MY QUESTION: Can’t you give me a shot? DOCTOR: Of what? Oh uh, no — but we can give you a spinal tap.
This article will be upfront and personal, if that’s any consolation after the purloined movie title. It contains a mystery illness, with all the misery of a losing game flipped by a Hail Mary at the final second! Stay tuned!
WARNING! The story will supply statistics and some lists, which are a crashing bore, unless the list is yours and the statistics fit. Then it’s a whole different ball game, right? Anyway, the stats should give me some authority, some cred, if you will.
The Summer of 2021
To begin this screed at the beginning, I live in Scottsdale, Maricopa County, Arizona. Without viewing my home page picture, I hope you come to the conclusion that I am a hot chick, with that Valley Girl accent and look. Defined as: Any female in the United States who embodied ditziness, airheadedness, or greater interest in conspicuous consumption than intellectual or personal accomplishment.
I say, if the shoe fits, wear it. Like Cinderella’s evil sisters, I can shoe-horn the glass slipper if I need to.
Speaking of slippers, I recall exactly the day when mine no longer fit. It was July, 2021, and I was doing hospice care directly across the pool from my apartment. I was a bit mystified as to why the trek seemed long and difficult, why my legs felt swollen and had trouble moving. But then, maybe I imagined that. Hospice work is lengthy and draining.
Upon arriving on the hospice scene, I squatted down to retrieve some towels from a cupboard and fell over.
My legs had suddenly become red, numb and swollen to mid-calf, and, admittedly, I had experienced awful, gray diarrhea for a few days. I know the diarrhea description does not belong in your head, but some descriptions are essential to the story, so bear with me.
We had recently gone on a business trip to Las Vegas, and I was clad in business black, a nice suit, I still like it. In speaking to a client, my eyes roamed restlessly around the cavernous conference hall, breaking the first rule of business: always make EYE CONTACT. To be honest, I was frantically looking for a restroom, because I could never be sure. Certainly a social faux pas of irredeemable impact could be imminent, ruining even my shoes, and I was hoping to avoid that.
Of course, I eventually saw a doctor. I visited the emergency room twice. There my blood pressure proved wonky; over the top at first and then tumbling into the basement. My liver was holding on in epic battle, indicating rising ALT levels, and my renal function had dropped considerably.
Why complain at a five-hour wait?
Those symptoms are scarcely a blip on the radar screen in the ER, where people are screaming, vomiting and hitting people. Some are dying. Get real.
So, no answers in the ER.
I was eventually sent by eye-rolling doctors to a rheumatologist and then a gastroenterologist. Usually, if you have undefined symptoms, the send-off is to a rheumatologist, because you may have an autoimmune disease, medical definition: A bid for attention. (snicker)
I couldn’t even score there.
The gastro guy was really nice and offered me some beneficial fiber — NO THANKS! And did a stool culture.
Now, the stool culture is worthy of note, even though you may wish me to skip it. Buck up. In spite of the fact that I lived and worked on farms, with a veterinarian and in human healthcare for years — I came up EMPTY for parasites. That must be some kind of record!
I was still sick. By this time I had compiled a laundry list of: intermittent fevers, night sweats, disgusting diarrhea, numb feet and legs, low blood pressure, severe anxiety, and hyper-activity. Numb and burning feet and legs caused a few surprise topples. Driving in traffic was a sensory overload that blew what little mind I had left. I tried to hide at home.
When I should have been sleeping off a bad day, nightmarish sleep patterns complete with panic attacks tumbled through my head. Bedtime used to be a relief, now it was terrifying. Under stress of any kind I drew blanks and still do, occasionally, especially verbally.
A sort of dull depression followed along; and I now have understanding of those with depression. It may be a sort of brain damage. I had no understanding of my illness and its mild brain injury and pushed myself, which is not recommended. ‘Mild’ brain injury is my subjective statement, many who became ill in the summer of 2021 needed to learn to walk and talk all over again.
I had no idea of what had gone awry with my body.
I made a visit to my integrative doctor, out of desperation. This sort of doctor seldom prescribes drugs, which, believe me, I thought I needed; any kind of dope to take the edge off, by now. I was still walking around, two months sick, still functioning, but miserably.
“Let’s draw some blood,” she said.
Again? I thought, wearily. By then I had been punctured multiple times and hadn’t scored.
BINGO!
“You have West Nile Virus antibodies,” said the doctor, briskly closing her laptop. “You can verify by this blood draw, or you can request a spinal tap for further verification.”
She closed her laptop because there was nothing more she could do for me, there isn’t a treatment for West Nile Virus.
West Nile Virus is spread by mosquitos, as is Zika virus, malaria and dengue fever. All of these viruses can cause tremendous harm to humans — and horses. Horses in the Midwest, where I was raised, simply dropped and died from West Nile Virus. That is because the virus can invade the brain and cause encephalitis in horses, dogs and people. When that happens, permanent damage or death can occur. I was only aware of the disease in connection with horses.
Sixty-five percent of those infected in Maricopa County had serious symptoms due to West Nile Virus in 2021. I had a laundry list of symptoms, but managed to stay on my feet, unlike my neighbor. He seems fairly young, handsome and strong, but he suffered inability to walk and was hospitalized with neuro issues for a month. He still has pervasive fatigue, which I also have had for awhile. He now has diabetes.
Some were not so fortunate, they ended up unable to walk, on vents; some died. The ones that survived spent long months in rehab, never to be quite the same person they were.
The good news – the Hail Mary! I was able to keep it movin’, as I had responsibilities to others. My husband had end-stage kidney disease, which certainly trumps West Nile Virus. Yes, I admit I complained more than he did……
I was also quite well to start with, which helped considerably.
After two years I think I am getting past what they term ‘post viral fatigue‘, although dancing with Cave Creek Cowboys wipes me out, as well as the stair climber the gym installed; a real challenge. My feet are still a little numb, especially at night, but balance issues resolved after a few tumbles here and there. My left leg seems a bit weaker than my right, a new phenomenon.
I still have some occasional trouble with verbal response, although my husband says that’s an untrue statement.
Doctors are now saying that, if a person still has symptoms from West Nile Virus after two years, the damage may be permanent.
Doctors do not understand this virus, ignorance is bliss, even for neurologists. So, if you have it, like my neighbor and I, you are pretty much out there on your own.
They shoot horses, don’t they?
No. They have a vaccine for them.
Anne Lafferty #Corehollowmedia