Back when I first got sick in August, there were a lot of (very kind and concerned) armchair doctors trying to diagnose me. You have celiac! Your thyroid is broken! You have an autoimmune condition! You have adrenal failure! You have M.S.! You have cancer! But the one that kept coming up time-and-time again was Lyme Disease.
It seemed like everyone was touched by Lyme and were (lovingly <3) concerned that I was fighting Lyme, too. Even though I have a history of lots of tick bites (helllooooo, country livin’), honestly, I mostly dismissed it for a few reasons (a) I had a Lyme test back in August that came back negative and (b) our area of the country isn’t considered a Lyme hotbed—it’s supposedly really rare to get Lyme in my region (even though my neighbor was diagnosed this summer, too).
But here I am, four months later, with an honest-to-goodness case of Lyme disease. There is a lot of complicated and convoluted things that we had to work through to get to the diagnosis (pro tip: Lyme disease testing is notoriously unreliable—something I wish I had known back when I had my first two Lyme tests came back negative). But, honestly, none of that matters now, because I have a diagnosis and a path forward, and friends, I am STOKED about that.