Inanition

Inanition, great word but a lousy state of mind to be stuck in. But that's exactly where I find myself. My illness has given me a great deal to consider and write about. I have always been a strong advocate for patients and there are a multitude of patient care issues that I could speak out about, and want to speak about, but often when I sit down to write I find the process too difficult and I end up playing computer bridge. My inaction can partially be explained by my inability to concentrate for prolonged periods. I can stay on task long enough to play a hand but not long enough to consider a medically related topic in detail. I know that I could write drafts or small segments of a larger piece in each sitting but I didn't work in that fashion in my former life so I find it hard to make the transition.
Right now my entire life is in transition. I am not the person I used to be and I doubt that my antibiotic therapy will bring me all the way back to my previous state. I am not yet sure where I'll end up and that keeps me from settling into my current life. I remain hopeful that I'll get back to the practice of medicine and thus it's hard to fully let go of my former patients. I continue to have concern for all of them and there are a few whose medical problems I am still trying to solve in my head. I enjoy visiting with my patients on the rare occasions when I'm out in town but those meetings are bittersweet. Everyone wants to know when I'll be back and I struggle to explain that I lack any true sense about my prognosis. At home I don't know whether to delay projects or hire them out or simply let them go. Such uncertainty is a marked change from my former self and not a welcome one.
There have been some positive changes. I clearly know the difference between important matters and the small stuff. Minor setbacks and obstacles don't bother me. Rarely will a situation or statement get a "rise" out of me. I am slower to anger or to make a judgment about another's motives. I am less critical, more patient, less argumentative, kinder.
I am waiting to see what I'll be like when my treatment is completed. I really enjoyed being the old me, I hope the new me will be a fun person to know.

Apprehension

Well, I made it through the weeks where I was on 2 gm of Rocephin daily and just finished my first pulse of Rocephin. A pulse consists of 2 gm twice daily for four consecutive days. I continue to have my rash despite running each dose in over two hours. I am certainly more tired and some of my old sensory changes are back/worse. My muscle weakness has progressed and my pain level is up. I dreaded having to deal with these problems and that's why I was apprehensive about moving forward with my treatment regimen. Yet, before starting antibiotics my Lyme infection was relentlessly depriving me of the very qualities that defined me so I knew, in almost an instinctual way, that I needed to press onward. My periods of confusion have significantly cleared and so have the episodes of diarrhea. I remind myself of these positive responses to the antibiotic and counsel patience when I grow frustrated with the slow pace of my recovery.
Physicians often note when patients appear apprehensive and at times we use apprehension as a diagnostic tool. Orthopedists know that people with recurrent shoulder dislocations will often look apprehensive when their arm is positioned in a manner similar to what caused the dislocation. Victims of various forms of abuse will become apprehensive when the examiner inquires about topics related to their trauma and that appearance can speak of their pain long before they can tell us about it. We note it in ourselves,too. It's present in the sweaty palms we experience when the fetal heart rate is too low and in our pressured speech when we're discussing a vexing case with a consultant who is 45 minutes away. It's the extra time we take before entering a room to reveal bad news to a patient.
Apprehension is a flashing warning light. It doesn't require us to stop in our tracks but does advise us to proceed with caution. I am moving ahead and hoping that the road isn't washed out.