When I was diagnosed with Lyme disease in August, I felt like a trap door was opening beneath me. I was falling into a pit—until the PA’s cheerful voice brought me back to reality.
“You’re going to be fine,” she chirped.
Whew.
My journey to Express Care had started a week and a half earlier. I’d gone out on the deck to close the table umbrella because it was supposed to rain. When I came back in, I felt something on my leg. A bug? I couldn’t see anything, but brushed off the area.
Soon, however, the site, just above my right knee, began to swell up. I went to check the floor mat near the door to the deck to see if I had inadvertently killed a bee or a wasp. There was nothing there. Nothing buzzing around the house, either.
I iced the area and applied hydrocortisone—the bite hurt and it was itchy. I was slightly concerned, as I have a history of anaphylactic reactions, Then again, I’d once been bitten by a spider and survived.
The redness and swelling soon subsided to the size of a large mosquito bite. It didn’t go away, though, and I eyed it suspiciously each morning.
Then one night I kept waking up, feeling like my leg was intensely itchy. I told myself I was imagining things. Finally, at 3:30 a.m., I took a look.
Yowza. The bite site had swollen to two inches in diameter. It looked like a giant hive. On went the hydrocortisone, and I resolved to seek help as soon as possible.
By the time I got to the clinic, the bite had calmed down. But it was still red—and in a clearly circular formation. The PA only had to take one look at it to recognize the Lyme disease’s classic “bullseye” rash.
“I never saw a tick,” I said.
“Most people who get Lyme disease don’t,” she said.
Huh. I’d like to think I know ticks I have a long history with the beasties. As kids, my sister and I would sit on the patio of our parents’ house in southeastern Massachusetts and pull them off our dog, Skippy. We’d smash them with rocks. Good times. I’ve owned dogs all my life and have been a fearless remover of ticks from them.
And humans too, when necessary. I don’t remember ever finding ticks on myself during childhood, but nowadays they’re rampant. Just a couple of weeks before I was bitten, my husband, Paul, sat down in his recliner and leaned back. “Tick!” I exclaimed when he stretched his bare leg. It was stuck. I got out the tweezers.
But I understand some ticks are the size of poppy seeds. I had to admit that, without my glasses, one of those could have easily escaped my notice.
So, lesson learned. I am normally vigilant about checking for ticks after walking in the woods or high grass, but obviously danger was lurking in my backyard. Of course, I was relieved to hear that, with a course of antibiotics, I wouldn’t have any lasting effects from the disease because it was caught early. Diagnosis and treatment have improved since Lyme disease was first recognized in 1975. Many of those who got it then suffered serious, long-lasting effects.
But even as recently as last year, a friend ended up in the hospital with Lyme. He’s fine now, but it was a scary situation for him.
The clinic PA put me on antibiotics for 10 days. No big deal, except I couldn’t eat anything with calcium for two hours before or after each dose. Also, I had to be careful in the sun and be sure to wear protective lotion.
The latter was not a problem—I thought—because I normally take precautions. I burn easily. I was more concerned about taking antibiotics in general, as I have some digestive system issues and they are known to make things worse.
My first problem, though, was timing the pills to avoid dairy. I got up at 5 a.m. so I could eat my cereal and have a cup of coffee before 6. Then I could take one pill at 8 a.m. and one at 8 p.m. Unfortunately, delaying a second cup of coffee until 10 a.m. made me grumpy. I tried oat milk creamer, but the taste made me even grumpier.
I had barely—and grumpily—settled into this routine when I went to see my primary care provider. She affirmed that I shouldn’t suffer any long-term consequences. But she wanted me on the antibiotics for three weeks.
Oh, joy. Another week and a half of trying to avoid the sun in August. I was managing to avoid any digestive issues, but I was plagued by a red nose. I wore lotion (SPF 50!) and a floppy hat when outside, but I still looked like Rudolph.
I so wanted a beach day, but I didn’t dare.
Despite my angst, I knew I had a lot to be grateful for. In one second, a creature the size of a poppy seed could have changed my life. But here I am, drinking coffee with cream, with a normal-looking nose. Life is good.
No comments:
Post a Comment