Quick Update

Quick blog today to say that, dare I say it, last night was a better night.

Glucose has stabilized.

Heart rate was below 100 for the majority of the day.

Psych symptoms are well controlled, and after only one week on Zoloft we know that this cannot be the reason for such a dramatic improvement alone.

Almost one week on doxycycline.

I’m still expecting the familiar “two steps forward, one step back” routine, so I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. But for now, I’m enjoying this moment.

This moment.

Right now.

🥰

The Strange Things I’ve Heard

Navigating a complex illness often means enduring not only the disease itself, but also the words of those entrusted with your care. This post reflects on the sometimes astonishing comments my daughter and I encountered during our search for answers—and why compassion, curiosity, and listening matter just as much as medical knowledge.

Anyone that reads my blog knows my 23 year old daughter was previously diagnosed with Borrelia miyamotoi, a relapsing fever spirochete. Very little is known about this bacteria and the studies that have been done on it are extremely limited.

My daughter originally got sick in the summer before second grade and I spent eight years searching for help as her symptoms worsened. She was finally diagnosed for the first time when she was in high school. After almost a decade of suffering and searching for answers, we found the Lyme disease doctor that was a pioneer in his time.

Now, eight years later, here we are going through this all over again. She has the most amazing team of doctors helping to control her symptoms along with the very same wonderful infectious disease doctor, who has been a godsend through it all.

There are doctors who see a symptom and treat it. Then there are the thinkers. They understand the symptoms are part of a larger problem and search for that answer while treating symptoms. Fix the larger problem and symptoms resolve. As an advocate, if you ask for help searching for the larger issue, sometimes you are seen as difficult and a know-it-all. A shit stirrer, if you will.

Most questions that were asked of these providers were derived straight from legitimate published research articles, yet seemed to be taken as a challenge to their knowledge and experience.

Anyone searching for answers for themselves or a loved one might relate to the following post. I thought it would be interesting to keep track of the abuse suffered by myself and my daughter while looking for help and to document the absurdity of it all. Maybe one day we will look back at it all and laugh.

Any physician reading this, please understand this was written from truth and frustration. Use this as a teaching tool as to what not to say and know that we all know you are human. You have bad days too. You have stresses and struggles and get sick just like the rest of us, but when we walk through that door we are sick, scared, feel alone, and we have just come from your colleague who has smirked or demeaned or gaslit us. By the time we get to you, we are exhausted and, at times, pissed off. Listen. Acknowledge. Empathize. Think before you speak. Direct us. Guide us. Support us. Don’t let us go through it alone.

The following were the issues.

These are all different specialties and hospitals’ responses.

My daughter is unable to eat without gagging and has absolutely no appetite most of the time.

“Go home and eat something.”

My daughter, sobbing (she is typically calm and collected), tries explaining to the physician that the anxiety is situational and not the cause of her sickness.

“Don’t worry, the Zoloft will kick in soon.”

I suspected my daughter developed POTS and nobody was testing her for it correctly, so I did the test at home on my own and brought in my results to all doctors.

“POTS is not a real diagnosis.”

“There is nothing to do for it anyway. My son has it and he passes out, then he’s fine.”

“This isn’t a real test. I wrote papers on this and I know what I’m talking about.” (Wagging finger in my face…. Yup… literally.)

“This is not orthostatic hypotension.” (Different disorder) You can have orthostatic hypotension with POTS, but you don’t need it for POTS diagnosis. It’s the same as saying all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares.

Doctor offers to treat. When my daughter asked what specifically he would treat for…

“Just trust me and if you don’t ….” throws hands in the air and walks out of the room. Mic drop.

This one doesn’t need an intro.

“Stop reading and let me do my job.”

Daughter is convulsing on table in office.

“You’re just having a panic attack. Someone call an ambulance.”

Sitting beside my daughter in the emergency room, after being brought in by ambulance from the endocrinologist’s office.

“So endocrinology sent you to the emergency room for an endocrinology issue?” (This one I found amusing immediately)

Providing the results of the same test done at multiple locations over the period of one month with significant changes that nobody else had picked up on.

“What is she a nurse?” (As he looked at my husband with a sarcastic smirk on his face.)

Doctor is willing to treat the “symptom”. I ask why this is happening? What is this a symptom of? If we don’t fix the actual problem will this cause permanent damage?

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not go looking for trouble?”

In patient at hospital being examined by the attending for the first time.

“Have you ever taken an anxiety medication?”

“Yes. I have anxiety, which is appropriate for the level of stress I am going through.”

Smug smirk. “Yes, you have anxiety.”

Without any communication all tests were canceled and my daughter was discharged. Psych consult was never called.

This doctor never stood up from behind his desk for any visits. This visit was a follow up to discuss test results with no examination.

“While you’re in school in the city and you start to feel shaky or you’re about to pass out, just go into the nearest bodega and get yourself a bag of chips and a sugary soda.” This was a cardiologist.

Urgent call placed in the morning to cardiology office because heart rate was dropping into low 50s and looked as if she was going into shock.

“This is not a cardiology issue.”

“Then whose issue is it?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Then who does know?”

“I don’t know.”

Heart rate sinus tachycardia. Chronic rate 95-158 at all times.

“Anxiety will raise your heart rate.”

During her hospital stay, we had given past medical history multiple times to everyone that had hands on her. At any point, they can retrieve visit notes to any specialist linked to this hospital my daughter had seen. Borrelia miyamotoi or tick bacterial infection or Lyme coinfection (because most doctors do not know the difference) were mentioned a multitude of times particularly since they were leaning in that direction at the time.

“Nobody ever told me that she had this other infection. I was told Lyme disease.”

I cannot begin to explain the level of anger and frustration I felt at this point. She was in the hospital and should’ve been safe. They tested her for Lyme disease. It’s like testing for Covid when you’re looking for flu. They discharged her with hypoglycemia and anxiety. She is currently being treated for Borrelia miyamotoi.

The random things we will never unhear:

One doctor just walked out of examination room mid-sentence. (Eye roll)

“Im going back to school. See you in three months.”

“Let me tell you something about your generation. Your generation sucks. You’re unable to regulate your emotions”

We would listen if you shared your own frustrations—the moments that stayed with you during your own search for answers. We are not alone in this, and perhaps by sharing our stories we can help each other, and maybe even help change the way patients are heard.

Overwhelming Frustration

When her body could no longer reassure her, my presence had to. She slept because she trusted I would stay awake.

We switched cardiologists within the same practice to a more seasoned doctor since my daughter’s heart rate is jumping into 150s now for absolutely no reason. She is standing and breathing. She is walking. She is trying to flat iron her hair today for her multiple doctor appointments but quit halfway through because she feels as if her heart will burst out of her chest. According to the new Apple Watch that we ran out to buy so we have “proof” of an issue that is being called “anxiety because she’s probably nervous being in a doctor’s office”. 136. I am watching this gradual progression of worsening tachycardia as I think back on previous cardiology visits.

We were told by the original cardiologist, after her first emergency room visit, who never even touched her nor got up from behind his desk during either appointment, her echo was normal and if she felt “dizzy” she should “stop at the local store and grab a bag of chips and a sugary soda”. “You’re perfectly healthy and I don’t need to see you for another 25 years,” he concludes. We left and I literally sighed and shook my head.

We go to see the new guy. He sees a problem and assures my daughter. We schedule a follow up in a few weeks, he prescribes a different beta blocker to slow her heart, and if the problem still exists he will implant an ILR that will read her heart for the next five years. We all felt safe.

Nightfall comes. My adult daughter is propped up beside me and I have my head turned away from her as I watch Elf on loop because it’s calming to her.

“I don’t feel well,” is all she says.

I turn to look at her and begin to question the lighting. Or is it my eyes? What just happened in the moments I deigned to look away?

Ashen pallor.

Black circles beneath her eyes.

Bluish lips.

“What are you feeling?” I ask.

“I feel cold again. I can feel my lips turning blue.”

Is she speaking slowly??

“Ok” I reply calmly. “What is your heart rate?”

It feels like an eternity until we get the reading.

“58.”

“Let’s take your blood pressure.” I go into medic mode and already have the cuff halfway on.

93/52. Hmmmmm. What to do? What to do?

Options: 1- Call 911. 2- Observe a little longer and see which direction this is heading, though history has taught me to hope for the best and expect the worst. 3- Try something I saw on a video on Facebook regarding situational treatment for POTS.

I begin to yank the pillows out from behind my daughter’s head and put them under her feet. One pillow, two pillows, three pillows. How many pillows does one woman need? Good enough. Her toes are pointing to the sky.

Another blood pressure read. Another. Another. As soon as the reading was completed I was beginning the next. Heart rate after heart rate. All vitals were rising. It felt like an eternity, but it was only moments. I look down at her beautiful face and she is looking up at me. Not with fear in her eyes, but what looks to me to be relief.

“I’m starting to feel better,” she manages to say with a slight smile.

I sit down. Drained. Done.

I know if I call 911, not only will this traumatize my daughter even more, but we will sit in an emergency room under the harsh lights and the distressful sounds all night long and they will examine her, diagnose anxiety, refer her to psychiatry and send her home depleted mentally and physically.

“OK. If you can sleep with your feet elevated I can monitor your vitals all night here.” I hear myself claim, knowing I didn’t sleep last night because she was sick to her stomach from either the medication or the illness.

“Mom, am I going to die?”

I pause. She must be terrified. I assure her that I would never let anything happen to her and I will be beside her every moment and I know what to do no matter what. She is safe.

She smiles. At that moment, it hits me. She trusts me with her life and I am both terrified and truly overwhelmed with my love for her. She’s got me. Who has me? I cannot think about that. As a parent it’s too scary to think about the fact that she can be free falling here and I’m the only thing she has to keep her from hitting the ground.

She sleeps comfortably all night. I sit up beside her and do her vitals all night every hour. Elf plays in the background. It IS comforting.

I call the new cardiologist this morning. He says this is not a cardiology issue (But, her heart rate dropped too quickly and quite significantly). “Then whose issue is it?” No answer. New beta blocker. Have a nice day.

Neuro follow up. Told her to eat (though she cannot) and told her “the Zoloft will kick in soon”. Nothing else to contribute. EEG scheduled for next week.

God give me strength.

Borreliamiyamotoi@yahoo.com

Never Ending Journey

A personal story of Borrelia miyamotoi, symptom relapse, and the many challenges faced by patients and families living with tick-borne disease.

The frustration of Borrelia miyamotoi. Round and round we go. We thought things were going great, and on the outside they were. We had no idea what was happening on the inside. After years of what appeared to be remission from life-altering Borrelia miyamotoi, we are once again dealing with severe symptoms. The original blog was stopped because, hanging onto anything that helped, I didn’t want to jinx us. She was doing great! Why tempt fate? The journey had seemed to end. How naive of me.

Before I go any further, allow me to clarify. My daughter, now 23, is in the throes once again of multiple ambulances, emergency rooms, hospital admissions, and every specialist under the sun. Once again, the majority of specialists attribute her symptoms to anxiety. As a parent, when asked, trying to explain to these doctors that there is obviously a component of anxiety in this, though it is a normal level for what my daughter is experiencing, they grab onto that statement as if their lives depend on it and type it out in her visit summary and send her on her way. Trying to explain that she feels as if her body and mind are out of control and never knows when/if another convulsive episode will occur which is triggering her anxiety falls on deaf ears repeatedly. Why is this so difficult for the medical community to comprehend?

The frustration felt by both parent and patient is real. As I sat in the hospital trying to explain the difference between Borrelia miyamotoi and Borrelia burgdorferi for the umpteenth time (because the wrong test was run) to the umpteenth physician I can feel my annoyance teetering on rage. I have gone there and have told some doctors “Go do some research,” and “I’m not here to teach YOU,” but upon thinking about that, maybe I am. Maybe I am just that person to teach. Maybe sharing this desperate journey will teach someone what to look for, even if it’s only one specialist or doctor. I’m just tired. I’m beaten down. I’m an empty skin suit of a desperate parent trying to get through another doctor visit on nothing but hope.

So, once again, this is my blog. New and improved. I will be posting the old blog posts to show the past symptoms and struggles and visits and labs and tests and sleepless nights. I am hoping this touches someone enough to want to understand the differences between all of these tick-borne coinfections and what they do to a human being and the people that love them.

This is a story of undying love and devotion. This is a story about a search for support and answers. This is my story.