Tag: tick-bourne illness

creative nonfiction, Life in Alabama, southern culture

Five: Diagnosis

by rayclifton5 Comments on Five: Diagnosis

This is part five of a series. If you are a new reader, you may want to start here and read from the beginning.

Two weeks can be a long time when you are waiting for test results.

I spent a lot of that time on the internet, researching Lyme Disease. I began with studies and recommended treatments from research institutions like Mayo Clinic, then worked my way through page after page of personal stories.

Lyme was controversial. Most medical sources maintained that it could be successfully treated and cured if diagnosed early, but there were huge differences in the meaning of the word “early.” There was even debate about the accuracy of the test (some said less than 50%) as well as the efficacy of various antibiotics and the length of time they should be administered. All the medical researchers agreed on one thing: 14 to 21 days was the minimum length of treatment. Some believed 30 days was best.

I had received eleven days of Doxycycline — four intravenous and seven orally. I had questions about that if the results were positive.

The day arrived and I met with the Infectious Disease expert. A surprise — I was positive for five illnesses: Lyme (Borrelia sp.), Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever (Rickettsia), HGE (Anaplasma phagocytophilum), HME (Ehrlichia chaffeensis) and Micro Pneumonia (M. pneumoniae).

The doctor said that he suspected Lyme all along, but that the high fever and brain swelling I had experienced was more consistent with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

“That one is potentially fatal. Glad we caught it early.”

My thoughts, kept to myself:

Glad we caught it early? I lay ignored in your hospital for 24 hours with a high fever and did not get so much as Tylenol. If my son had not found me, I might have been dead.

You gave me a broad-spectrum antibiotic and ran some inconclusive tests. If the Redhead had not told you that about the tick, we would not be having this conversation. I would be just a patient you treated for a “fever of unknown origin.” 

I told him what I had read. I was concerned that my antibiotic treatment had not been long enough to kill the Lyme bacteria.

“Oh no. You had the standard treatment. I am quite sure we got it. I have treated Lyme before.”

I reminded him that I was a forester with a history of tick bites. Was it possible that I already had Lyme and the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever only brought it to our attention?

“No, I do not think so. No worries. You should have no more issues.”

I would, however, experience a condition called “post viral fatigue syndrome.” I should expect to feel tired and just generally lousy for up to six months before I felt “normal” again. No cause for concern. I had been terribly ill, and my immune system had taken quite a shock. I should gradually begin to feel better if I rested and took care of myself.

Six months passed. I did not feel better. Some days I just wanted to stay in bed, but I waited.

After all, he was the expert.

creative nonfiction, southern writing

Four: Storm

by rayclifton10 Comments on Four: Storm

I am sitting in a grassy field under a small tent. A young nurse is taking my blood pressure. She is dressed in army fatigues, like one of the nurses from the old television show M*A*S*H. It is sunny and the light is very bright. She is talking to me, her voice muffled like we are under water. There are no other sounds. No birds singing, no traffic, no other voices. We are alone.

“We are going to get you to a room soon honey, okay?”

“My head hurts.”

And later:

I am lying in a bed somewhere. My head feels as if it were in a vice. I hear my son’s voice.

How you feelin’ dad?”

“I don’t know what to do. They gave me all these COVID kits to put together, and the instructions are in Chinese. Can you help me figure it out?”

I would later learn that the first memory never happened. I was admitted to the hospital by standard procedure, through the emergency room.

The second did. My son found me babbling like that the next day. I had received no treatment up to that point. My fever had spiked to 103.

I remember almost nothing about what transpired in the week that followed. Most of what I write reconstructed from The Book. Other things were false (or no) memories that the Redhead explained in the days and weeks afterward.

No, family did come to see you, you talked to them. Yes, you did have your phone, but I did not see you look at it. Yes, you were awake a good bit of the time. Yes, we talked about a lot of things. No, they did bring you meals. Don’t you remember any of that?

I did not. I do not.

The Book has pages and pages of tests. Bizarre imbalances in blood profiles. Some categories were extremely low, others alarmingly high. There were also MRIs, CT scans, and ultrasounds.

They were looking for West Nile virus, but that test was negative. They considered meningitis, but never did a spinal tap (an error, given what was to come). The baffled internist bowed out and referred me to the “Infectious Disease Expert.”

After four days of intravenous antibiotics and fluids, the blood tests returned to normal.

A memory, confirmed to be true:

I am sitting in a chair and a doctor is speaking to me in a quiet voice.

“Mr. Clifton you have been an extremely sick man. We have done a lot of tests, but we do not know the cause. I suspect it may be related to the tick bite you had, but tick-borne infection tests must be sent to a lab in Virginia. It will be two weeks before the results come back. Until then, I am giving you a prescription for one week of Doxycycline just in case. By the way, I noticed from your chart that you haven’t had your COVID vaccine, and I really think you should consider…”

“No. I am not taking your shot. You should focus on figuring out what I have rather than trying to get me to take some so-called vaccine for something you think I may get.”

“Sir this is not a political thing, but…”

“No, it is not political. End of discussion.”

“Understood. I will call you when your lab results come in.”

Admittedly rude, that. It might have affected our future relationship.

The Redhead drove me home soon afterward, but to this day I do not remember the ride.

Life in Alabama, nonfiction, rural life, southern writing

Part Three: Stormfront

by rayclifton8 Comments on Part Three: Stormfront

The following Monday I made the weekly hour’s drive to my employer’s headquarters for staff meeting and consultation with my coworkers. At that time, most of us were working from home, so Mondays were a chance to talk to a body in a body, even if was technically supposed to be from a “safe” distance. That had value for me. “ZOOM” was the name of a children’s program on Public Television when I was a kid. I wish it had stayed that way.

On the drive home I started to feel a little “off,” like I was coming down with something. Sluggish. A little feverish. You may recall from the previous post that this was June 2021, and COVID was beginning to make another run in Alabama. I imagine that anyone who had as much as a sniffle during those two years had the same thoughts that first went through my mind. What gatherings have I been to in the last week or so? Did that lady who sat beside me at church yesterday cough?

I took my temperature when I got home – 99.1.  Yes, I was getting sick.

I took a hot bath. As I toweled-off I made the discovery – an attached blacklegged (deer) tick. It was engouraged, so I knew that it had been there a while. I thought back. Must have been Saturday. I pulled it off and flushed it down the toilet.

Now, dear reader, I realize that you might not be the outdoors type. Perhaps you have never been bitten by a tick, and the whole idea that I could have acted in such a matter-of-fact manner seems incredulous.  But please remember that I am a forester. I had repeated that same process hundreds of times over the years. For those who work in the woods it is routine. Just an annoyance. Cost of doing business.

Tuesday morning. I felt worse. My head hurt a little and I was beginning to feel achy all over. So, I did what most folks do these days. Took my business down to one of the local “doc-in-a-box” franchises. There was a time when you could call your family doctor (now called your “Primary Care Physician”), but those days are gone. To do so now means two to four weeks unless there is a cancellation.

The routine at the corporate franchise is always the same.

“Have you been here before?”

Yes.

“What?”

I pulled my mask down to be heard. YES.

“Sir, please keep your mask on at all times. I will need you to fill out these six pages of medical history and consent forms. Sign or initial as indicated.”

But I did that last time I was here.

“We have updated our computer system. Oh, and I will need to make a copy of your driver’s license and insurance card. Also, your credit card for the copay.”

Thirty minutes later I made it behind the door to get my vitals checked and get the obligatory COVID test.

“You have a slight fever.”

Yes, that is why I am here.

“Go down to Room 2, second door on the right. The doctor will be in with you shortly.”

Several minutes later he entered.

“Good news, you do not have COVID. So, what brings you in to see us today?”

I have a slight fever and I do not feel well.

“Ah. Seasonal allergies. We have been seeing a lot of that these last couple of weeks.”

But I have not sneezed, coughed, or had as much as a sniffle.

“Well, that is probably coming. We caught it early. Stop by CVS and pick up some Mucinex D when you leave. I will have the nurse give you a steroid shot.”

Doc, I am sure this is not an allergy.

“Tell you what. We will draw some blood and see if everything looks okay. I will have the nurse call you back in if not. But I am quite sure you will feel better by tomorrow.”

I did not feel better tomorrow. I felt worse. Head and body. Like I was in the initial stages of the flu, but I still had no respiratory symptoms. My fever had crept to 100.

Wednesday, I went back. Same doctor.

“What brings you in to see us today?”

I saw you on Monday, remember? I have a fever and my headache is worse. My whole body aches.

“The steroid shot and the Mucinex didn’t seem to help?”

No. What about the bloodwork?

“Did we draw some blood? Let me check on that.”

A few minutes later he returned.

“You do have some elevated numbers here. Looks like you have some sort of infection. I am going to start you on a seven-day course of a broad-spectrum antibiotic.”

Doc, I do not know if this is relevant, but I should mention that I was bitten by a tick last weekend.

“I do not think so. Tick diseases are rare in Alabama. At your age it is more likely prostatitis. Go home and get some rest. Give the meds some time to work.”

Sunday, June 13. I go back again. My fever is holding at 100.5 and my headache is severe. Shut the door, close the curtains, turn out the light and get in bed migraine severe.

I got the same doctor. He ordered a chest X-ray.

I go back home and tell the Redhead that she needs to take me to the emergency room.

It will be one of the last things I remember over the course of the week ahead.

creative nonfiction, Life in Alabama, southern culture

An Independence Day

by rayclifton13 Comments on An Independence Day

July 1, 2023.

My personal “Independence Day,” in a sense.

I am officially unemployed.

The Redhead is calling it “semi-retirement.”  A good phrase, but not entirely accurate. I am too young to draw my pennies and not well-off enough to quit work for a life of leisure.  My career in forestry has paid the bills, but I did not get rich from it by any stretch of the imagination.

I prefer the term “self-employed,” although I am not entirely sure what that will look like in the days ahead.

There is a story here beyond employment. One I am going to tell only because someone urged me to do so. It will be difficult writing for me because it is about me, and quite frankly there are more interesting things to write about.

It is not a tale to solicit either pity or advice, because I have had plenty of both over these last two years.

Think of it as a cautionary tale, especially if you spend time in the woods and fields of Alabama.  It is a story about chronic illness.

I will write this story as a serial, because it is much too long to hold your attention in one sitting.

It starts like this: “Once upon a time, a forester was bitten by a tick.”