the Lyme life
Bulls-eye rash, fever, flu-like symptoms, joint pain and muscle aches. Headaches, chills, fatigue and neurological problems like partial paralysis of the face and heart problems.
When my wife read off the symptoms of Lyme disease, I knew I probably had it. The rash was full-fledged, I had a fever for the second day in a row and my head pounded the way Liston’s must have after Ali knocked him out. I decided, with much urging from my love, that I should see a doctor.
“I think I have Lyme disease,” I told the nurse at a local urgent care unit. Apparently when I’m feeling down I don’t use niceties.
I had every reason to think it was true, too. Pennsylvania leads the nation in Lyme Disease cases with 11,443 cases reported in 2016, a 21 percent increase from 2015 numbers. And Western Pennsylvania seems to be the incubator. Butler County logged the most cases last year with 641 and Westmoreland County (where we now live) had 577. Allegheny County finished eighth in the state with 403.
“OK …” she said, curious eyes. She began taking my vitals while racing through the Lyme-related questions. After about a minute, she led me to another room, where I was greeted by another doc. I repeated my hypothesis.
“Can I see it?” She wanted to see my rash. I protracted my shorts to reveal a largish, red circle on my right thigh.
“Yep, that’s a classic case, man.” Nonchalance. (Also, when did females get so fond of using that word? I’m not suggesting women shouldn’t use it — just honestly wondering.)
I’m sure she detected my furled eyebrows. She proceeded to tell me she’s seen many cases like this and that I’m actually sort of lucky because some people don’t get a rash like that and those cases often go undetected. And if Lyme goes undetected, well, you know. (Read the last 11 words of the second sentence of this post. And in case you’re too stubborn to scroll and count … click here.)
“We’ll do a blood test and get you on a 21-day antibiotic treatment.” Scribbling notes on a prescription pad. She looks up at me again. “Don’t worry man, you caught it early. You most likely won’t have any of those scary long-term affects.”
It’s almost been three weeks since being on the meds. The rash is almost gone and I don’t have fevers. The headaches have died down. But, man, any prolonged physical activity is exhausting.
The other day I went for a run. Gassed. Big time. (There weren’t even any hills. I ran on a rails-to-trails type of thing.) Most recently I went for a ride on my mountain bike. Gassed. And I’ve been tired after runs and rides, but this time it lingered. It was like a bad drug weakening every muscle and joint in my body as it clawed its way through.
As a young, active person I’ve never had to think twice about how my body will react to the pressures I put it through. I recover quickly.
But the other day, as I struggled to pedal my way up hills in the woods, I had a thought. One I’ve never had before and one that probably will recur as time trudges along. Ready? Here it is.
Lyme disease can’t be worse than pregnancy. Yep.
Think about it. Some women throw up. (Flu-like symptoms.) Some women have constant indigestion and discomfort. (Kind of like being feverish and muscle aches.) Some women’s joints hurt because they are literally shifting to allow for this living human to shoot out of you. (Joint pain.) And the longterm affects?
Well. I guess early treatment with a lifelong dose of love for the newborn solves that. And the love we feel for our little Ruby is incredible. Irreplaceable. Unending. Immense. Immeasurable. (Not sure why I’m liking I-words right now.)
And by the way, in case you’ve never met her, our Ruby Jane is healthy, wide-eyed and wonderful. We can’t wait to introduce you to her.
Oh and by the way, the test results for Lyme came back negative.
So did I even have Lyme?
Probably. I got lost while mountain biking through unfamiliar woods the last week of August. I hike-a-biked it through chest-high weeds for a good hour before finding my way to a marked trail. (And then biked for another half-hour before getting back to my car. In all, I was outside among the pesky deer ticks for about 2.5 hours — more than enough time for the little devil to latch on to my sweaty skin and ensure a good burrow from hiding in my bike shorts’ waistline.)
