The Gift of Lyme

A moving pile of rabbit hair that just waits to fall apart is stretching my patience as I stand on my tippy toes in front of the rabbit hutch peeking under a blanket that covers the chicken wire in the door. I saw the mother rabbit pull her hair from her belly to build the nest several days ago. Now the babies have been born and I cannot wait to see them! Instead, all I see is a soft, fuzzy lump in motion that is keeping the baby rabbits warm during freezing early mornings of early March. Every day my grandmother gets up at five o'clock to make hot cocoa for the rabbits. None of us ever understood why she made cocoa for rabbits when they were babies. I know that soon I will be able to see the blind mouselike creatures crawling in their nest and when they are bigger I can hold a baby rabbit in my arms. For now all I can do is quietly watch in order to not disturb the mother and the babies.

"You can live a safe life of a rabbit in a communist rabbit hutch or face the dangers of the American jungle…" A comment made by Milos Forman, an immigrant from the Czech Republic and the director of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, referring to a hallmark of communist architecture, large blocks of flats with uniform apartments and uniform lives under the communist regime and the freedom and life one has to fight for here in the US. More now than ever, I am well familiar with the fight. I feel like I have just swam across the ocean. In my thoughts I am lying on the beach, exhausted, spent, and there is this large life right in front of me waiting to be discovered and won. I have had to fight my own body while fighting to get medical care for diseases the government denies exist.

I don't think that I have ever been in a better place in life. I may have a large medical debt. I may not be able to go back to my job as a teacher. But I know that eventually I can be the healthiest I have ever been. I have touched the very bottom of my existence. Today was the first day since August that I did not have to lie down during the day. I feel like I am making small progress every day. I know exactly what is wrong with me. I know what I have to do to improve. I know what I have to do to stay healthy.  There is power in knowledge.

For the first time in my life I will be able to live to my potential. What an unbelievable concept! Three library books in ziploc bags are being heated by the sun in my car. Let's say that libraries don't make it a point to keep their books at 55% humidity... When I opened the first one and the musty smell hit me I knew that if I read it I would contaminate my body with mold. I immediately placed it in a bag and looked on the internet  for mold removal instructions. I chose the car baking and will try a week in the freezer next time. I always thought I hated economics. To my great surprise I am drawn to this remediated volume on microeconomics. It all makes sense to me. Just about who am I? Where am I supposed to go?  What IS my potential? So many paths have opened in front of me and now I have to figure out which one to take. Am I supposed to be an engineer, architect, nutritionist, should I study management? My gut is telling me there is a reason I am getting this degree in Recovering form Tick Borne Diseases! I feel like the depths I reached while at my worst have been placed in me for a reason.

"You have it in you!"

My pastel teacher is so sure I can make money by painting. I am 100% not sure but will follow her advice on this. I don't have that many ways to make money right now. If she thinks that I can make money selling my "art"… I don't know how to draw! I only took one pastel class! How crazy!

Two days ago I sat at the piano for the first time in ten months. Stumbling and stuttering through a piece I played when I was in high school I was ready to call Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Chopin must have been turning in his grave and I wanted to make sure the statue above him did not fall over. One of my small victories. Regardless of the quality (or lack thereof) of my playing I was actually able to do it. My efforts revealed that although much improved there is still slight neuropathy in my left hand. I am reveling in the fact that I am able to pay attention to such nonessentials as piano playing and replacing a broken string on my harp.

How much I enjoy every motion that does not hurt, every thought that can dwell on the beauty of life, every connection I can make with another human being… I think about and pray for the staff at Sponaugle Wellness and Dr. Sponaugle every day. With my life returning back to me in small increments I am so thankful for his courage to be different and to walk the Lyme path with his patients. Reviled and ostracized by their peers, insurance companies, and regulatory agencies Lyme Literate Medical Doctors and any medical professional who dare to treat Lyme patients put their reputation, licenses, and livelihood on the line for people who would otherwise get no help. I know him as an extremely generous and caring man who goes above and beyond for every one of his patients. He fights for their lives in the American jungle of politicking over this terrible, debilitating, and devastating disease. God bless America. And God bless dr. Sponaugle and his staff.