds Elizabeth Gilbert in her book, Big Magic.

I’m still alive. And one of the reasons I haven’t been around is because I knew when I returned, I’d inevitably hear about all the people who were not. That might sound a bit crazy, but, even when I’ve taken a month long break, anywhere from 3-6 people in our community will have died. With the winter stretch of the year always being the worst, I can only imagine who we’ve lost, now.

I don’t know how anyone is supposed to be okay with this. No one can possibly be okay when the only people they can truly connect with are those with similar diseases, and then to continually, year after year, watch all those people keep dying. Or otherwise become unable to communicate in a sort of living death, something that happens all too often in my communities. How do you not develop some type of complex around this? How do you deal with the constant stress of knowing that any time you go to make contact, there’s a 50/50 chance you’ll be knocked out by grief for weeks by the death of yet another friend? If anyone knows (and most do) what it’s like to live with a loved one as they’re dying, it’s the same fear you feel that the next time you enter the room, they will have already passed. That’s been my reality for years now, and I feel backlogged with grief. This can’t be healthy for anyone.

I’m 100% out of the loop with everyone. It’s as if I ran off to meditate in the remote forests of India for six months without telling anyone, and just got back. I haven’t been in a position to be anyone’s friend, as cold as that might sound. Or maybe it just sounds honest. There’s a family that needs me here; to coax them away from their fears by being their voice of reason, which is really just their own voice that they haven’t yet given themselves permission to hear; to nudge them towards seeking help, seeking God, and taking care of themselves; to fight for and protect the needs of the children, who might otherwise be overlooked; to show them the possibilities of loving life even when nothing goes the way they expect, or desire; and most importantly, to lead by example that you can face life exactly as it is; it might not feel great, and you will probably feel overwhelmed for large stretches of time, but it’s possible. The pain of facing the hardship of life is far, far, less than the destruction of a lifetime that comes from trying to avoid or ignore it. I’m so glad I’m able to be this person, still, for those in my immediate vicinity. But with the condition I’m in otherwise, it’s both the least and the most I can do. My cup is always full, and any spare “spoon” I pick up I try to use doing something I enjoy so I still want to keep living. So far so good.

"If you can sit quietly after difficult news; if in financial downturns you remain perfectly calm; if you can see your neighbors travel to fantastic places without a twinge of jealousy; if you can happily eat whatever is put on your plate; if you can fall asleep after a day of running around without a drink or a pill; if you can always find contentment just where you are: you are probably a dog." Jack Kornfield, A Lamp in the Darkness: Illuminating the Path Through Difficult Times (2011).

Of course, when I do feel happiness–which happens more often than my serious, direct style of writing here belies–I’m immediately courted by survivor’s guilt. I’ve come to accept those intrusive thoughts for what they are–mental lies–and try not to take them too seriously. I know they’re a sign I need help, which I plan to get, somehow. As I keep saying: I won’t abandon myself. I just wish it didn’t feel like I had to abandon so many others to get through my own life, at the moment. I might be pouring too much thought into that, but that’s just part of who I am.

Lately, most of my attempts at self-compassion immediately detour to shame and guilt. Only after meditation did I even notice this had been happening. One moment I was feeling gratitude that I was able to wake up and listen to music for an hour and meditate, the next I was thinking of children in war zones who can’t do that, and people with illness so severe they can’t listen to music, and my brain’s idea of logic was that somehow me being able to do those things makes me “bad”… Because of course, me feeling guilty over the things I enjoy will help other people feel better, you see. Sigh.

My succinct, “life lessons style of writing” was never something I planned to do, but the extremes of my life birthed it. What I’m going to try to do now, is to take my site back to old school journaling. If you like to read that type of thing, read it. If not, don’t. I’m still non-existent on e-mail and social media for right now. There are “good days” and “bad days,” good stretches and bad stretches.

“Needing to isolate has to do with us, the sufferers. Pushing you out of [life is a] way to have some control over what is going on… We can’t handle the shit going on with us when people are always present, adding little things to the swarm going on in our heads. Sometimes it’s just too much and having people around, especially the ones we really love, it adds to overload. We get feelings of insecurity, worthlessness, and don’t want to put that on others. Being in a relationship with someone with PTSD means understanding a sufferers need to isolate, and all the other shit that comes along with it.”

via user “silver.” on MyPTSD support forum

With a few exceptions, this level of distance from others has been the case for me basically all of 2016 and thus far this year, after a period of extreme acute stress in late 2015; the straw that broke the camel’s back and turned my solitude into survival. When I read that bit above, it’s spot-on about how the presence of people, even people we like, somehow adds “little things to the swarm” of mental overload. Just asking me a question can cause my thought process to short-circuit, but it’s impossible to describe why. I know how I feel inside, and what I think inside, but getting that across is another thing entirely. It reminds me of a certain interview with Whitney Dafoe before he became 100% bedbound, where he said he wished sometimes he could just be around his loved ones without them talking to him, if they could just let him be around them without actually interacting, he’d enjoy that very much. I enjoy that immensely, as well, but it’s nearly impossible to experience unless you’re with another Buddhist or on a silent retreat somewhere.

Last Spring I got to thinking I was just in a rut, so while having a good spurt, decided to force myself to socialize in the event it might help. But while I enjoyed myself at the time, it backfired spectacularly. Even that which I actually want to do, accumulates into a ticking time-bomb of how long I last before I need weeks of isolation to counteract it. This has been worsening for years, and after the flood… I just don’t know.

Louisiana Flood Damage Debris Pile, Before Pick-Up © a rainbow at night, 2016

It’s taken me years to realize that what I’m doing is a response to something else that’s happening internally, that I’m not just choosing to do this because I feel like being alone. I do enjoy being alone, and I will always make the best of things even if I can only tolerate my own company. As I read somewhere and found quite truthful, sometimes the fight to fit in becomes worse than the illness. But enjoying solitude is not the same as wanting to socialize and engage with your community, and care for the friendships you’ve cultivated, and in fact even knowing you need to socialize because isolation begets all sorts of awful things, but then being completely cognitively stunned by the first response you’re required to generate. I don’t know what’s happened, I don’t know why this is so much more difficult than other mental tasks or why it affects me so profoundly, but whatever this is, it is very clear to me now that it isn’t just some preference. And I have to stop beating myself up about it. I can’t be the only person who goes through this. In fact, I know I’m not.

The gist of it is: Sometimes interacting makes me worse, but sometimes I can handle it, and there is unfortunately zero difference in how it feels to me at the time, so absolutely no warning I can give if a disappearance is about to happen. It’s like trying to predict when my OCD or stuttering will suddenly worsen. Or like asking someone with RA or Lupus or MS when their next flare-up is due. It just doesn’t work that way.

Because of this, I’ve noticed it’s started to become self-perpetuated, also. There have been times when I wanted to finally reach out, only to then stop myself because I feared so much being unable to continue the momentum; that I’d just end up disappearing again. It’s my way of trying to minimize the damage of suddenly disappearing around people I thought I could keep contact with. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but this is all so unpredictable, so that feels inevitable. As one person said, “Who the hell wants to be around a touchy individual who tends to disappear off the map for reasons most people cannot fathom?”

© a rainbow at night

When I write this, and really look at it, I find compassion for myself in dealing with multiple, multiple diseases–of brain, of body, of thought–that make isolation my current reality. Being in stillness was, and can be, very therapeutic. I can find acceptance for where I am, and others tell me I’m some sort of inspiration for finding a way to enjoy life despite all of this, but I still end up thinking about my inability to be what others want, or need, or deserve. On top of it all, maybe I’m also grieving yet again for the loss of my former self, this time the person I used to be just a few years ago, who was able to engage with the world. Everyone I met, even strangers, would tell me that they could somehow feel my love for life when they were around me. And now…

More to say about my brain, so switching gears. Sort of.

Opportunistic infections are something I’ve been dealing with constantly since the flood. Skin infections, fungal infections, follicle infections, eye infections, repeated ear infections, repeated sinus infections, gastrointestinal infection from probiotics because I accidentally ate yogurt more than once… Then my seasonal winter relapse, followed immediately by a major health discovery that I’ll have to talk about on a different day.

Right now, I’m being worked up for multiple sclerosis, and/or increased intracranial pressure (aka intracranial hypertension), or both, or who knows what. Two doctors have confirmed my optic nerves are very pale and not getting adequate blood flow (suspected papilledema). My neurologist thinks this is because the pressure around my brain is.. well, pressing on things, and causing a significant amount of my symptoms. Yesterday I got a shit ton of bloodwork to make sure my kidneys can handle upcoming tests, then I’ll be getting another MRI with contrast, and an infrared-assisted lumbar puncture (spinal tap), both next week.

Much of the time I can literally feel a pressure in my eyes. Then with my ever-present headaches, the vision problems, worsening dizziness, tinnitus, and photosensitivity, alongside my significant changes in personality and cognitive decline, intracranial hypertension seems a given at this point. If confirmed, it will then boil down to why is it happening. There are endless suspects. I wonder if the IVIG may have either initiated this, or worsened something already in progress, because a lot of the changes I’ve experienced started immediately after that. Not that I’m complaining, because even if it did contribute to this, without the IVIG I would not have beaten the bartonellosis, or even be here to talk about this. I also wonder if the Lyme disease has any role, because while I haven’t had the symptoms I used to associate with it, these things currently happening are pretty much exactly what happens in late stage neuroborreliosis, which still, no ones knows whether or not is curable. You’d think it’d be as easy as checking for bacteria in my cerebrospinal fluid, but system-wide, borrelia prefer body tissue to hanging around in fluids where they’re more vulnerable. It’s almost impossible to tell what’s caused what, at this stage. And who knows, it may be something entirely new.

"I am scared. I'm scared that I don't know how many more good days I'll have. I'm scared of what this illness means, and I'm scared of what I know it can do to my life and my body. I'm scared that I'm not spending enough time with my family, I'm scared that I'm not telling the people that I love what I have to say and what they need to hear. I'm scared that I'm not living my life to its full potential. I'm scared that at any given moment my health could take a drastic turn in any direction that it wants to, and that it's out of my control. But no matter what happens to me, I know that my fears are because I care, my fears are because I still have good things in my life. I'm scared because things matter, so maybe it's not so bad after all." By @mrswelches

As for multiple sclerosis, I already meet all criteria for it, alongside a significant predisposition to developing it, so an official diagnosis could be imminent… But again I wonder how one would differentiate that from everything I already have going on? We shall see. But until the results are in, my IVIG infusions are on hold, because the possibility that an immune response to the blood product or a reaction to the intravenous fluids could worsen the pressure in my skull is too risky, not to mention getting others’ antibodies infused into me could alter my own test results. And “you have to do another spinal tap” is not something I ever want to hear.

I’m not going to say I’ll keep posting, because I’m not sure that I will, even if I want to. I won’t say I’ll try to get back to replying to comments and emails, because even though I want to, I’m not sure that will happen. I just know that I’m here, I’m posting right now after a huge effort to accomplish this, and despite 1000% evidence to the contrary, I still expect good things to happen in the future. Until next time…

Kit

The Parts of ME: Does “Post Exertional Malaise (PEM)” exist in other diseases?

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?”

IVIG Can Help Eradicate Bartonella Infection: My Success Thus Far.

[estimated reading time: 5 minutes 12 seconds] © a rainbow at night
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? Continue reading “IVIG Can Help Eradicate Bartonella Infection: My Success Thus Far.”

Reaching Out for Support with a Misunderstood Illness

© a rainbow at night

I was incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of posting this… So you know what that means: I must.

I wish I had companionship with other people who identified with my particular variant of living with disease. Diseases for which there are barely any doctors who can or even want to help you. For which patients have to help each other find physicians. Who have had to fight to find even a sliver of support because the public is so disastrously misinformed about the true nature of their illness. Who have had limited or no help from the same group of organizations that would otherwise smother you in understanding and compassion, had you gotten a more acceptable or understood disease.

I wish I knew of the other people whose diseases didn’t have a cure and who’ve also exhausted all of their treatment options; treatments that tiny organizations of doctors have had to figure out, mind you–sometimes at the risk of being jailed–because if we did things the government’s way, we’d already be dead.

Where are the other people who simultaneously are so happy to be alive, valuing life immensely, yet who are also exhausted with day-to-day living? Who understand my uncertainty about the future because they, too, may be redirected from even having one? And the grief… Oh, the grief. There is no turning back this time. I grow more fatigued, more nerves die, my pain meds become stronger, and on rough days–in rough patches–the grieving is literally all I can handle. And it’s incredibly difficult to handle, when I feel I have no one to talk to about this who understands. Where are the support groups for people like me?

It’s almost impossible to find someone who’s tried the fight against late stage Lyme disease, in particular, and come to the same wall that I have: The understanding that the treatments have a greater chance of killing me than the disease itself, and that despite the severity, I stand a better chance at having a life if I let go of the need-to-treat and focus on LIVING.

No, most people aware of having advanced neuroborreliosis–aware that they have ANY progressive illness, really–approach it with a “die trying” attitude, no matter what. That works for some, as I’ve said many times. But I have neither time nor valuable energy to invest in treating a disease that cannot be treated without bringing me down with it. It’s because I’ve watched too many people actually die trying, that I know better. I’ve experienced on my own and witnessed enough in others to know that–unlike the inspirational recoveries in Under Our Skin–some cases are too advanced to treat, and attempts to do so actually cause the disease to advance quicker because the treatments are so harsh on systems already worn down. I am one of those cases, and I am not making that “mistake” again. I barely got through the first time I “woke it up”: We’re talking brain damage, endocarditis, almost needing a heart valve replacement, being bedbound 98% of the day and being plugged up to an oxygen machine. I fought back against all of that, but now, even attempts to gently fix the parts that are worn down, have almost hospitalized me, for the umpteenth time. And I don’t want to be remembered and honored for fighting a disease until it killed me, I want to be remembered and honored for living in spite of one.

It’s not as easy as just finding support groups for other people who are Buddhist, or have myalgic encephalomyelitis, or chronic Lyme, or bartonellosis, or mycoplasmosis. I was once part of a Buddhist support group for those with illness, that tried to enforce a sense of general support instead of conversation about specific diseases. It worked very well when people followed that, but people bring with them all of their life experience and inherited coping mechanisms, for better or worse made amplified by their chronic disease, and it became difficult to enforce that rule without the group splitting into camps. Not very helpful, and it just added stress.

The M.E. communities are usually full of people who don’t even have M.E., but CFS, so they don’t actually live with my symptoms or prognosis. And the only community specifically for M.E. I ever found actually barred users from even mentioning Lyme disease. It’s not my fault I got both, and I need to be able to talk about it. Since a major part of M.E. is accumulation of infections coupled with an inability to fight them off due to reduced natural killer cell function, one would think it extremely important to talk about how to deal with this…? Let’s not even get into the fact that bartonella is more of a threat to my health than Lyme, because most people don’t even know what bartonellosis IS.

AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED on the Lyme disease “support” groups. I am the horror story people use to scare others into getting treatment: Treat now, or the disease will turn into a serious, disabling condition and then it could be too late! Yeah, well…

And try telling those people that you’ve made the heart-wrenching–but I think very brave–decision to stop treatment, and it’s like you’ve told them you murder bunnies in your spare time. How can you do that? Don’t you know what will happen? There’s still hope, don’t “give up,” you’ve just done it all wrong, just try this, and that, and this…

I’m sorry my story scares you. No, we didn’t catch it in time. Yes, it is too late for either natural or pharmaceutical treatment to do anything (besides give me life-threatening herxheimer reactions). But my life still matters, and I still need support. And yet when I’ve reached out with a fragile heart, I’ve gotten judgment and condemnation instead.

For some reason, I had so much more support when I was still in treatment. Well, I’m still fighting for my life, I’m just doing it in a different way. 

It’s similar to when people with cancer realize they need or want to stop treatment and focus on life, and must tell everyone. It’s not always pretty, I get that. I researched a lot of support resources similar to this when I made my decision a year and a half ago, and it was extremely helpful… But I’m tired of researching help other people have gotten who aren’t me. Sometimes I don’t have energy to research support, I just want to talk to a friend who already understands what this is like and get things off my chest.

It’s essential for people with severe and especially misunderstood illness to build a support network, and the circumstances here are critically relevant to how someone experiences being sick in this way. Lately I’ve felt it particularly important to address this before things get more.. well, you know. But how?

So, if you understand this post, or know someone who might relate to it, please don’t be shy about sharing, commenting, or contacting me. To everyone else, thank you for letting me share my story.

a rainbow at night


ETA, 2014 August: This organization might be a start, for some: Online Patient Communities — National Organization for Rare Disorders (NORD).
ETA, 2016 Feb: Something of a miracle happened when my immune system started bottoming out due to my ever-growing infection load: My insurance approved me for IVIG, a $50k per year immunoglobulin replacement therapy for my primary immunodeficiency disease.

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 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:

  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.

[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

“All is well, and has been, and will be.”

[ estimated reading time: 6 minutes 26 seconds ]
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

Appointment recaps: Pain management and LLMD

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

Pill Fatigue or Pill Failure?

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,

  1. 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
  2. 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!!)

For right now, this needs to stop.

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

Trigeminal Neuralgia: A Consequence of Lyme Disease

…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.)

Mycoplasma and Reflections on Having PANS/PANDAS

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. This might sound like baseless self-diagnosis but this will make sense as I’ll discuss further 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 your own brain, instead. I was practically a walking target to get myalgic encephalomyelitis in the future, wasn’t I? :\


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.

[ETA 2017: It’s been 5 years since this post and Mycoplasma pneumoniae has now been recognized to be a determining factor in the diagnosis of PANS, which all these additional years of disease and severe psychiatric relapse have unequivocally proven me to have.]

“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
Updated May 2017 to add more helpful links and confirm diagnosis

Relevant Links:

On Livers and Lyme and Dystonia…and Another Antibiotic Break

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.

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

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 are harboring, much less ticks, which are so much more inconspicuous.

I am so glad to know I’m not the only victim/survivor who feels this way. (Note: The music introduction only comprises the first thirty seconds.)

“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 can equal Multiple Sclerosis (MS), Parkinson’s, Lou Gehrig’s Disease (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis/ALS), Alzheimer’s, and 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 instead you or someone you love will be diagnosed with one of the above (or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/CFS, or Fibromyalgia), and then what?

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

a rainbow at night

Remission from Fibromyalgia?

humboldt redwoods state park
© a rainbow at night

Fibromyalgia (FM, FMS) is a pain syndrome that is usually triggered by a physically stressful event, such as a car crash, surgery, accident, severe infection, or another illness worsening/starting; more or less, it’s the consequence of something else. The pain is primarily in the muscles as well as the tendons that support the joints, lending to severe, widespread pain and joint stiffness, but without actual inflammation. The syndrome does not damage the joints, muscles, or any organs–it just feels like it! There is an extreme sensitivity to pressure (allodynia): Things that would not normally hurt–such as receiving a gentle hug–become extremely and lingeringly painful. The pain never stops, is absolutely everywhere, all the time, and may particularly revolve around the tender point locations necessary for diagnosis.* Someone with fibromyalgia will be hurting when they are sitting, standing, walking, or lying down.

Temporomandibular joint disorder (TMJ) is very common, and a major contributor to headaches. Irritable bowel syndrome is also extremely common. Sleep problems may include an inability to fall asleep, but particularly revolve around problems staying asleep. Someone with fibromyalgia may wake up every single hour at night due to the brain’s inability to conduct normal sleep waves, in this case known as an alpha-wave intrusion, which causes bursts of brain activity during what should otherwise be restorative sleep. Partly because of this, fibromyalgia is accompanied by a great deal of fatigue that may or may not be manageable. Cognitive problems are multiple and very prominent, including things like severely impaired short-term memory, working memory, any ability to recall the names of everyday items, and silly things like placing the television remote in the freezer and the popsicles on the coffee table. (Or pouring your cup of tea into the sink instead of your cup… I may or may not be speaking from personal experience…)

Other symptoms include tingling and numbness of the extremities (your arms and legs), muscle spasms, sensitivity to weather changes (instead of turning on the local news, ask your Local Person with FM if there’s rain or snow coming), and a high rate of restless legs syndrome.

Stress is NOT the cause of fibromyalgia, but stress exacerbates any chronic illness, so proper management of stress is essential to keeping your pain, fatigue, and sleep problems as mild as possible.

Fibromyalgia is not an inflammatory disease. It is also not a progressive disease, though symptoms wax and wane over the course of several months, and can be disabling. If you are experiencing inflammation and/or illness progression, see another doctor for other illness possibilities besides fibromyalgia, which may only be a symptom of another, more serious disease process or underlying infection.


It is known that fibromyalgia can disappear on its own when it’s associated with myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME).** But what about otherwise? Does treating the disease that triggered FM always make the fibromyalgia go away? That certainly wasn’t the case when I fell ill: Although myalgic encephalomyelitis triggered my fibromyalgia, when the M.E. went into remission, the FM remained to torment me…until it, too, slowly abated a year or so later, ironically right as the M.E. returned/relapsed. I expected that additional neurological trauma might reawaken the fibromyalgia, but even throughout the Lyme disease ordeal that followed, the FM never returned (although I am now left with permanent, disabling pain).

So, does fibromyalgia ever naturally remit on its own in other circumstances? We may never know, because the consistent over-diagnosis of fibromyalgia has severely muddied scientific research. For instance, there may be thousands of people diagnosed with FM who also have M.E., who’ve just had the unfortunate circumstance of being diagnosed with fibromyalgia first then stopped looking for additional explanations. Also, nearly everyone I know battling Lyme disease–I am not exaggerating–initially had a diagnosis of either Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, fibromyalgia, or both. It was only their persistent digging that eventually afforded them the actual cause of their progressing pain, fatigue, brainfog, and neurological disturbance. If you do need to be properly evaluated for Lyme disease–and unless you’ve specifically seen a Lyme Literate medical specialist, you probably do–you can read this and call IGeneX to order a test kit for your doctor, as they test for all possible bands (NOT just the most common thirteen available on standard testing). Additionally you may watch Under Our Skin, an excellent documentary film containing people with fibromyalgia (as well as other diseases like Multiple Sclerosis and Parkinson’s) who found out Lyme disease was the cause of their symptoms. (Not in the U.S. or want more help? Click here for resources.)

I don’t claim any of the tips below to be a cure–I think my fibromyalgia most likely remitted naturally of its own accord–but I can at least share how I treated the syndrome while I endured it, in case that might be of help to others. I could always, always tell when I was forgetting one of them.

  1. Magnesium

    You’ve probably read about this all over the internet, right? Sure you have. Well, it’s not just hype. I’m not going to pretend to know the mechanics behind why it helped, but daily supplementation with magnesium not only reduced my Migraine attacks (a condition I was born with) from twice a month to twice a year, but greatly reduced my muscle pain. I’ve read many an article over-analyzing the right “type” of magnesium to take for Fibromyalgia, but I can only tell you this: I bought the plain old Magnesium oxide with chelated Zinc from Walmart and it worked without fail. (I currently use magnesium l-threonate, however.) One important thing to note before you dismiss this one: I’ve always had normal serum magnesium in blood tests. The amount in your blood is not an accurate way to determine the actual amount of magnesium in your body.

  2. Foam mattress topper

    Actually, this might ought to be number one… It’s that important. Fibromyalgia is made worse by pressure on the 18 tender points…which are practically everywhere. It should be easy to grasp, then, why relieving this pressure whilst sleeping is essential to easing your symptoms: You’re pressing on them for eight hours at once! Invest in this, no matter what. You will not regret it. Personally I couldn’t sleep on anything that didn’t have two inches of bed foam for even one night. When I would try to visit friends and family and sleep there, I would awaken after just a couple of hours in excruciating pain, all from the pressure on these tender points. Also, sleeping better will help improve your cognitive abilities (memory and mental functions) and fatigue.

    ♦   For TMJ-related pain and/or head pressure, invest in an amazing pillow. You deserve it, and you need it! It’s all about support and relieving pressure on a body that interprets pressure as pain. I’ve personally been using Simmons Latex Foam Pillow (I cannot stand memory foam) and mine lasted 7 years before needing replacement–you will get your money’s worth!

  3. Protein

    You know what honestly made me start increasing my amount of protein? It was back in the day when Montel Williams still had Sylvia Browne (a world renown psychic) on his show on Wednesdays. Every time someone mentioned having fibromyalgia (which was largely unheard of back then), she’d tell them to eat more protein (and less sugar). I figured, it couldn’t hurt me one bit to try it, so I did. And I’ve been doing it ever since. (I’m not vouching for her abilities one way or the other, but that information helped me. I now also know that people with infections requires 50% more protein in their diet than those without, so that’s another reason for me to continue.) I made a pact with myself to get an adequate source of protein every single day for two weeks to see if it made a difference. Obviously, it did! I noticed I had more energy and wasn’t as weak. I highly recommend you try the same test.

    ♦   For me, it was chicken, and luckily there are hundreds of ways to prepare it so I didn’t get bored. For vegetarians or vegans it might be soy, or something similarly protein-rich that contains all essential amino acids but without soy, like this delicious chocolate protein shake that I also use.

    ♦   We all know too much sugar is bad for us. I switched to honey instead of sugar in my coffee, and cut down on my intake of white-flour, empty-calorie foods (which admittedly wasn’t very difficult since I didn’t eat a lot of that stuff to begin with). Honey is structurally different from sugar, containing mostly fructose and glucose (instead of sucrose), which is fancy language for: Your body can use more of it for energy instead of donating it to your fat reserves.

  4. Aloe vera

    If I had a dime for every person who told me “thank you” for telling them about this one! Fibromyalgia is, without fail, associated with some degree of irritable bowel syndrome; if ever a case existed without IBS, I’ve never heard of it. This stuff will help if your digestion is too slow or too fast (and many IBS sufferers cycle back and forth between loose and hard stools, sometimes even within the same day). I’ve had people tell me they’ve been able to start eating foods they previously couldn’t touch! Hopefully, if you try this, you’ll have the same reaction.

       ♦   I can’t stomach the drinkable form so I’ve been taking them daily in capsules for eleven years. While aloe vera has many other health benefits, it’s mostly to protect the intestinal tract and help keep things from acting out, whether to one extreme or the other. Note that it’s very important to consume the inner aloe vera leaf gel, not just ground up aloe vera leaf like you may accidentally purchase if you’re not paying attention…or having a healthy dose of brain fog. You can get the same relief from drinking it, but these aloe vera juice softgels are much simpler, if you ask me.

  5. Flexeril

    This is a muscle relaxant that used to be one of the only things your doctor could give you for Fibromyalgia, before Lyrica and all the others came around. People with fibromyalgia do not enter the restorative stage of sleep as often as they need, so the next best thing is to make it count whenever you do. Flexeril makes it to where your muscles relax during those rare restorative sleep stages, allowing your body to heal more than if you hadn’t taken anything. The difference is noticeable, particularly when you’re in one of those “waking up every hour” phases that leave you a zombie during the day (which contributes substantially to the “fibro fog” part of the illness). If sleeping aids cannot keep you from from awakening fifty times a night, at least you’ll get the most rest out of whatever REM sleep you do get. I personally had to switch to Robaxin (methocarbamol, another muscle relaxant), but just be sure to try something.

       ♦   Update, December 8, 2015: Flexeril: An Under-appreciated Treatment for Fibromyalgia Pain, Sleep Problems and Daytime Fatigue by Dr. Richard Podell

  6. Exercise daily

    If you’ve made it this far down the list, I hope you’ll stick with me through this section! I cannot stress enough how essential exercise is for fibromyalgia…nor how difficult it is to get started. But second to none does it improve fatigue and stamina, and second only to perhaps the mattress topper did it so quickly improve my pain. I.e., it helps a lot...and you probably want to start with all the others first (except the aloe vera, which is just for intestinal troubles), to give your body the best chance of recovering from the exercise. I could always feel my symptoms worsen when I hadn’t exercised for a day or two. The type of exercise I’m talking about is, for all intents and purposes, graded exercise therapy. This is the type of exercise that studies claim helps chronic fatigue syndrome, but do not mistake this for being a treatment for M.E. (which is not the same as CFS). I absolutely could not exercise until the M.E. began to go into remission. Only then was I able to very slowly start doing exercise, gradually adding on more and more activity.

    The first goal is to have fifteen minutes of activity a day. In the beginning I could only walk around my house for three minutes at a time, five times a day. Next, I moved up to five minutes at a time, but just three times a day, so still fifteen minutes total but more activity at once. When I felt comfortable with that level of activity, every morning I began rotating my joints across their range of motion; it was practically the only way I could fight the terrible morning stiffness, especially in the colder months. Feeling less stiff, I finally started adding in very gentle stretching exercises, similar to the ones you’d do before a run. First, just five minutes a day of very slow stretching, only as far as my muscles could go without feeling a strain. Eventually I was able to work this up to a full fifteen minutes straight of stretching, using my favourite music to make it more enjoyable.

    DO NOT try to do it all at once and DO NOT force yourself to exercise like a completely able-bodied person would. Right now you have an illness to manage. Just because you can’t do things the way you used to, doesn’t mean you can’t do them at all–you just have to do it differently, and that is okay.

    Even with this graded approach, it was still unbelievably painful. The first two weeks will be absolute hell. Probably not the best motivation, I know, but I want you to be prepared. Plan in advance to take care of yourself extra well. With fibromyalgia, you can’t stop just because it hurts the next day: If you do, it’s the same as stopping a new medicine, and you will lose whatever progress your body has accomplished. When I started this, I was exhausted and beyond sore the next day, then more-so the next day, then even more-so the day after that and so forth…until the breakthrough happened. “The pain stage” finally passed, I started to reap the benefits of my exquisitely difficult labor, and from then on? My symptoms were actually worse if I didn’t exercise! There *is* a light after the tunnel. I wouldn’t recommend this for any other reason.

    • Important: This is the exact opposite of treating myalgic encephalomyelitis, and part of the biggest proof that M.E., CFS, and FM are not the same entities. If your muscles begin to slow down the next day and are accompanied by burning muscle pain only upon movement, and these symptoms become worse every additional day until you are experiencing paralysis, you have more going on than “just” Fibromyalgia. If you’re suspected of the viral-induced neuromuscular disease myalgic encephalomyelitis, exercise will only cause symptom progression and irreparable damage, so STOP immediately. Other illnesses that cause different types of progressive muscle weakness in response to exertion are: Lyme disease, babesiosis, chronic viral infections such as CMV, EBV, and HHV-6, hyperthyroidism, and myasthenia gravis (which also results in paralysis). However, this is NOT AT ALL the same as experiencing more pain, more soreness, and more fatigue like you would with Fibromyalgia, because let me restate the obvious: You are going to hurt, be more exhausted, and not want to continue. But I can also tell you on behalf of myself and everyone else who’s ever successfully initiated an exercise routine with Fibromyalgia: It will help you.
    • ETA: I thought this much was obvious, but just in case: Please work closely with your doctor while attempting an exercise regimen so you don’t hurt yourself and so they can do any further testing that might be required based upon your response to exertion. These days you may even be able to find rehabilitation services specifically designed for fibromyalgia.

Am I cured forever? Maybe. I have days where something strange will happen–a herx while treating Lyme disease, a day of severe stress, a strong storm passing through–where I will get a rush of pain that feels just like fibromyalgia, and this leads me to think maybe the mechanisms behind it are not actually gone as much as they’re just not currently active… But I no longer suffer from its trademark symptoms. I no longer have a dull, gnawing, all-encompassing ache in my entire body that never quits and doesn’t respond to any painkiller, that makes it difficult to move any joint from the stiffness, that makes it impossible to sit or stand in one place too long because of the pressure causing a flare around the tender points; I no longer have irritable bowel syndrome; I no longer wake up 10-20 times per night; and I no longer have the specific sleep-deprivation-like brain fog that accompanies it.

Granted, I am still very much disabled, in constant pain, and live with cognitive impairments that sometimes make forming a sentence impossible…along with dozens of other symptoms. But at least it’s not fibromyalgia. I can only keep hoping that it never gets re-triggered, especially since there is practically no information out there about the recurrence of fibromyalgia-like pain syndromes in myalgic encephalomyelitis… But I have the feeling, with all I’ve been through the past eight years, if it were going to reappear wouldn’t it have already done so?

a rainbow at night

* Well, not anymore. The criteria for being diagnosed with FM no longer require you to have any tender points. Wow.
** You can read The Nightingale Research Foundation Definition of Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.) to read about the various pain syndromes that accompany the disease; an FM syndrome is known to occur then slowly abate after several years, which is what happened to me, even though I still experience severe, incapacitating pain as a result of M.E. + damage from neuroborreliosis.

Starting Treatment for Late Stage Lyme Disease (Neuroborreliosis)

As most of my readers may know, I contracted Lyme disease in 2006 from an infected tick. It had crawled onto my scalp, and had a family member not seen it, I may have never known I’d been bitten. I’d always heard “there’s no Lyme in the South” so I didn’t think anything of it, but fast forward to 2009 and a Western Blot revealed possible exposure. Once the disease has advanced to the late stages, the bacteria hide in your organs and usually evade blood tests as well as the immune system, which is why regular labs didn’t yield results. Further testing via IGeneX, a specialty lab, gave confirmation.

The infection has spread many places due to my late diagnosis, but has attacked my nervous system in particular (neuroborreliosis) because Borrelia species really, really love the brain. The disease affects me–and many others in this situation–in ways similar to multiple sclerosis.

Late stage neuropsychiatric Lyme disease can best be conceptualized as a disseminated and progressive, (predominately sub-cortical), encephalopathy. Animal studies and autopsies have contributed to our understanding of the disease process. (25,26,27,28). As symptoms progress, additional symptoms occur and increase in severity.

These symptoms may be categorized in the following manner:

  1. Brain Stem
    • Cranial Nerve symptoms
    • Autonomic symptoms. Dysautonomia may be the result of involvement of brain stem, involvement of other parts of the autonomic nervous system, or end organ pathology – i.e.: migraine, temperature dysregulation, sexual dysfunction, bright light sensitivity, mitral valve prolapse, irregular pulse, neutrally mediated hypotension, asthma, non-ulcerative dyspepsia, irritable bowel, and irritable bladder
    • Hormonal symptoms: From the result of either hypothalamus or end organ involvement, i.e., thyroid disease, HPA axis dysregulation, decline of sex hormone functioning, hypoglycemia
    • Long track disconnection syndromes (very late in the progression of the disease)
    • Cerebellar symptoms
  2. Limbic system, greater limbic system, extended amygdala
    • Altered attention, emotional, and behavioral modulation
    • Pathological psychiatric syndromes
  3. Cortical (May be from either cortical or sub-cortical nuclei involvement)
    • Signature syndromes
    • Processing difficulties
  4. Peripheral Neuropathy”
The Neuropsychiatric Assessment of Lyme Disease, Robert Bransfield, M.D.

It is highly unlikely I will ever get rid of this disease, but today, I’ve begun the battle to keep whatever health I can.

My insurance is still trying to cover Tindamax, so until then (hopefully next next) I am on Flagyl. I took my first dose today, and I’m doing okay! The neuropathy I’ve experienced just being off my bartonella meds for one week (which were the only thing keeping the Lyme disease subdued enough so that it wouldn’t take over) is amazing. This disease truly is frightening, and I’m so glad to finally be on something to stop its progression!

[Update: January 1, 2013 – Edited some of the above because, well, things didn’t go as planned…]

a rainbow at night

How I Forgave the Doctors That Called Me “Crazy”

jagged leaf shaped like a heart rests upon wooden boards on the ground
© a rainbow at night

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. One 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% of people who have either Late Stage Lyme Disease or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis–or, if you’re like me, both–did not 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 similar illnesses.) No, it probably went something more like:

  1. Go to the doctor expecting a quick fix for unusually-persistent symptoms
  2. End up getting passed around to every specialist known to medicine because primary care 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 actually have, yet, which makes you immeasurably worse
  5. Get called crazy a few more times, and thus end up being evaluated by numerous psychiatrists who don’t find anything wrong with your mental state, or who
  6. 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 seem 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 ~just 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 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 another 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 “chronic fatigue syndrome” was–that it was actually 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 chronic Lyme disease (or bartonella or mycoplasma) exists where I live–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 the right approach to treatment, 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. But when it comes down to it, there is a whole cluster of reasons 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 might not have to wait so long and suffer so much before getting accurately diagnosed and treated.

We also 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 have to be honest and not afraid to be our own advocates. My LLMD says: The passive patient never gets better.

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 faking ill, 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 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 of 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 although 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

So, is everyone surviving the holidays?

I’m making it a goal to NOT be hospitalized or require any emergency services this December, as the past two years haven’t been very kind to me. First a ridiculous bartonella flare, then almost going into probiotic-induced septic shock… Always within the week closest to my family celebrating Christmas! Well! I’d like to be able to fully enjoy my holiday season, and not have to spend it recovering from an exacerbation! I think I could probably handle a minor infection now, if it passed my way, but it still wouldn’t be without consequence and it’s something I want to avoid if at all possible. Family members have colds and sinus infections, but I have face masks! I joke about drawing hearts on them to make them more stylish. (ETA: Or I could just buy some of these.)

So that Lyme flare got pretty bad. My muscles twitched constantly, and I soon started getting the internal tremor–the sensation that your entire body is vibrating, and that’s a Lyme symptom I haven’t had in a long while. I experienced severe muscle weakness in my legs for several days in a row and was wheelchair bound most of the time, even though using it was almost impossible. (I may or may not have mentioned, but I use a transport wheelchair instead of a normal self-propelled wheelchair. It doesn’t have wheels on the sides, so I self-propel with my legs, which are stronger than my arms because I don’t use them as much… That probably makes little sense, but when you have M.E., the muscles you don’t use very often are actually the strongest ones, and the ones you use the most become the weakest.) I remember starting to become concerned about it, but as the flare lifted, so did all the neurological quirks. A few days ago I went to the store without any assistance from mobility scooter or even a cane–a stark contrast to the previous week! My cognitive abilities have been poorer than usual, but these things go in cycles (every three weeks, remember?) so I may just be in a poor-brain stage. Since the flare though, I’ve had an increasing amount of headaches… I’m not sure if this is a three-weeks-of-headaches thing happening, or if it’s because of me not treating the Lyme, or what, but if it doesn’t lift after I begin specific Lyme treatment, I shall need to see a neurologist. Or perhaps I’ll just ask my LLMD next week when I speak to him, and see if he thinks I should go now…

It’ll be hard to decipher what is what, since I KNOW my headaches are going to explode once I start Tindamax next month. I told my primary doctor today about everything, and she’s excited about me starting it because of the recent in-vitro research that showed Tindamax kills up to 90% of both round (cyst) and normal (spirochete) forms of the Lyme bacteria. She also armed me with a new bottle of Lortab, so I’ll be ready for the insufferable headaches.

I have to write about a small bit of worry I have, though… On the 5th of December I got a severe headache, and that day I awoke with a bump on my finger. This is usually something I’ve associated with my bartonella flares, in the past… Then on the 10th, I got another bad headache, but I’m not sure if there’s any determinable pattern because that’s also the day I started M.E.-flaring from the trip to the store two days prior. :\ Could these finger bumps be Lyme, instead? And I HAVE been a tad more irritable, but again, nothing that screams bartonella at me… I’m just very wary of anything forming a pattern that would suggest it may not be disappearing after all. I sincerely hope it’s just other factors. I’ll know as time passes whether or not things are being reliable enough to consider a threat.

Well, that’s all for my update right now, though I’m sure there’s more to be said. Take care, my dears.

Keep going. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you screw up and think to yourself ‘there’s no point to carry on,’ no matter how many people tell you that you can’t do it–keep going. Don’t quit. Don’t quit, because a month from now you’ll be that much closer to your goal than you are now. Yesterday you said tomorrow. Make today count.”

a rainbow at night

And now, costochondritis.

I’m still coughing, but it’s been worse the past day or two. I’m in Lyme flare mode, and I usually cough more during it, so there’s that. (Also some increased arrhythmia and leg weakness–again, typical. Probably doesn’t help that I have to recover from those two doctor visits, but oh well!) However my chest hurts down the center when I cough, now. I was thinking it was probably just sore from me coughing for weeks, but since it hurts when I press on it, I think I’ve gotten another bout of costochondritis. I haven’t had this in years. But hey, it’s just another joint, right? Makes sense I guess…

The joint pain I mentioned last post continued to travel over the next few days. It stayed in my shoulders and feet for another day, then went to my hands and my hips. It then moved to my fingers and returned to my knees. It remains in my right shoulder and my knees still ache, while the other locations come and go. Luckily I haven’t had any other “wake up in severe pain” episodes!

That’s all the update I have for now. :)

a rainbow at night