Unconditional Love

Daphne is my Yellow Labrador Retriever. If you know me, you know her. She is one of a kind, and I am dedicating this post to her.

Daphne has been my tireless companion, nurse and full time source of strength throughout this illness. She has not missed one day of being by my side, on both good days and bad. She is patient and kind and never asks for a thing in exchange for her loyalty and loving spirit. She has a sweet, warm bubbly personality. Even on my worst days when I thought I was surely dieing, her playful smile brought a smile to my face. I have never been alone in this fight, even when the house is empty, she is always, inevitably waiting for me each morning and ready to see me off to bed at night.

Unless you have struggled with Chronic Lyme Disease you can't know the anguish, the pain and emotional toll it takes. Daphne was diagnosed with Lyme at around age 6. She has had a few rounds of Doxycycline in her life. She knows the pain, the suffering and anguish I feel. She is one the few around me who really know.

I don't think I could have made through some of my darkest days without her. The sound of her paws on the floor, the clink of her collar, her yawns and her snoring were the familiar sounds that assured me I was never really been alone. Funny how animals instinctively know when people are sick. On the really bad days, Daphne was glued to my side, laying as close to the bed or couch as she could, her head popping up from time to time to check on me. She has been my friend when I've had no friends, my family when my family has been too busy, or scared to talk about my illness. She has been my wingman when I was alone and afraid to start a new medication, not knowing how it might effect me. I was always comforted knowing if a certain day were my last, she would stay with me until my husband came home to find me.

I love Daphne. When I started this battle she was almost 10 years old. In lab years, that's adolescence. Now she is 12 and a half. She no longer plays ball or runs for the stick. She doesn't run after squirrels or deer in our yard. She is content to watch from afar and observe as many older folks do. Her face is white with age, and she has arthritis in her legs.

I know that at her age, every day is a gift. So on this Valentine's Day, even though I have other Valentines, I feel in my heart I must celebrate Daphne in this blog.

To love an animal is a love like no other. One of the gifts of my life, was the day we chose the smallest female lab puppy of the litter. I knew she needed me, but I never realized how much I would need her.

Waiting For My Brain To Make The Switch

My fifth grade teacher had been in horribly tragic accident the year before I was in his class. He and his teenage sons were fishing off of a railroad trestle when a train came through (they were called bee-liners at the time - very fast) and killed two of his sons and took his right arm off right above the elbow. My mother was a teacher in this district so I remember hearing the play by play of the accident, seeing the pictures on the cover of the newspaper, and feeling quite scared when I found out he was to be my teacher.

By today's standards a teacher under the same circumstances would probably not be allowed back in the classroom, until much more time had passed which included years of grieving and therapy. He was man filled with frustration and anger, and rightly shouldn't have been standing at the head of a classroom of 10-11 year olds.

He struggled making the transition from right handedness to left handedness. It was hard to watch. Sometimes he wore his prosthesis, which I always called "the hook". It frightened me when he wore it and it frightened more when he didn't wear it and the stump of his arm, dangled below his sleeve. He wasn't a kind man. He was there to do a job to support what was left of his family and that was it. I almost never asked questions, but I used to watch him closely has he struggled to tie his shoes, write on the chalkboard, write with a pen or use a stapler. If I learned anything that year, it was how we take for granted the innate way our bodies function when everything is working together and nothing is damaged.

One day this teacher was having a pretty good day I guess. It was in the spring so it had been a while since his accident and the year was coming to a close. One of my braver classmates asked Mr. Lynch, what his arm felt like. I remember shuddering, wondering how Mr. Lynch would take that question. I remember him saying..."It's there, but it's not there. My brain is trying to switch." That scene stuck with me.

Recently I had a SPECT Scan of my brain. The scan showed that I have left frontal damage from Lyme Disease. The frontal lobe houses creative ability among other functions. As some of you know, prior to getting sick I owned a thriving photography business. I loved that business and nurtured it from its inception 20 years ago. It was like my third child. But it's gone now. It became imminently clear a year into Lyme Treatment that I could not longer work at it and give it the attention it rightfully deserved. I turned it over to my long colleague who had worked for me for years.

Many people ask me if I miss my business. Of course, I miss the money...for a Lyme patient that goes unsaid. But interestingly I don't miss the creative side. I don't see the visual images in my head anymore, which would lead me to pick up the camera. It's as if there is a piece of my thought process which is missing. The experts say the the brain can repair itself. My personal feeling is that the brain learns to rely on other areas for certain functions, if an area is damaged. It compensates.

So in some ways I understand what Mr. Lynch meant when he said, "It's there but it isn't there. My brain is trying to switch." I wonder what happens in the brain, and if my brain will let me see the images again. I am waiting for my brain to make the switch.