I’m still here–bet you thought I’d dropped off the planet, didn’t you?  Nope, I’m just in circle-the-wagons mode.  Turns out Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever really sucks.  I’m well–all symptoms have subsided–but the lingering fatigue and joint aches are no fun.  It’s particularly difficult, I think, knowing that I was in really good shape before I got sick; I had been steadily building all summer, and was feeling confident and strong.  Now I feel like I’m back to square one, but I’m trying not to panic when I look at the calendar.  I’m just trying to trust that I’ll turn a corner at some point and it’ll come back quickly.

I’ve been out on my bike a few times–I’m up to 15 miles, at an average speed of 15.3 mph.  Ugh.  I guess I still have a ways to go.  The alarming part was how my legs felt at the end of that hour.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it home, and in the evening, every time I stood up my legs quivered like they were about to cramp.

Anyway, enough about that.  I’ve been trying to catch up on other things in the meantime.  Today I got back to the house-painting project.  I scrubbed the back stairwell, so that I can start putting primer on tomorrow.  It was a mess; it’s where everyone kicks off their shoes when they come in the door.  I had to spackle a lot of dents and dings.  I think I’m going to paint it a bright, sunny yellow.  I’ll probably regret that when it’s covered with mud and dust and soccer ball prints, but it’ll make me happy for the first few (clean) minutes.

I’ve been reading.  My bookclub (which meets in about half an hour; I need to go soon) read a Wallace Stegner novel this month, Crossing to Safety.  It was pleasantly enjoyable; not my favorite book of all time or anything, but a nice enough character study.  I finished Bill Buford’s book, Heat, which was engrossing, but which went on a bit long.  I also just finished Stephen King’s book about being a writer, called On Writing.  All aspiring writers should read it; it’s an easily digestible book of advice about the craft of writing.  Plus it’s a really good read.  It’s got me all fired up about digging into a second draft of my novel.  Now I just need to make myself sit down and do it while it’s on my mind.  More easily said than done . . .

Last Friday night we took our son and a large handful of his friends to Kanki for dinner.  This Friday is his 13th birthday, and the Kanki dinner was what he wanted to do to celebrate.  Lee and Delaney and I sat at a different table, out of sight of Toby and his cohorts.  It seemed to be exactly what he wanted it to be, so I suppose that’s a successful birthday party.  But I don’t need to go to Kanki again for quite a while.  Not sure how I feel about being the mother of a teenager, but I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter at this point.

Here’s an amusing tidbit:  So Dean Karnazes ran his 50 marathons in 50 days, culminating with the NYC marathon, right?  The next day he went for a recovery run, then the next, and the next, and by the Wednesday, he had decided that he couldn’t just pack up and go home.  So he sent his family home on a plane, piled his stuff into a baby jogger, and headed out to RUN home.  To San Francisco.  From New York.  My husband seems to think this is bordering on insane.  Can’t imagine why.  You can track his progress at the Runner’s World website.

That same day (of the New York marathon, which I ran in 2004, and every step of which I HATED–I had a truly horrible day) I watched Lance break 3 hours (barely!) in his first ever marathon.  The marathon website had a feature that enabled us to pay $5 to watch the “LanceCam”–a motorcycle followed the course in front of Lance, with a camera trained on him the entire way.  It was highly entertaining, in a really bizarre sort of way.

And the day before that (which was my first day post-fever, so I was really just hanging out in bed, doing as little as possible) we tracked my friend Amelia, who was doing her 2nd Ironman in Panama City, Florida.  We met doing IM Coeur d’Alene in 2004; it turned out we had graduated from college together, having never known each other.  Quite bizarre.  Anyway, I was kind of jealous of her doing her 2nd IM; while she was tapering, I kept wishing that I was getting ready to race, too.  I guess it turned out for the best–there’s no way I could’ve done an Ironman (or anything else, for that matter) with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Oh well.  I’ll do another Ironman sometime.  In the meantime–congratulations Amelia!

All right.  Gotta go to bookclub now.

Still recuperating.  I’ve been officially fever-free for about 36 hours now, so I feel like the RMSF is pretty well licked, but in retrospect, I think perhaps the antibiotic reaction may have been as bad as, if not worse than, the original infection.  I have a (strong) weird taste in my mouth that is making it hard to get my appetite back.  I’m eating, but not a tremendous amount. 

The only other glitch is that my legs still don’t really want to hold me up.  Not sure if that’s just a matter of getting my energy back, or if it’s some residual consequence of the RMSF.  Doesn’t really matter; it is what it is.

Anyway, the main reason for this post is to humor Mr. Helpful.  I totally forgot to mention in last night’s post what he perceives to be the most significant fact about this new antibiotic.  It’s for cats and dogs.  People, too, apparently, but when I initially glanced at the fact sheet that came with it, the sentence that jumped out at me was “Cats are more sensitive to the adverse effects of this medicine than are dogs.”  Mr. Helpful finds this very amusing, and likes to read something into the fact that I have not announced this highly humorous fact to every person who has inquired after my well-being.  He thinks I’m defensive.  I’m really just forgetful.  Now you know.

Meow.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Delaney woke up this morning with a nasty head cold and an ear infection.  Lovely.

Well, this was the illness that wouldn’t quit. In my last post, I was sick, but the full brunt of it hadn’t quite hit me yet. That night–Monday–was a long one. I tossed and turned all night, racked with nausea and alternately shivering and sweating. Tylenol was barely even touching the fever at that point (over the course of the week, I regularly saw 102.8F), and my head hurt worse than I think it ever has. I got up Tuesday morning and called for a doctor’s appointment. I had to get my brother, Chip, to drive me–thank you, dahling.

So get this–she said she thought it was Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. She ordered a blood test, but apparently it takes a while to get the results, and RMSF needs to be treated right away, so she started me on 10 days worth of Doxycycline. So I went back to bed. I slept a tiny bit better that night, but Wednesday afternoon I started throwing up, so the doctor called in a prescription for compazine. I was guardedly optimistic, but this entire time (three full days now) I’ve been comatose in the bed, with excruciating all-over body pain, plus the headache and fever, and now the nausea and vomiting.

Thursday morning I get up and I’m covered in a rash. My face looks like I’ve got a severe sunburn; the rest of me just has this . . . rash. I go back to the CDC website and look at all their lovely photos of people with this rash, and it looks to me like definite confirmation. I have a tick-borne illness. Don’t remember being bitten by a tick; don’t even remember seeing one. Apparently, my self-checking habits leave something to be desired.

So, I just mark time all day, fighting back the nausea (a losing battle). I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The rash felt like my skin was on fire. This was NOT on the CDC website–their stuff says that the rash doesn’t itch. Hmm. So I called the doctor, again, and she wanted to see me. I recruit another friend (thanks Erik!) to drive me, the doctor takes one look, and announces that I’m allergic to the antibiotic. Lovely.

An aside at this point: This was now Friday afternoon. I had been completely out of commission for four days. I don’t think I have ever just checked out like that before. I made no attempt to keep track of what was going on with the children; I don’t even think I laid eyes on Toby for about 24 hours at one point. The house could’ve burned down around my ears and I wouldn’t have noticed. I watched a little bit of television, but anything loud or overly visual made me feel sick. Reading wasn’t an option. I managed a shower every day, but not clean clothes. I got really, really tired of lying in bed. Wednesday afternoon, Lee developed a sore throat–probably the stress of having to deal with everything plus me. He stayed home with me on Thursday, and we just sat in the bed being miserable together. This did not, however, relieve the misery one iota.

So it’s now Friday afternoon, and the doctor prescribes a different antibiotic, plus prednisone, plus a different nausea medication. I go home (throw up), give the prescriptions to Lee, and get back in the bed. Lee calls from the pharmacy–there’s a glitch. This antibiotic is available only by IV. Hunh. After a few minutes of concern that I’m going to have to be hospitalized (hmm . . . they have good drugs there, don’t they?) and a bunch of phone calls between pharmacists and doctors and one very patient spouse (who by now has been diagnosed with strep throat!), we finally find a compounding pharmacy that will make it for me. Lee flies over there and gets it just before they close.

And ta-da! A little steroid action, one dose of Phenergan, and a good night’s sleep later, and I’m a new woman. I’ve been up and about all day (well, about is relative–I’ve been shuffling around my bedroom, occasionally venturing to the laundry room), and am even eating a bit. Not a tremendous amount, but enough to make me feel a whole lot better. My face still itches a bit, and it’s beginning to peel, but the fever seems to be staying down (knock on wood).

With any luck, I’ve seen the end of this one. Word to the wise: wear bug spray!