It’s good news. Kind of. I wanted so badly to know what was wrong with me. I wanted this round of tests to come up positive for something. And they did. I’ve popped a Borrelia titer of 2.7, which is solidly positive for Lyme. God only knows whether the serology bears out that assumption; I guess if this coming 21 days of doxycycline doesn’t fix me, we move forward–into IV antibiotics? Into the hospital? What about the semester? So I have letters to write before I take those pills. After, I expect I shall need to concentrate on not throwing up (aided by Compazine).
The “what comes next?” is the scary part now, but it’s less scary than if this were CFS or fibro. I may beg you to shoot me at some point, but you get to remind me that once this ends, the bug is dead. I don’t know whether the end will come three-odd weeks from now or sometime in the middle of next year. Nobody knows how long I’ve had this. Given the laundry list of problems and the length of time I’ve had them, I was probably bitten in 2004. I know I spent most of that semester, after the nighttime woodland tramp, having fevers and flus and whatnot. I was sick for my finals, even. Then things were quiet for awhile–then I started hurting and getting fogs.
And I was right about it not being depression, either. I told you I know my own mental illness. Depression never did that to me before. I’ve had periods when I was totally fine and still hurting, still foggy. It damn well ain’t my depression, fuck all the useless fuckers who thought it was.
What I am is nervous, but resolved to kill the bug so it can’t kill me. It’s not cancer. It’s not autoimmune. It’s not fibro or CFS as far as we know. It is a damn bug, and I will make it regret it was ever born.