It’s SPRING! Days are getting warmer and longer. Sweaters and heavy flannels are being cast aside in exchange for hoodies and lighter clothes. Grass is greening up and trees are bursting as nature’s nap comes to an end.
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Those of us with Tick Borne Diseases know all too well the internal conflict. Sunshine calls us outside where into the warmth while at the very same time our arch nemeses, ticks, begin looking for hosts to feed on. I don’t know about you, but I’ve actually headed with joy to the lawn only to find myself hanging ten over the edge of my driveway, toes curled around the blacktop, as I suddenly realized the potential hazards ahead! With my heart pounding, I back away slowly. I stare out over the sea of soft new grass and all I see is the perfect hiding ground for ticks.

Over the years I’ve learned two vital truths about myself and the coming of spring:

1. I know that I will be anxious, to some degree, about the bacteria loaded ticks which are prevalent in my area.
2. The sooner I take precautions to protect myself and my family, the sooner I can get out into the sunshine and enjoy the beauty that is Northeast PA.

Anxious moments call for gentleness, my friends. A little compassion for your frightened self will you move through, and beyond, this tick anxiety much easier than self-harshness. Carl Jung was right... what we resist really does persist. I can overcome challenges more easily when I do away with self-ridicule and talk to Vulnerable Me the way I would speak with a frightened friend. I wouldn’t tell a person who’s afraid to stop being such a baby. Instead, I would say that I understand and after all she’s been through it makes sense to be afraid, and it’s really wise to be cautious. Then I would ask her how I might be able to help her be less afraid.  That’s where that second truth comes in. Since I am one of over 300,000+ diagnosed annually with Lyme Disease, it’s not possible that I am the only person experiencing some form of tick anxiety this time of year. That’s why I thought I’d share what I do to prepare and protect myself.

The first action on my list is to buy two cans of tick repellant with ingredients approved by the EPA and proven to be effective for repelling ticks. One can sits by the kitchen door to be applied every time I head outside. My family is less vigilant. I can often be seen chasing my adult sons with a can of spray with DEET as they head out to mow the lawn! The other can goes in the trunk of the car for unplanned nature encounters (non-aerosol is better for this). I also like to carry tick repellant towelettes which contain Picardin in my pocketbook (available through AVON as Bug Guard).
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Ticks, of course, are not insects and therefore insect repellant is not going to be effective in repelling them. They are arachnids and require a very specific approach. There are currently four tested and approved repellants on the market today as outlined by Bob Oley in Tick Talk with Bob Oley, published online at TBDAlliance.org.

1. DEET
2. Picardin
3. IR3535
4. Organic Lemon Eucalyptus Oil

Says Bob, “If any of these ingredients are in your tick repellent, you can feel reasonably confident the repellent will work to repel ticks. To be sure, check the product label, which must state that it repels ticks. If it does not, choose another product that does.” Regardless of which repellant you use, make sure you understand the application and reapplication requirements. DEET must have contact with the skin, for example, in order to be effective. (Tick Talk with Bob Oley). Bob Oley’s article is one of the most informative I have found and offers suggestions which are reasonable and accessible. http://tbdalliance.org/index.php/getinformed/tick-talk

Another thing we do routinely is treat the yard with a substance that will kill the ticks before they can ever make it onto the dog or into our home. There are some good lawn sprays out there. Some people find success with food grade diatomaceous earth. Read all containers carefully to make sure it kills ticks. Check for child and pet safety, and pay attention to reapplication requirements. Speaking of dogs, our dog has thick black fur which makes tick checks very difficult. To help protect him and us we do tick checks in addition to topical monthly tick treatments. Your vet can recommend a good product for your particular furry friend.

I have removed the birdfeeders from my lawn which has greatly reduced all kinds of tick taxi traffic in my yard. I do miss the birds, but it’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make. We have far fewer chipmunks, squirrels, birds, deer, and the occasional bear – all known carriers of ticks.
Skin checks are a vital part of any tick prevention effort. I always examine my skin and hair after being outdoors. I look for poppy seed sized nymphs or larger attached hitch hikers. I wear lighter colors when I can so that the ticks are more easily seen before they have a chance to latch on for lunch, and I avoid leaf clutter, stone walls, and tall grasses whenever possible.

I have tick removal kits with testing mailers on hand just in case one gets ahold of somebody. I like the Lyme-Aid Kit, but there are other methods for testing on the market, too. After watching and hearing about some doctors throwing carefully saved ticks into the trash I have learned to never offer them up as evidence to anyone but a tick testing lab. I advise my friends to do this as well. I also advise people to take a photo of the tick and the site of the tick bite to prove attachment (and therefore risk). If a rash develops anywhere on the body I advise them to take pictures of these, too, with a date stamp if possible.

The coming of spring still gives me the heebie geebies, but knowing how to protect myself and my family helps me recover from the panic much more quickly than before. Remembering that I know what to do keeps me grounded. I refuse to let the cursed ticks that have done so much damage make me a prisoner in my own home. They have already taken a lot. I draw the line at sunshine and gardens.
 
(This piece was originally published in April, 2016, on Chronically Determined.)
 

​This morning was quiet, but it felt nice. Our oldest son gave kisses and hugs as he flew out the door on his way to an early shift. Our youngest son was still asleep, recovering from a busy week of final exams and repairing computers. My husband was sleeping in, and the dog was outside, stretched across the front stoop. An art project was taking shape, pulling me through this day of knowing that today, Mothers Day, marks the beginning of a milestone week. The next Saturday that rolls around will find us, for the first time in nearly 24 years, heading to a new home with no sons in the back seat.

Only a few minutes earlier my eyes had drifted to a stack of boxes on the opposite side of the small living room. I have spent many morning hours, feet tucked under me, in the big brown chair and a half, cradling my coffee cup. Before the brown chair it was a blue one, and before the blue chair it was the now gone leather sofa.

One box in particular caught my eye, as it had been doing for days. It was taped shut with the words “Fragile Angels” scrawled across one side in black Sharpie ink. Fragile Angels. I’d been rolling that one around in my head for days, and this is how today's art project began.

I lightly sketched a large heart with pencil and, inside the shape, carefully wrote these words: Angels are only fragile on the outside.

My mom was on my mind, along with all the women I've loved over a lifetime They've all been hurt by life and scarred by illness, injuries, accidents, or loss, and they are the strongest people I know.

A woman I used to know came to mind. Sandi had told me how she had a habit of collecting, and also breaking, angels. The collecting was on purpose, but the breaking was never intentional. It used to upset her, she said, until someone told her that it was okay – that’s how the light gets in. Or, maybe she said that's how the light gets out, which is equally powerful. Today, as this sketch evolved into a painting, I thought of Sandi and her chipped, shattered, glued back together angels, too.

The phone rang and the caller ID announced my mother there on the other end. Like a five year old child, a huge smile flooded my face because I knew she must be calling to say she received my surprise in the mail. It was a handmade piece of art that doubled as a Mothers Day card, which tripled (I suppose) as a Thank You card. “Thank you for ice chips. For letting me stir the Jello. Thank you for defending my song. Thank you for the belly laughs. The music. For sharing your art. For finding my glasses….” I thanked her for as many things as would fit on the surface and I knew she was calling to say she got it and, of course, loved it. What mother wouldn’t love being thanked for all of the hand decorated lunch bags she'd labored over before her own coffee was finished, more than 50 years ago?

I hurried for the machine and my heart fell when I found it out of reach on the other side of a double row of stacked boxes. Mom's voice broadcast over the answering machine as I frantically reached for the phone only to realize it wasn’t even there. I spun around and around, trying to find it. Where is the damned phone? I hollered, more than once. Full out sobbing erupted as my mother’s voice left heartfelt thank yous and a string of kisses on the answering machine. I tried again to get to it, thinking there might be an intercom feature to press and I could answer the phone that way, but those boxes were too many and too heavy, and then, click, she was gone. By the time my husband made it to the room, perplexed and concerned about all the yelling, I was painting in silence, tears quietly streaming down my face, feeling sad, humiliated, and little.

He found the phone for me and, when the little girl in me gave way to my more mature, composed self, I called her back. We laughed when I told her I couldn’t find the phone, and she told me how much she loved the card and how she’d read it over and over again and again. Mom said it made her laugh, and I’ll venture a guess and say it made her cry, too. Neither of us confessed tears, though.

We live far away from my parents, and by this time next week we will live even farther away. However, today she will take me with her to the Mothers Day Picnic. I will ride along inside her pocketbook, practically breathing inside that card. “I’m going to show everyone,” she said, beaming. “Everyone. Everyone is going to see it, and then I am never putting it away.” My childish despair had shifted to nothing but joy. Nailed it.

Moving is hard.
Besides, maybe everyone is little on Mothers Day.

My thoughts on healing are still swimming around in that floaty realm of not-fully-ready-for-words. However, what I want to say is this: When I tell you I am healed it doesn't mean there is no treatment left for me.  I am still treating multiple tick borne diseases. My journey has been a long one, and it spreads out for as far as it needs to go, ready to receive me. 

It's true that I used to believe a failure in clearing the infections meant I was one of those treatment failures, and I just did not want to provide fodder for anyone's "chronic lyme is untreatable" malarkey.

One day, after sharing my treatment failure worries with a much loved and very Lyme Literate neurologist, he begged to differ - emphatically. So much had changed for me. Among the changes: I was completing sentences. My pain was down and twitching was less. I was reading actual books. I was walking more than wobbling. My cane only was used to pull the curtains open at home, and I was sleeping every night. I was driving safely. He reminded me of these victories and more, and that's when I began to realize a very gradual shift was beginning. My life was redefining the word healing for me.

Healing from Lyme etc. is not only about clearing the diseases, but opening my heart and becoming reacquainted with my soul. If you've ever felt separated from your soul you know what I mean. It's a feeling of fractured-everything-on-the-inside. It seems to me, however, that this is an illusion. We are never really less than whole, but we forget - we feel lost - we feel broken. Our soul, I believe, is always there just waiting patiently. It is not our soul that ever disengages - it is us.

Healing, I think, is not primarily about the body..
Healing, I believe, is more about remembering who we are. 
So, then, it is not about cure or remission. 
Healing is about knowing, as Belleruth Naparstek says, we are "perfectly, utterly, safe."