I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm here again.
I can't believe that after 13 months of being symptom free, I am once again limited by these physical bounds of Lyme's disease.
After being symptomatic for over two weeks, I've tried a dozen different things and made up a hundred different excuses for why I hurt, for why I don't feel rested, for why everything makes me nauseous. Oh I'm stressed, I worked out too hard, I have been up late studying too many nights in a row, it's the change in the whether, it's because I haven't been around horses enough, etc etc. But let's face it, what 21 year old wakes up after 3 days of rest with stiff, sore elbows and hands, and a headache? What healthy young woman has arthritic pain, nausea, depression, and fatigue for two solid weeks?
At the doctor's office on Wednesday, I was given another pep talk on living a positive, healthy lifestyle instead of dwelling on my aches and pains, and how that will make me feel better. Be in the sun, be grateful, be positive, be optimistic, be willing to say "this isn't necessarily a disease, this might just be natural."
Poppycock.
I take vitamins, get outdoors, ride, exercise at least 3x a week, I am one of the most positive and uplifting people I know, and I am an expert and making excuses and justifications for my pain. Yet I still see that what I am suffering is beyond the scope of "natural" or "to be expected" for an overworked college student. Something is very wrong.
Then, my doctor was so bold as to say that *if* what I have is Lyme's, it is "curable" with antibiotics and I shouldn't have had another flair up this far after-the-fact. If this round doesn't "cure" me, then we're back to square one looking for another diagnosis, because this would rule out it being Lyme's.
Um, excuse me? I thought that Lyme's could live in someone's system for the rest of their life? I thought this was to be expected. Now you're trying to tell me that I have arthritis that causes mood swings, fatigue, and nausea? I don't think so. Do you have any idea, Mr. Dr., how discouraging and painful it is for me to be told that I've been fighting the wrong battle for two years? If it's not Lyme's, why did my symptoms respond the first two times you put me on antibiotics? I know it's not psychosomatic, I know I'm not crazy, I know it's not a positive intent and getting enough sunshine type of problem, that's why I'm coming to you looking for help.
Needless to day, I am discourage, disheartened, and desperately trying to keep it together.
As always, I am ever-grateful for those around me who continue to encourage me as I fight for my health, and now, my sanity.
Love,
~Melissa
Monday, March 11, 2013
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Fight, The Fear, and the Faith to Finish
Dear readers,
It's been far too long since I've written you last. Rest assured, this lack of news is good news indeed. It's taken a good while of careful observation, but I think that *knock on wood* this new round of antibiotics has worked. The Dr. said that if my symptoms come back, he wants to screen me for Lyme's and pretty much everything else before putting me on more meds. YIPPY!!! Lo an behold, this leaves me no more to write about here for the time being. Done-and-done. ... This is a strange and sad parting.
I flee, joyfully distancing myself from this wretched ailment every time I wiggle my fingers pain-free. However, there is a burdened hesitation every time I go to do something that has in the past been painful, like turn the key in a stiff lock. This residual fear has been of paramount importance to me since this November when my symptoms came back. I was afraid of doing things that could hurt. I was afraid of getting into a situation where I had to either bow out with the vague excuse of "I'm tired" or push through on my depleted reserves of strength. I was afraid of having to stand for long periods of time, of walking too far, of pushing my unpredictable body too hard. That list of fears has now turned into a checklist of milestones, meant to be reached....then surpassed. Sometimes, I do things just to see if I can. I sprint from place to place just to see if my knees hold up and if my heart palpitates. That wholesome, normal feeling is perhaps sub-par to the pre-Lyme's me, but it's incomparably stronger and better than the in-Lyme's me.
This fight has not come easy. Illness of any shape, size, or figure is difficult; dealing with illusive, painful, hard-to-diagnose ailments is enough to make you tear your hair out and face-pant on the floor in defeat. Casualties of this trip down Deer-tick Lane have included (but are not limited to) 1. my ability to get a summer or winter-break job, 2. golden windows for pursuing friendships and opportunities, and 3. eight months of my life. They have been laid to rest. I leave these figures of the past to reside there - left like the changing of a season - so that I may move on as a restoration of the Original Me.
I would never have made it without the incredible number of blessings poured into my life. Time and time again, I find myself in tears from neither pain nor discouragement, but from the realization that I am infinitely loved by the same God who designed me, assembled me, and sustained me throughout this ordeal. God used my family, friends, mentors, doctors, and even strangers to guide me through this valley of shadow. But I no longer fear - for Christ has overcome the world, and with him, I have overcome both disease and self-doubt. Who can stop me now?!
Because of Christ and the enormity of blessings he had gifted to me, I have fought for my life, relinquished the fear of failure, an finished this trial of body, mind, and spirit. On Christ the solid rock I stand - all other ground is sinking sand. This new-found freedom breathes oxygen into the dusty corners of my soul. It has been a bumpy ride - thank you for hanging on through it with me. I know I've complained quite a bit and that there is not a lot of joyful entertainment here, but I couldn't even begin to tell you how valuable this has been for me. With this I give my last farewell.
All my love,
~Melissa
P.S. - if you'd like to hear more stories and the like about life (not so much related to Lyme's as other things), stay tuned and look for a new link or blog name reference. :)
It's been far too long since I've written you last. Rest assured, this lack of news is good news indeed. It's taken a good while of careful observation, but I think that *knock on wood* this new round of antibiotics has worked. The Dr. said that if my symptoms come back, he wants to screen me for Lyme's and pretty much everything else before putting me on more meds. YIPPY!!! Lo an behold, this leaves me no more to write about here for the time being. Done-and-done. ... This is a strange and sad parting.
I flee, joyfully distancing myself from this wretched ailment every time I wiggle my fingers pain-free. However, there is a burdened hesitation every time I go to do something that has in the past been painful, like turn the key in a stiff lock. This residual fear has been of paramount importance to me since this November when my symptoms came back. I was afraid of doing things that could hurt. I was afraid of getting into a situation where I had to either bow out with the vague excuse of "I'm tired" or push through on my depleted reserves of strength. I was afraid of having to stand for long periods of time, of walking too far, of pushing my unpredictable body too hard. That list of fears has now turned into a checklist of milestones, meant to be reached....then surpassed. Sometimes, I do things just to see if I can. I sprint from place to place just to see if my knees hold up and if my heart palpitates. That wholesome, normal feeling is perhaps sub-par to the pre-Lyme's me, but it's incomparably stronger and better than the in-Lyme's me.
This fight has not come easy. Illness of any shape, size, or figure is difficult; dealing with illusive, painful, hard-to-diagnose ailments is enough to make you tear your hair out and face-pant on the floor in defeat. Casualties of this trip down Deer-tick Lane have included (but are not limited to) 1. my ability to get a summer or winter-break job, 2. golden windows for pursuing friendships and opportunities, and 3. eight months of my life. They have been laid to rest. I leave these figures of the past to reside there - left like the changing of a season - so that I may move on as a restoration of the Original Me.
 |
| How I feel now :) [note - not me... thank you Google images!] |
Because of Christ and the enormity of blessings he had gifted to me, I have fought for my life, relinquished the fear of failure, an finished this trial of body, mind, and spirit. On Christ the solid rock I stand - all other ground is sinking sand. This new-found freedom breathes oxygen into the dusty corners of my soul. It has been a bumpy ride - thank you for hanging on through it with me. I know I've complained quite a bit and that there is not a lot of joyful entertainment here, but I couldn't even begin to tell you how valuable this has been for me. With this I give my last farewell.
All my love,
~Melissa
P.S. - if you'd like to hear more stories and the like about life (not so much related to Lyme's as other things), stay tuned and look for a new link or blog name reference. :)
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Catching up with old, fuzzy Friends
Good evening everyone!
Today was a good day. There was intermittent pain, but it was one of the best days I've had for a while. I was asked to run the morning routine at a non-profit barn where I have been a volunteer for six years. This meant getting up hours earlier than normal (well, at least for Christmas break it was hours early!!), bundling up against the sunless cold, and working my butt of for over 2 hours without compensation. ...and I wouldn't trade it for the world. The horses who live there are old, semi-retired schoolmasters, and the most understanding souls I've ever come across. After spending most of this past summer with them, they think that I myself am a strange biped equine!
Horses remember everything. When it comes to people, they never forget the hands that helped them into the world, that buckled on that first halter, that feed them every day, that heal their wounds, that clean their coats, that rub their heads, that sneak them treats, and that pat them affirmingly after a hard day's work. Each of the nine horses I took care of this morning treated me as if I'd never left for school three months ago. Like continuing a paused conversation, we fell in stride together and picked up where we had left off. I make a point of always talking to horses like they speak English. From how the respond to me, you'd thing they'd heard every word I'd said.
Needless to say, these horses have touched me very deeply. When my symptoms first appeared this past summer, the horses could tell. They would see me weary and tired, look me in the eye, then slow down to match my pace. When my hands hurt from the arthritis, I'd stretch them around a horses curved barrel and let the soft heat saturate my being. When I was distraught about my broken state, the horses would let me clutch a handful of mane and bury my face in their necks. One very special horse would turn around to check on me as I wet his coat with my tears. I could gawk for another 200 pages about that "special bond" between humans and horses, but I think I've made my point.
One of these horses, "Dancer," was very lame all summer. He had a serious history or laminitis and had foundered before, but this round was worse than the others. He could barely walk at times from the pain in his feet, so he was put on stall rest with thick bedding to cushion his tender hooves. I was constantly going to the barn to check on Dancer, clean his stall, change out his water, medicate him, and keeping him comfortable as he healed. He was my healing partner: taking excellent care of him in his weakness reminded me to take care of myself in my weakness. Truth be told, we were actually taking care of each other. I received a letter from the stables last week, informing me that Dancer had suffered another round of laminitis and had to be put down. It was the wise and merciful thing to do, but the barn wasn't quite the same this morning when his fuzzy brown head topped with an ebony mane didn't appear over his stall door.
Today was a good day. There was intermittent pain, but it was one of the best days I've had for a while. I was asked to run the morning routine at a non-profit barn where I have been a volunteer for six years. This meant getting up hours earlier than normal (well, at least for Christmas break it was hours early!!), bundling up against the sunless cold, and working my butt of for over 2 hours without compensation. ...and I wouldn't trade it for the world. The horses who live there are old, semi-retired schoolmasters, and the most understanding souls I've ever come across. After spending most of this past summer with them, they think that I myself am a strange biped equine!
Horses remember everything. When it comes to people, they never forget the hands that helped them into the world, that buckled on that first halter, that feed them every day, that heal their wounds, that clean their coats, that rub their heads, that sneak them treats, and that pat them affirmingly after a hard day's work. Each of the nine horses I took care of this morning treated me as if I'd never left for school three months ago. Like continuing a paused conversation, we fell in stride together and picked up where we had left off. I make a point of always talking to horses like they speak English. From how the respond to me, you'd thing they'd heard every word I'd said.
Needless to say, these horses have touched me very deeply. When my symptoms first appeared this past summer, the horses could tell. They would see me weary and tired, look me in the eye, then slow down to match my pace. When my hands hurt from the arthritis, I'd stretch them around a horses curved barrel and let the soft heat saturate my being. When I was distraught about my broken state, the horses would let me clutch a handful of mane and bury my face in their necks. One very special horse would turn around to check on me as I wet his coat with my tears. I could gawk for another 200 pages about that "special bond" between humans and horses, but I think I've made my point.
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| Two friends saying "Hello" |
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