Lyme Stories
The Lance Armstrong of Lyme disease
10/31/08 15:03 Filed in: Lyme Disease Story
Caryn "CJ" Jaffe is pure bottled sunshine, a powerful and amazing model for those of us who are sick and determined to get better. She calls herself the Lance Armstrong of Lyme disease. Although she is "bombarded with Lyme symptoms every day," she's worked hard and prepared to compete in an ironman event on Saturday, November 1. What's the lesson for the rest of us? We can do it too. Maybe not race in an ironman, however, we can find the inner strength to set a big goal and then work to reach it, no matter what obstacles are in our way.
"I found out my bib number is 81 (no idea how I ended up with such a low number...it doesn't mean anything but it's kinda cool!)," she told us. "People can go to ironmanlive.com and search for me by name or bib number on race day, 11/1/08."
"I am starting to get very emotional about being a part of this race," says CJ. "I honestly never thought I could make it back to being this kind of an athlete. It truly is a miracle of sorts. I cannot wait to race. Just to get to that starting line is leaving me speechless. I am excited to see what the journey holds during and afterwards!"
Please follow CJ's race online, and forward this story to anyone you know who could use a shot of inspiration. I recently interviewed CJ for our Lyme Success Stories, so members can also listen to her tell her remarkable story. This little firecracker is also going to make a huge explosion with the book she's writing about her struggles with Lyme disease and her grit and determination in fighting her way back to an active life, one that even Lance Armstrong would be impressed by!
It's no coincidence that many of the people who are beating Lyme are dedicated to regular physical exercise. Ask your Lyme-aware doctor about starting an exercise program that is appropriate for your condition.
Ready...set...get better!
"I found out my bib number is 81 (no idea how I ended up with such a low number...it doesn't mean anything but it's kinda cool!)," she told us. "People can go to ironmanlive.com and search for me by name or bib number on race day, 11/1/08."
"I am starting to get very emotional about being a part of this race," says CJ. "I honestly never thought I could make it back to being this kind of an athlete. It truly is a miracle of sorts. I cannot wait to race. Just to get to that starting line is leaving me speechless. I am excited to see what the journey holds during and afterwards!"
Please follow CJ's race online, and forward this story to anyone you know who could use a shot of inspiration. I recently interviewed CJ for our Lyme Success Stories, so members can also listen to her tell her remarkable story. This little firecracker is also going to make a huge explosion with the book she's writing about her struggles with Lyme disease and her grit and determination in fighting her way back to an active life, one that even Lance Armstrong would be impressed by!
It's no coincidence that many of the people who are beating Lyme are dedicated to regular physical exercise. Ask your Lyme-aware doctor about starting an exercise program that is appropriate for your condition.
Ready...set...get better!
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Going for Gold in spite of Lyme
09/08/08 12:46 Filed in: Lyme Disease Story
23-year-old champion archer Mel Clarke of Great Britain was asked what it meant to be preparing for the Summer Paralympic Games in Bejing, which opened Sunday.
"The honor to represent your country at that level, it's incredible. I didn't think I was going to have the opportunity."
Lack of confidence in her athletic ability was not the reason for Clarke's doubt. Rather, it was a tick bite that had resulted in Lyme disease.
In 2003, Clarke was paralyzed and partially blinded by Lyme disease. She was told she'd never shoot the bow again. Since age 11, she has used a wheelchair due to arthritis. A fearless competitor, she rejected the notion of giving up her dream of gold. Instead she worked hard to heal from Lyme's brutal symptoms and recover movement, sight and agility. Three and a half years ago she began training for the 2008 Paralympic Games.
The Summer Paralympics began in Rome in 1960, for athletes with physical, mental or sensory disabilities. They are held in the same host city as the Olympic Games, and run by the same organization. They begin three weeks after the Olympics closing ceremony. "Para" is from a Greek word for "alongside," and is not related to "paralyzed."
Mel Clarke currently holds 20 county records, 10 national able-bodied records and eight world records. In addition to going for the gold in Bejing over the next few weeks, she is also eagerly anticipating competing in her home turf in the London Olympic Games in 2012.
"The honor to represent your country at that level, it's incredible. I didn't think I was going to have the opportunity."
Lack of confidence in her athletic ability was not the reason for Clarke's doubt. Rather, it was a tick bite that had resulted in Lyme disease.
In 2003, Clarke was paralyzed and partially blinded by Lyme disease. She was told she'd never shoot the bow again. Since age 11, she has used a wheelchair due to arthritis. A fearless competitor, she rejected the notion of giving up her dream of gold. Instead she worked hard to heal from Lyme's brutal symptoms and recover movement, sight and agility. Three and a half years ago she began training for the 2008 Paralympic Games.
The Summer Paralympics began in Rome in 1960, for athletes with physical, mental or sensory disabilities. They are held in the same host city as the Olympic Games, and run by the same organization. They begin three weeks after the Olympics closing ceremony. "Para" is from a Greek word for "alongside," and is not related to "paralyzed."
Mel Clarke currently holds 20 county records, 10 national able-bodied records and eight world records. In addition to going for the gold in Bejing over the next few weeks, she is also eagerly anticipating competing in her home turf in the London Olympic Games in 2012.
Waiting room - Lyme story
07/18/08 16:37 Filed in: Lyme Success Story
I was sitting in the crowded, stuffy waiting room, when the guy seated across the aisle started talking.
"I got a rash all over my chest," he said to no one in particular. "They gave me the wrong blood pressure medicine," he continued. "Can you believe that? I can't sleep, it itches so bad." He went on explaining the details of his story and the painful rash, eventually reaching up as if to unbutton his shirt to prove it. I buried my nose in my magazine. The man stopped, looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was. He leaned toward me. "What's wrong with you?" he said. "You don't look sick."
My long skirt hid the white gauze bandages wrapped around both shins from ankle to knee. Beneath the gauze, the skin on my legs was hamburger from a mysterious rash that had been getting worse over the course of the past eight months. I'd been practically living on an alkaline diet, including lunches of delectable dandelion greens, and downing numerous turmeric capsules, since a holistic doctor had told me that I had eczema. I didn't drink, smoke, and I could count on one hand the times I'd taken antibiotics in my entire lifetime. I wasn't the type to get eczema, and that diagnosis had taken me by surprise. Even so, I religiously followed the doctor's suggestions. Still, I'd had no luck with the nasty rash. When the pain became so vicious that I could no longer even walk, my boyfriend drove me to the ER. Before walking into the waiting room, I'd spent the weekend on IV antibiotics. The ER docs informed us that I had almost died from a staph infection on the verge of going septic.
The man may not have noticed the cane leaning next to my purse. I smiled weakly. "I don't know," I shrugged. He narrowed his eyes, as if I was withholding something he deserved to know. Then he nodded and sat back.
My heart leaped at odd intervals, like a fish jumping in a shallow stream, making it hard to catch a deep breath. The one fan circulating in the room didn't do much to relieve the stuffiness. The dull headache I'd had for a week seemed worse under the florescent lights and the blaring TV high on the wall. An attendant in a green tunic appeared from the hallway and glanced at her clipboard. When she called my name, I stood and steadied myself with the cane and proceeded to walk as well as I could toward the hall. Vertigo gripped me, making me lose my balance. I almost bumped into the knees of the man with the rash. "M.S.," he muttered.
I stepped on the scale in the hall. The attendant adjusted it and recorded my weight. In the doctor's office, she took my blood pressure, handed me a hospital gown and left the room. I sat on the stainless steel table under the glare of the florescent lights, and waited again. So this is what public health care looks like, I thought. What was wrong with me? I had always been healthy, was always the one to choose carrot sticks over potato chips. On top of that, I was happily in love, and even starting a new business. In a million-zillion years, I never dreamed I'd be in this position. But here I was, in a small California coastal town, in the middle of my life, in such a weakened state that I could barely recognize the thoughts swimming through the thick fog that had descended in my brain.
"I got a rash all over my chest," he said to no one in particular. "They gave me the wrong blood pressure medicine," he continued. "Can you believe that? I can't sleep, it itches so bad." He went on explaining the details of his story and the painful rash, eventually reaching up as if to unbutton his shirt to prove it. I buried my nose in my magazine. The man stopped, looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was. He leaned toward me. "What's wrong with you?" he said. "You don't look sick."
My long skirt hid the white gauze bandages wrapped around both shins from ankle to knee. Beneath the gauze, the skin on my legs was hamburger from a mysterious rash that had been getting worse over the course of the past eight months. I'd been practically living on an alkaline diet, including lunches of delectable dandelion greens, and downing numerous turmeric capsules, since a holistic doctor had told me that I had eczema. I didn't drink, smoke, and I could count on one hand the times I'd taken antibiotics in my entire lifetime. I wasn't the type to get eczema, and that diagnosis had taken me by surprise. Even so, I religiously followed the doctor's suggestions. Still, I'd had no luck with the nasty rash. When the pain became so vicious that I could no longer even walk, my boyfriend drove me to the ER. Before walking into the waiting room, I'd spent the weekend on IV antibiotics. The ER docs informed us that I had almost died from a staph infection on the verge of going septic.
The man may not have noticed the cane leaning next to my purse. I smiled weakly. "I don't know," I shrugged. He narrowed his eyes, as if I was withholding something he deserved to know. Then he nodded and sat back.
My heart leaped at odd intervals, like a fish jumping in a shallow stream, making it hard to catch a deep breath. The one fan circulating in the room didn't do much to relieve the stuffiness. The dull headache I'd had for a week seemed worse under the florescent lights and the blaring TV high on the wall. An attendant in a green tunic appeared from the hallway and glanced at her clipboard. When she called my name, I stood and steadied myself with the cane and proceeded to walk as well as I could toward the hall. Vertigo gripped me, making me lose my balance. I almost bumped into the knees of the man with the rash. "M.S.," he muttered.
I stepped on the scale in the hall. The attendant adjusted it and recorded my weight. In the doctor's office, she took my blood pressure, handed me a hospital gown and left the room. I sat on the stainless steel table under the glare of the florescent lights, and waited again. So this is what public health care looks like, I thought. What was wrong with me? I had always been healthy, was always the one to choose carrot sticks over potato chips. On top of that, I was happily in love, and even starting a new business. In a million-zillion years, I never dreamed I'd be in this position. But here I was, in a small California coastal town, in the middle of my life, in such a weakened state that I could barely recognize the thoughts swimming through the thick fog that had descended in my brain.