drastic measures.

If this is Lyme, and with an ELISA that high, it likely is, then I have had it for a long time, long enough that it’s settled into places where oral doxycycline can’t go.

If oral doxycycline can’t get at it, then there is little point in torturing myself over the holiday season when I’ll only have to do a course of IV Ceflex or Minocin anyway. (Ceflex being one of the recommended parenteral therapies. You see I am an aware sort of person.)

If I’m not dead yet, I can damn well have a month to decide what comes next, and consult a rheumatologist. I have that wonderful appointment coming up on January 11 anyway. Now I have information for the rheuma, new and shiny knowledge that will enable us to decide together what we should do.

And if I haven’t kicked it by then, which I doubt I will, and if the lifestyle changes I’ve made mean I can stay stable through next semester (providing I take it slow), I will commit May-August 2012 to the full monty: IV, in hospital, doped up on antiemetics and whatever other neuroleptic goodies their psychiatrists can toss into my veins.

But the breaking point for me, right now, is the notion of fighting onward right now, when I’ve only just begun to get a little of myself back, and when I’m supposed to be resting up and arranging my next semester. I’m done. I’m empty. I have no more mental reserve to help me cope with the ugly that is treating late-stage Lyme. I can live a disabled life for half a year more when I know there’s going to be an end. I can gather my resources, arrange my insurance, maybe get home nursing care if I don’t want to spend a whole summer in hospital.

That breaking point had me staring at my wrists and wondering why I told Mom to throw the razors away, no lie. If I have to fix the Lyme now, I may end up on a ward anyway. I need to be brutally honest about this. At this point in time, I am having passive suicidal thoughts, such as “I would like to fall asleep and not wake up”, but nothing that I would act on. Please trust me about this. When it gets to the point where I have to sedate myself in order not to self-harm, then I will make the appropriate arrangements, or I’ll call someone else and ask that the arrangements be made. (Like my psychiatrist, whom I will also call for a consultation. Not for nothing are they MDs.)

I’m not giving up. I’m trying to figure out the smartest way to kill the bug, one that won’t take away the little I still have. I’m willing to manage symptoms until I have the time to achieve cure–and yes, if that means there is no Fall 2012 semester, so be it. What matters is that right now, I am not ready. I ask you to respect my decision and stand by me if you can. It’s been a long road, but the end is in sight. It’s just a few more exits down the highway than I thought this afternoon.


2 thoughts on “drastic measures.

  1. Hey, dear, sorry I haven’t been in touch lately, but I have been keeping up with your writings, and I’m just so sorry you’re going through this. Please know that you’re in my thoughts, and that I am sending you all the love in the world. Also, a girl in my MA program was dealing with late-stage Lyme last year, so if you’d like me to check and see which doctors she went to, etc., I’d be happy to do so.

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