Starting the treatment we use for lyme in this house is what I like to call an interesting experience.
We don’t use antibiotics, instead we have an all natural protocol, filled with herbs and tinctures to help the body kill lyme bacteria slowly.
And does 2 specific things: Induces a “herx” and pokes the bear.
Now, when I say induces a herx, this probably conjures up many thoughts and questions. First of all, a Herxheimer reaction, or herx for short, is a die-off reaction, and basically is your body detoxifying itself. Think about the way you feel after a night of heavy drinking- your body attempts to re-balance the systems and thus you have a hangover. Herxing is like a lyme hangover. You start killing the lyme, it dies, and then releases all these nifty toxins and proteins in your body. It can feel very much like the havoc lyme itself causes, and if you’ve been uber-agressive with treatment and had a major dieoff, the body does its best to push all that junk out.
Now, to someone has chosen to fight lyme using drugs and antibiotics, the word “herx” will make them shake in their boots. Medically induced herxes are painful, and frankly can be downright terrifying. (If you have watched the documentary “Under our Skin” you’ll get a taste of how painful the recovery process can be.) The dieoff is so big that you yourself may feel like you are dying. Herxing on a grand scale can easily put you in the hospital. That’s not the goal, of course, but it happens.
The type of herx we experience is slow and controlled- we sweat. We get super pink cheeks and sometimes the skin in various places on our bodies looks splotchy. We need naps. We might get a headache, and possibly feel dizzy. Our armpits flow like the nile river. Stuff like that. The program we have designed is gentle to our systems, but takes the life out of Lyme cells. Is it uncomfortable? Yeah, but it’s a managable situation.
The other part of treatment is “Poking the Bear.” (The Lyme Literate Doc, or LLMD, doesn’t call it that. I call it that.)
This part is where lyme is a bitch. One of the herbs has a very specific job- to disrupt the biofilms and basically bring the lyme out into the open so the rest of the treatment can attack and destroy it. It’s much like the recent law enforcement ploy a few days ago in Texas where they announced that a bunch of locally made meth was mixed with ebola and asked people to bring their meth in to be tested. So a couple meth heads brought their stash into the police station, worried about getting sick from ebola, and were arrested on the spot. (DUDE. Meth. NOT EVEN ONCE.)
Ok, so that’s the goal with lyme. You draw it out of hiding from inside it’s biofilm cocoon, get it out into the open and then deal with it appropriately. You poke the hell outta that bear. Unfortunately, that also means you have to endure a slight influx of symptoms. It activates it a bit until it destroys it. Which takes time, because I repeat- we go slow and gentle. Everyone’s body responds differently to this method (and I can say that with utmost authority with 4 cases of lyme in the house), but for me the stupid lyme congregates to one place.
Lyme loves my knees. It’s like a party zone for spirochetes. A veritable lyme frat house. Which causes me great agony in the night. And the day. And the afternoon. UGGGGGGGGGG.
I’ve always been a pacer. I am one of those people who walks around when they talk on the phone, I have to move a bit to keep away the A.D.D. tendencies, and basically I enjoy walking. But when lyme starts converging in my knees, I can’t pace the floors as much. I have to keep my knees slightly bent and elevated. Putting weight on them feels like I’m holding a hot searing knife under my kneecaps. Not that I’ve ever done such a thing, but artistic license, y’all.
AND THE SWELLING…
Egads. My knees blow up like a softball, and it continues into my calves. I get those cute rolls on my legs like chunky little babies have, only considering the fact I am 463 months old, it’s not nearly (or knee-rly) as adorable when it happens to me.
So when I’m dealing with both a herx and have poked the bear sufficiently, to say I’m something of a hot mess is an understatement. I drink extra water to combat this phenomena, I increase some of the treatment options, I do everything I can think of and then some to help relieve the pain and suffering one experiences during the double whammy of treatment.
But there is one surefire way I can help myself deal with it that honestly works. And this is a remedy is totally free.
LIKE A F^*KING SAILOR.
And I’m telling you this because I think it’s got a practical application, both as a legitimate treatment protocol for Lyme, and in non-lyme situations. You may already utilize this method, because it’s an age old fix, but I’m here today to give it a facelift of sorts. Because I use swear words in a yoga-like fashion. For example.
Let’s say I have been laying with my legs propped up, and I have to get off the couch to get a drink or to pee or to let a dog outside. I know it’s going to hurt. So as I make my initial move with the first leg, I deeply inhale, and I do it to the tune of the f-bomb.
I find the U vowel is especially effective at letting one draw in a full breath.
Once that first leg hits the floor, I start moving the second leg, and I transition the breath into an exhale, finishing out the phrase.
Again, the E vowel allows a slow controlled release of the breath, and makes a very gratifying hissing noise.
Once both legs are on the floor and I’m ready to move into standing, I repeat the swearing/breathing process, with different body movements.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU”- I have now moved into a bent over standing position, paying close attention to weight placement and keeping stress off the knees.
“CK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”- And with that exhale/cursing breath, I have now gone from a 90 degree angle into a full standing position and am ready to move and accomplish the task.
I highly suggest trying this method, and it can be done somewhat silently, in case you are in a public place or around children. An alternate phrase would be a long version of lucky.
You’ll get roughly the same effect, but mentally it’s not nearly as satisfying.
And that’s my contribution to the medical world. I’m considering writing a paper and submitting it to medical journals. And as they read my proposal of curse-breathing as a valid medical treatment, I’m sure they will swear under their breaths. Which will prove it’s effectiveness. And then I’ll win the Nobel Prize for contributions to medicine.
Ok, that’s not going to happen. I don’t have the energy for all that.
But at least I can get off my couch.
One F-bomb at a time.