I’ve been dealing with Lymes disease again unfortunately. Almost exactly two years after my first experience with it. That time around I had no idea it was Lyme that was wreaking havoc on my body so the process of getting it diagnosed and getting medication was much more drawn out and painful.
Once you go through Lyme though, you start to know the signs when they creep up — at least that’s how it’s been for me. So I’m at a point where I understand, if I’m feeling a certain way, symptomatically, I need to go get a test and get on it.
I did a better job of getting on it this time than I did two years ago but this time was a little lack luster too, if I’m being totally honest.
I started to feel funky about a month ago and my intuition was like: could this be Lyme again?
And then my old friend Denial swooped in and shut that whole line of inquiry down.
Even though I had some distinctly Lyme-y symptoms — very subtle versions but still — distinct. And even though I’d had multiple tick bites since May — with no bullseyes or rashes but still! This is the dark side of life with dogs, especially when you let them sleep with you and you walk them along their favorite deep woods trails every day and you live in one of the ticky-est parts of the world apparently.
So Denial kicks in and says: ya but you’re ok — you have a good appetite and you’re getting up on time in the mornings and you’re showing up for all the stuff you need to show up for without dragging — you’re ok.
But my intuition is like: ya but I feel off…
And then Denial starts bargaining with my intuition — ok, how about this — we’ll keep an eye on things and if you start to feel crappier in a few weeks, we’ll get a blood test?
But why?! Why wait to feel crappier?!!! Why isn’t the heads up from my intuition that something is off ENOUGH of a reason to say: ok we’re gonna pop over to urgent care and get a blood test?
This kind of madness is exactly how I grew up. It’s a joke I have with pretty much every other Gen X’er in my life who grew up in the 80’s being told: unless you’re profusely bleeding or projectile vomiting, you’re going to school. You had to produce big…