It Sucks In Here: Understanding Lyme-Related Mental Illness

Lyme-related depression and anxiety can seem like elusive concepts to people that have never experienced them. I mean, it must be weird to watch a healthy-looking woman not function properly, especially when it seems like she has a choice in the matter.

“Why won’t she just get out of bed and do something? She’s been under the sheets all day.”

“There she goes again … freaking out. She says she can’t breathe, but I’m watching her do it right now.”

“When will she stop worrying about every little thing? She has a great life. She needs to appreciate it more.”

I don’t blame healthy people for not getting me. Sure, it can be frustrating when my illness is not understood, but I can’t negatively judge others for NOT feeling what I feel. That was a confusing sentence. But you get it, right? I can’t blame healthy people for not stepping inside my body and strapping on my nervous system. In fact, I wouldn’t want them to. It sucks in here. A lot.

In an effort to help others understand the wild world of Lyme-related mental illness, I’ve decided to blogcast my story. So, here goes …

The panic came first. Like torrential rain. The sky opened up one day and BOOM. If you’ve ever been in the midst of a scary situation, if you’ve ever been mugged or been dangerously close to falling off a really high cliff, that’s the feeling that flooded my body … except it happened when I was listening to a story in my sixth grade classroom. Nothing situational sparked the fight or flight response. It just appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t catch my breath, my pulse was racing and I felt like I was spiraling towards a horrific death. When this kind of thing happens you wonder about your sanity. Like if you started hearing voices with no people in front of you, you might ask yourself: Am I okay? Which I did. And the answer was ‘No.’

The torrential rain worsened. I accepted my mental move to storm city with grace, but it was hard. Bouts of disassociation soon followed the panic. I would walk into my own home, visually recognize it, but be unable to feel a connection to it. All of the memories to the space where my family and I resided were in my head, but the feelings weren’t accessible. The comfort I usually got from sprawling out on the couch had suddenly disappeared. It was no longer my couch.

And, unfortunately, the disassociation spread. It spread into my body. I began to look at myself in the mirror and see “just a person.” Not Sarah. It wasn’t me. Like some protagonist in an avant-garde horror film, I wasn’t in my body. In fact, I didn’t know where I was. I just knew I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

The anxiety and depression crept in during the midst of all this. My chest cavity began to grow a ten pound bowling ball that still sits there today. Carrying around that weight at twelve years old was a difficult adjustment, and sent me to bed frequently. After full days with that “giant, new friend,” I slept. And slept. Sometimes I didn’t want to wake up because it was too hard to do stuff with the bowling ball attached. I frequently prayed to get my life-before-the-ball back. I would try to remember feeling light and free, enjoying myself at social gatherings and after school activities … not struggling through them. I began to worry constantly about stuff I’d never thought about before. I developed phobias about being poisoned, dying of rare diseases, falling off of bridges and burning in airplane crashes. These phobias invaded my dreams that always ended with me awakening in a pool of my own sweat.

I didn’t want anyone to know about my invisible bowling ball, weirdo worrying or torrential panic, so I exerted more and more energy to appear normal. In fact, I tried extra hard to be flirty, goofy and aloof. For a year or so I played the role of “a ditzy girl” in an effort to disguise my pain.

Collage made in high school
Collage I made in 1997

High school played out in a similar way. When my parents discovered what was going on, therapists were introduced, medications were prescribed and I was watched more diligently. I developed a nasty habit of cutting myself in an effort to “feel again.” I wanted to get back into my body so badly. I wanted a ticket home. I hated feeling so disconnected. I wanted to bleed out my pain, or at least mask it with a different, tangible kind. The cutting led to a suicide watch that I tried to explain was completely unnecessary. But, who’s going to listen to someone with an invisible bowling ball growing out of her chest?

My body was so profoundly noisy, I didn’t notice what could have been an incredibly telling symptom of Lyme for a long time. Once I recognized it, I didn’t share it with anyone because I figured it was the true sign of a crazy person. The ants invaded slowly. They crawled up and down my nerves at all hours of the day. They crawled into my head, my heart, my stomach, my arms and legs. I had no idea that what I was feeling was actually nerve irritation from the spirochetes (bacteria that causes Lyme). Instead, I figured I was headed for Nurse Ratched’s ward in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. And nobody wants to be HER patient. I didn’t share this symptom with anyone, in fact, until I received my diagnosis at 32 years old. For me, this was the scariest of all symptoms. In the back of my mind I figured admitting to ants crawling all over my body would be what finally got me committed to a psych ward. People feel that kind of stuff when they are schizophrenic or on a bad trip. So I dealt with it.

And I dealt with it. And I dealt with it. I’m lucky that I finally found a medication that muted some of my symptoms in college. But it was definitely a half-mute, like what you do when your girlfriend asks you to turn down the football game. It still helped me to function though: the meds in combination with a kick-ass sense of self-awareness that I cultivated over years of therapy and journaling.

Smiling through pain at 15 years old
Smiling through the pain at 15 years old

My self-awareness is what helped me navigate through a variety of incorrect diagnoses that got smacked onto my medical record like big ugly stickers at the dentist’s office. Let’s review them, shall we? There was major depressive disordergeneralized anxiety disorder, panic disorderborderline personality disorderbipolar II disorderspecific phobiapremenstrual dysphoric disorder, and the ever popular seasonal affective disorder. As you can probably imagine, I’m not big on mental diagnoses anymore. In fact, I try to stay as far away as possible. When doctors give you these kind of diagnoses, be careful because you get a big, fat scarlet “A” scratched across your forehead. It’s a packaged deal. You’ll never go into an office again with “just an ear ache.” You will be the “mentally unstable girl with an ear ache” … so you will be questioned about whether or not what you really feel is ear pain. And you can pretty much apply this situation to any complaint you may have in the future.

So you can imagine how my illness played out. Years of “well it seems like you are under a lot of stress, Ms. Herbert. Have you seen a psychiatrist recently? I have the name of one you’d really like.” Years of symptoms that kept accumulating like dirty cockroaches that I’d sweep under my bed. Years of doctors treating me like “a young woman with a pretty rough past.” Years of crying in exam rooms with no answers. Years of hitting a big. fat. wall. All this, while I was acting as a fantastic breeding ground for Borrelia Burgdorferi that would one day show up clear as fucking day on a blood culture.

My body is now a battle ground. I shove antibiotics, herbs, supplements, homeopathics and other prescription drugs into my mouth on a daily basis. Some of them kill the bacteria, which release toxins and make my mental health much worse. These drugs increase the crawling sensation, the panic, the anxiety and depression. They also turn on a massive fog generator that coats my brain in a thick mist. The mist makes me forget basic words like “spoon” and “umbrella.” It takes away my short-term memory and impairs my long-term memory as well. When the generator is on I can’t read, or follow plot lines on television very well. It obstructs basic knowledge I can usually access like “Where am I going?” or “What am I doing right now?”

It’s like I’m driving a car across the Golden Gate Bridge on the foggiest day of the year. I’m squinting. I’m looking for cues that I’m moving in the right direction and not hitting the vehicle in front of me. I can’t see, but I need to keep trying in order to stay safe. 

Sometimes all I want to do is hide under the covers with my bowling ball, my fog generator and my ants. I don’t want to get up and worry about random shit that only happens in nightmares. Sometimes I need to complain about the battle going on inside of me. My internal warrior is incredibly proactive, so advice like “try to appreciate the good things in your life,” or “get up and try to do more stuff” doesn’t feel appropriate or helpful. I’ll never forget when I’d finally mustered up the courage to tell one of my friends in high school about my struggles. She responded with “you’re too pretty to feel that way.” She didn’t know any better … I know. But those words stung. And most Lyme patients have been and will continue to be stung throughout their battles, which is why they might get extra sensitive and angry sometimes.

No more hiding : )
No more hiding : )

The most helpful thing you can possibly do is listen. Listen like you mean it, without looking at a clock or chiming in with a story about your friend’s friend that has lupus or cancer. You won’t be able to feel what we feel, but we will love and appreciate every second you spend with your hand on ours focused on what we are saying. And we want to be there for you too. Even on days when we can’t. We want to get out of bed. We want to breathe like normal people. We want to appreciate all of the beautiful things in our lives. It’s just hard sometimes. Because it sucks in here.

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My Personal Treatment Plan

I believe in holistic healing of our BODY, MIND and SPIRIT. A delicate balance exists between these three aspects of “self.” When one is compromised the other two follow suit. That’s why it is of utmost importance that we address our overall wellness. Swallowing some antibiotics may give us some relief in the short-term, but will not offer total and complete healing. Lyme forces us to our knees, but it also offers us the opportunity to grow and re-examine the way we were living before illness struck.

I, for one, was moving at about 90 miles an hour through life. I would push myself in my job, in my studies and in my personal life. I thought that taking time for myself meant zoning out in front of the television while eating unhealthy treats to numb the stress. Self-esteem played a part too. I would push myself with voices of self-doubt and self-deprication in order to achieve my goals. If I wasn’t perfect, my world turned a horrific shade of grey (not the good “50 Shades” kind ; )).This drained my energy, making me more vulnerable to negative energy. I lacked a strong connection to spirit because of the earthly drama that hit me consistently like storm surges wearing away my core.

Looking back on my life, I’m not surprised I’ve struggled with illness. I continually invited it into my existence. Once it was there, I let it have power over me by fearing it, by identifying with it and by feeling defeated.

I created this healing plan to break that cycle. I have laid it out for you below. It’s sectioned into treatments for each aspect of self. Together they address my health in its entirety. I encourage you to construct your own, tailored to your own personal belief system. You will need to find a Lyme Literate Medical Doctor (and perhaps a naturopathic doctor too) in order to construct a treatment plan for your body. I am not a physician, so please do not use these medications if you are not under the care of a doctor.

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Source: Wikipedia
Source: Wikipedia

BODY

  • Acupuncture
    • This was the first therapy that brought me to a better level of functioning without any medication.
  • Antibiotics
    • To address all three forms of Lyme disease
      • Cell Wall Forms: Amoxicillin, IV Rocephin
      • Cystic Forms: Tindamax
      • Intracellular Location: Azithromycin
    • To address co-infection
      • Plaquenil
  • Herbs
    • Antimicrobial Herbs
      • Nutramedix – Samento
      • Beyond Balance – MC-BB-2 (moved up from MC-BB-1)
      • Beyond Balance – MC-PZ
    • Detox Support
      • Beyond Balance – CLA-K DETOX
      • Beyond Balance – IMN-R
      • Beyond Balance – TOX-EASE
    • Nervous System Support
      • Beyond Balance – CYFLACALM II
      • Stephania Root 
    • Reduce inflammation
      • Gaia – Olive Leaf Extract (huge life-saver!!!)
  • Homeopathic Medicine – BioResource Inc.
    • Nervous System Support
      • PSY-stabil (I swear by this stuff … if you are feeling anxious or nervous, this is great!)
    • Detox Support of Kidneys, Bladder and Urological Tract
      • RENELIX
    • Antitussive and expectorant for chest congestion
      • BRONCHI-PERTU
    • Lymphatic Drainage and Swollen Lymph
      • ITIRES
    • Stomach Support
      •  apo-STOM
    •  Kill Yeast
      • Candida Capsules 
    • Support of Excretion Processes
      • MUNDIPUR
  • Supplements
    • To break biofilms
      • Nutramedix – Serra Peptase
      •  Klaire Labs – Interfase Plus (also good for killing yeast)
    • To Aid Immune Functioning
      • Kind Organics – Prenatal Multivitamin 
      • Ester-C – Vitamin C 
      • Prescription – Vitamin D3
      • Researched Nutritionals – ATP FUEL
      • Researched Nutritionals – Transfer Factor Sensitive
      • Nordic Naturals – EPA EXTRA 
      • Klaire Labs – Endozin
      • Researched Nutritionals – Liposomal Glutathione 
    • To reduce inflammation
      • Pure Encapsulations – Curcumin
    • To reduce yeast
      • NutriBiotic – Grapefruit Seed Extract
    • Probiotics
      • Raw Probiotics – 200 Billion per day
  • Detoxification Methods
    • Far Infrared Sauna
      • 30 – 40 minutes a day (start slow)
      • I use a Finnleo sauna
    • Hyperbaric Oxygen Chamber  
      • 20 – 90 sessions total
      • Click FAQ for more information
    • Yoga or any form of exercise (if you can handle this … I know it’s hard)
    • Bemer Mat
      • 8 minutes two times per day
      • Click on their website for more information
    • Prescription medication – Cholestyramine
      • binds biotoxins
      • also great for mold issues
  • Diet 
    • Identify food allergies!!! Then stay far away from that food, even if your allergy is minor!
    • No sugar
      • I started with no fruit – then moved to one sweet fruit per day when I wasn’t flaring – my inflammation was greatly reduced after I did this
      • Lemons and limes are always allowed
      • I use stevia as sweetener – but start slow as it is a cyst buster so it can irritate you
      • No alcohol (I know … booooo!)
    • Reduced gluten and dairy products
      • I started with zero gluten and dairy, then I worked my way up so I knew what I could handle.
    • Juicing
      • I own a Breville
      • I juice kale, spinach, parsley, cilantro, carrots and lemons daily
    • Apple Cider Vinegar
      • Great for detox
      • 1 teaspoon to 1 tablespoon in water (work up slowly to see what you can handle)
      • Can add Stevia for flavor
      • Check out these drinks … they are allowed!
    • Coconut Oil and Milk
      • Good anti-microbials and anti-fungals
      • Cook with them
    • When I cheat and eat crap … because I do (and you will too) … I keep olive leaf extract on hand, which helps to reduce the inflammation when my infection inevitably flares up. Just a little trick.

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Source: society6
Source: society6

MIND

  • Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction 
    • There are courses all over the United States thanks to Jon Kabat-Zinn and his work at U Mass. I enrolled in a course at Duke University.
    • If you don’t have the money to enroll in the 8 week course, click here to take it for free online.
    • It helps to connect with others who also meditate. A great way to do this is through meetup.com.
  • Guided Meditations
  • Yoga
    • Calms my mind
    • I do it at home when I can’t make it to class
  • Interrupt Your Negative Thought Patterns
    • Meditation has helped me a lot with this
    • I try to do it in a nonjudgmental way – with self-acceptance and self-love
  • Sit Outside
    • I use natural settings to calm my mind
    • I take walks, sit in a chair under a tree, take trips to the beach … a little nature goes a long way
  • Positive Visualizations 
    • I try to envision myself in a completely healthy state as often as possible
    • I’ve made a vision board for my health and happiness by cutting up magazines and pictures. It was fun!

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Source: solpurpose
Source: solpurpose

SPIRIT

  • My Personal Mantra –> I AM WORTHY OF HEALING no matter what religion I study or spirituality I practice (or don’t practice, for that matter). I do not invite others to tell me otherwise.
  • Distance Yourself from Negativity  
    • I had to distance myself from friendships that brought negative energy into my life. It was hard, but by doing it I was able to invite more positive energy into my world for healing.
    • Things I remember:
      • I put my spiritual healing first.
      • Everyone is on a different life path, so not everyone will understand my situation.
      • It’s okay to protect myself through distance.
  • Yoga
    • I use this practice for body, mind and spirit.
    • This is a moving form of prayer for me.
    • The intention I set at every session is “to be totally and completely healed in body, mind and soul.”
  • Regular Prayer
    • I seek the guidance of God, my spirit guides and the angels regularly. If it’s not your bag, baby, don’t worry : ) There are many ways to pray.
  • Recommended Authors (for those interested)

Symptoms

My guess is that your symptoms are all over the map. Mine were. Dr. Richard Horowitz calls tick-borne illness a Multiple Systemic Infectious Disease Syndrome (MSIDS) for a reason: many of your bodily systems are affected. If you think you might have Lyme, look into it. Your doctor’s opinion that your aches, pains and discomforts are all in your head or due to “stress” (my personal favorite) are just that … an opinion.

The bull’s eye rash is not a make or break sign. According to ILADS, “Fewer than 50% of patients with Lyme recall any rash.”

Don’t make the mistake I did. Trust your body. Your problem may not be as elusive as you think. If many of these symptoms ring true for you, find a Lyme Literate Medical Doctor (LLMD). If you don’t know how to find one, email me. I will help you. Tick-borne illness is treatable. You can get your life back.

The following is an incredibly comprehensive list of symptoms given to me by a friend with Lyme. Take a look:

http://www.anapsid.org/lyme/symptoms/

I also suggest filling out the Horowitz Lyme – MSIDS Questionnaire. This will give you a sense of how likely you are to have Lyme. Don’t forget to look at the final page to tally up your score.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9hqzwuTdy6kLWdQdHNIaHZTa2c/edit

Q&A on Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy for Lyme Disease: My Personal Experience

What is hyperbaric oxygen therapy?

HBOT is a medical treatment in which a patient breathes one hundred percent oxygen in a pressurized chamber.

That sounds a little bit Star Trekky to me.

It is.

What does the pressurized chamber look like?

The one in the office I visited looks like a mini submarine. Different models exist, however. Some are transparent, human-sized tubes that remind me of what my guinea pig used to play around in as a kid. Some are so large that multiple people can kick back and get their oxygen fix together. Portable models can be found online too.

The chamber in which I receive my therapy has a small yoga-type mat, providing a little squish for my tush. I have enough room to sit up and move around. I’m able to change positions frequently.

So what exactly is a “pressurized chamber”?

A “pressurized chamber” is a place in which atmospheric pressure is increased.

I was not a good physics student. What is atmospheric pressure again?

National Geographic provides a great explanation: “The air around you has weight, and it presses against everything it touches. That pressure is called atmospheric pressure, or air pressure. It is the force exerted on a surface by the air above it as gravity pulls it to Earth.”

All the air above us right now is pressing down on us due to gravity. This pressure contributes to pushing air into our lungs and squeezing oxygen out into our bloodstream. When you climb a mountain, atmospheric pressure drops. Air is less dense the higher you go. In this situation, with a drop in pressure, less air is pushed into our lungs and less oxygen is squeezed into our bloodstream. This can result in that dizzy or nauseous feeling you get in high altitudes because your body is deprived of its normal oxygen level.

Okay, I think I get it. But, I thought you said that you are in a chamber with more pressure, not less.

You are right. Let’s flip this idea around now. What if you were in an area with higher atmospheric pressure than normal? You would get more oxygen, right? In this situation, a greater amount of oxygen would be pushed into your lungs, squeezed into your bloodstream and carried to your tissues.

And you just breathe air in the tank?

It’s not the regular air you breathe outside, comprised of only 21% oxygen. You actually breathe 100% oxygen in the tank. The purity of this oxygen combined with increased atmospheric pressure means you will be getting 10 times the regular amount of oxygen you breathe normally when you are in the chamber.

Do you use a mask in the tank to breathe the oxygen?

Some facilities use masks. My doctor’s office uses a real jazzy-looking hood. This is the model. Take a look: http://i.ytimg.com/vi/tfBDJIDtE9Q/maxresdefault.jpg

How do they get that on you? Is it uncomfortable?

When I went in the first time for a treatment they fit the hood to my head by cutting a hole in the rubber circular base, which feels a lot like a swim cap. They then squeezed the hole over my head. Once it was on, I looked at myself in the mirror (because I do this kind of stuff at the doctor). I decided it was a great look. Made me feel like an intergalactic explorer of sorts. We had to adjust my astronaut cap a few times because the rubber had a tight grip around my neck. It shouldn’t cut off circulation or feel extremely uncomfortable. Once it was fit correctly, it didn’t bother me at all.

The tubes in front are responsible for transporting air in and out of the hood. The oxygen comes into the hood from one plastic tube and the CO2—released upon exhalation—is carried out by the other. When the oxygen starts flowing the hood expands like a giant bubble.

I got it. You do all of this stuff to get a bunch of oxygen in your body. I’m still confused as to why this is used to treat Lyme disease?

This is an off-label use for hyperbaric oxygen therapy, but many Lyme patients have responded very positively to this form of treatment. The spirochete that causes Lyme disease is an anaerobic bacterium. This means that it cannot survive in an environment rich in oxygen. By increasing oxygen levels in your body, you will cause the bacteria to die. Additional benefits include repair of tissues damaged by the disease, and a boost to your immune functioning.

Sounds great. So you stopped your antibiotics right?

No. For me, this is a complimentary therapy. I make sure to continue my antibiotics and other medication as prescribed. Next week I will be receiving IV antibiotics right before I go into the hyperbaric oxygen chamber. This will help my tissues to absorb the medication.

Is the treatment expensive?

Yes. Your insurance may or may not cover it for you. Most facilities charge around 200$ per session out of pocket. In order for the treatment to be effective, you will need to do between 20 – 90 sessions. It really varies based on the patient. I gathered this information from various sources online (and the clinic where I receive my treatments).

That’s a lot of money. Do you think it’s going to be worth it for you?

I made the decision to try it based on the recovery stories I’ve read and listened to over the last year. Many individuals with Lyme attribute their remission to HBOT. I’m sure this isn’t the case for everyone, but I’m hopeful. Due to the fact that I received my diagnosis late in the game, have neurological symptoms and have at least one co-infection … my philosophy is to treat with all guns blazing. I’m comin’ in hot bacteria so watch your back.

Treatment for tick borne infection is expensive any way you slice it. My health, to me, is priceless. I’m going to treat and then worry about everything else later. I know that not everyone else can say that but I’m fortunate enough to have some support and I’ve only been in active treatment a little over six months (finances, I’m sure, look a lot different at six years).

Was the treatment uncomfortable for you?

I was incredibly nervous going into it. I’m a loony bird. I research everything to death, and then past death. I go through possible risks and then I imagine what my plan of attack might be if said risks were to actually occur. If you google HBOT you will read the risks. Your medical center will also make you sign your life away, but here’s the thing … I had a long chat with my doctor about all of the possible issues and what I took away from our conversation was that major issues from HBOT for Lyme are quite rare. She’s never had a patient that experienced any major medical issue as a result of the treatment.

In my clinic, they always check my ears before and after treatment to make sure they are okay with changes in pressure. Some people experience ear discomfort. If you are congested there are medications physicians can provide you in order to prevent ear pain. For me, my ears felt like I was sitting at the bottom of a pool in the deep end. I tried to move my jaw and pop my ears frequently, which helped. But overall, it didn’t really bother me that much. The nurse at my clinic changed the pressure in the chamber at a very slow rate, which allowed me to adjust smoothly.

My main issue was fear itself. In the tank you need to remain calm. I always get a little freaked in confined spaces. One time I had an MRI, and I remember having a panic attack even though I was listening to the Beach Boys (who panics while listening to Surfin’ Safari?). I found that meditative breathing followed by multiple games of Sudoku eased my anxiety tremendously. Once I got through my first session, I was much calmer. There was a small window in the chamber that the nurse looked through in order to communicate with me. We wrote notes back and forth to one another. She was so supportive.

After the treatments were over I had incredible exhaustion. Like can’t-keep-your- eyes-open exhaustion. I also experienced an increase in the feeling of vibration all over my body. I have yet to explain why. I will be going back to do more treatments consistently in the future, so I will update you when I get more data ; )

How long are you in the tank?

I’m in the tank about two hours. The first 30 minutes the tank’s pressure is increased. There’s an incredibly loud noise as gas flies into the chamber. Expect to be startled. I don’t have to wear the oxygen hood during this time. Once we reach the proper atmospheric pressure (usually between 2.5 – 3.0 ATMs depending on your clinic), I slide on my astronaut cap. I then hook both tubes to their outlets. I breathe pure oxygen in the inflated bubble for one full hour. Once I’m finished, I remove the hood and the nurse decreases the pressure over the course of another 30 minutes.

What do you do while you are in there?

I alternate between meditative breathing and Sudoku. Other activities you may want to try: reading a book, drawing or any form of paper-based entertainment. I’m not allowed to bring ipads or electronics in the chamber with me. Some centers do allow this though … depends where you go.

What if zombies attack the office staff while you are in the chamber? Are you stuck in there forever? I’ve heard it can be really dangerous if the pressure isn’t changed slowly … this is totally freaking me out right now.

If the zombiepocalpyse happens while you are in your treatment, do not be concerned. I take that back. Do be concerned, but not about being stuck in a pressurized chamber. There are controls within the chamber that medical professionals will show you how to operate in case of an emergency. You can let the air out yourself at a slow rate. Then you can face the zombies when you are at regular atmospheric pressure.

Bay Area Lyme Foundation

Thank you Bay Area Lyme Foundation for your support along my journey. This independent non-profit works hard to improve testing and treatment for individuals suffering from Lyme disease. If you have time, read about their research efforts.

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Click for full story … 
Screen Shot 2015-04-04 at 10.01.07 PMClick for the full story … 

Progress?

At dinner last night, I said I felt better, and that–(fingers crossed)–I was making prooooogress. The word stuck to my tongue. “Progress, I mean. Progress.”

I felt destined for failure. Jinxed. Cursed. I’m quick to share the experiences that haunt me, that weigh my life down, that suffocate my peaceful existence. I’ve always been this way. I think I do it as a way to relieve negativity. If I release it, like a ladybug, it will fly away home. Somewhere else.

Same goes for positivity, unfortunately. I want it to remain close to my chest, to spread throughout my being and to fill my life with abundant possibilities of joy. I hold it tightly. I play with it, tossing it from one hand to the other, staring at it. I test it, breathe it, tease it. Is it really there? 

But I do feel it. The progress. I started using the far infrared sauna every single day. No mess-ups. The heat on my body for 40 minutes. Perspiring. Reading. Perspiring. Re-hydrating. Perspiring. Until the timer chimed.

The progress looks like a stock chart. There’s an upward trend, but there are bad days that make me question. Should I stick to the treatment? Or should I sell and cut my losses?

I don’t feel normal yet, but I am a hell of a lot better. I’m nervous. Writing this makes me nervous. Jinxed. Cursed.

I’m going to buy a small IR sauna for my townhouse. I’ve made a decision to invest in this upward trend. Let’s see where it goes.

Elephant Journal Publication

From Inversions to Infancy: How Chronic Lyme Disease Redefined my Yoga Practice

I wanted to nail that picture.

I’m sure you’ve seen it floating around your news feed every now and again. Your friend hikes somewhere awe-inspiring, sets up her iPhone and captures herself in a flashy yoga pose with just the right amount of sunbeams. I planned for somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. I would outdo the gals before me by stumbling upon wildlife at sunset.

Then, I would strike a Natarajasana in front of a majestic beast, and astound everyone with my flexibility while in perfect union with nature.

Let’s be honest. What are the chances of this one playing out? This wasn’t my only outlandish yoga fantasy either. I daydreamed about mastering the most difficult of maneuvers that frankly require some quirky genetics. My desire to succeed in yoga fueled an aggressive approach to class. I would try as hard as I possibly could to take flight on my mat. Every Monday, my legs would swivel into eagle pose, and split wide for bird of paradise. I craved the feeling of accomplishment that came with mastering an inversion, my toes pointed proudly above my head.

Little did I know that I was accomplishing these yogic feats with a bacteria that was staging a coup: a coup de corps. The worm-like inhabitant entered my system through a tick bite and spread through my body, waiting for an ideal time to strike.

Click to Continue Reading …

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