I slept about an hour later than usual, a luxury possible because I planned to telecommute instead of fighting my way through work zones and traffic to get to my office thirty miles away. I had been fatigued a lot lately, so the extra rest was more of a necessity than a bonus. I wasn’t sure how much it actually helped though when I stumbled drowsily to the bathroom.
I stuck my head under the shower, hoping the hot water would ease away some of the ache in the base of my skull. I felt the dull beginnings of a headache coming on, the third or fourth this week, and tried to remember where I last left the Motrin. I sighed as I soaped up. I was feeling rather crappy for a Friday. Maybe I just couldn’t get to the weekend fast enough. It wouldn’t be the first time my aches and pains were attitude-related.
That’s when I saw it.
I remembered the red mark on the top of my right hip from the previous day. My belt and jeans had been rubbing the spot, irritating it. I was surprised though that the discoloration was still there. I rinsed the soap from my side and examined the fainter pink circle surrounding the dark patch. That didn’t seem right. The bruise? blotch? whatever it was . . . it had to be five or six inches in diameter.
After I toweled off, I called my mom and asked her if the strange bull’s-eye mark could be anything other than what I worried it was. Minutes after our conversation, my sister (a PA who conveniently had the day off from the hospital) called. I repeated my concerns to her. She had me poke at the mark. I didn’t hurt and it “blanched” when I pulled my finger away.
“You have Lyme disease,” she told me. “You need to be on antibiotics. Call your doctor.”
I got a recording telling me I could leave a message that would be checked the next business day. My sister started looking up nearby clinics.
“This can’t wait until Monday?” I asked. I didn’t feel up to driving anywhere. Actually, a couple more hours of sleep sounded good.
“No,” she insisted. “People DIE from Lyme disease.”
I thought about the people I know who have had Lyme disease. They’re all perfectly fine. Although . . . there was that neighbor that couldn’t even walk for awhile.
“Hi, I have a bull’s-eye rash on my right hip,” I explained to the admittance nurse at the ER. “My doctor’s office isn’t open today,” I added apologetically.
I kicked my feet as I sat on the edge of the examination table. I wondered how long the wait would be. There was no one else in the ER when I came in, but, really . . . I didn’t have a real emergency. I didn’t even look sick.
After a seemingly lengthy amount of time, the doctor came in. He shook my hand and gave me his card, introducing himself with a friendly smile. “So you have a rash?”
I hopped off the table and showed him my blotch. That seemed to be enough.
“First time?” he asked jovially.
I stared.
He chuckled at my reaction. After a couple quick checks of my lymph nodes and listening to my breathing, he informed me that I’d be spending my next three weeks on the antibiotic my sister mentioned earlier that morning.
“Do you have a fever?” he asked curiously.
“Uh, not that I’m aware of.”
“Have you had one?”
“Again, I don’t think so.”
“Hmph.” He smiled. “It’s coming.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“How much do you know about Lyme disease?”
“Not much,” I admitted.
This seemed to amuse him. The doctor asked a few more questions, continued some friendly chatter, and then left to write up my prescription.
In the meantime, a nurse came in to take my blood. “So you’ve been feeling lousy and haven’t been able to figure out why, eh?” she said as she arranged her tools in front of her.
“Well, uh, I don’t feel that bad . . . yet. But I saw the rash this morning and-”
“Oh! You have a rash?”
“Um, yeah.”
When she was done taking my blood, she casually brought up the rash again, eyeing my body as if trying to guess where it was. It was like a new tattoo that everyone wanted to see.
“Ohhhh. Yeah, that’s classic,” she said, nodding. She seemed impressed. “So did it start out small and get bigger?”
“I . . . I don’t actually know. I didn’t notice it until today. It’s right on my pants line, so I’ve just assumed any red marks were due to rubbing.”
I looked down at the sprawl of the rash. How long ago HAD I been infected?
When I got out to my car, I sent a text to the Captain. “I have Lyme disease,” I typed. It seemed surreal to me. One day I was perfectly healthy. The next I have a potentially serious bacterial infection?
He was upset when he read the message. I know because two minutes after getting a response of “WHAT?!” he called me. His mind was swimming with memories of a coworker who spent a month off from work after the same diagnosis. She came back with Bell’s palsy. One side of her face was slow and difficult to control and she drooled all over herself.
So . . . here I am. Seemingly healthy, albeit a bit slower and achier than usual, hiding a huge round rash on my side. Some people look at my with sympathy and concern and others shrug and say, “Sucks to be you.”
I find it hard to fathom that I’m sick. I’m pretty certain that’s a good sign that we caught it early. I have my bottle of antibiotics, and my mind is 99% sure that everything will turn out just fine. Because if I weren’t so confident, I might be scared.
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