Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Clearing Lyme

Read the previous installments to my "Lymey" series (in order) here:

One Last Hurrah with Daddy

The Illness Begins

Levaquin with a Twist of Lyme

Lyme Brain


Living in the Lymelight

In a previous chapter (Lyme Brain), I referred to Lyme as a disease that not only has a physical component to it (i.e. the actual borrelia spirochete) but also a spiritual component. Using analogies from the Netflix show Stranger Things, I compared Lyme to the “Shadow Monster” that lurks in the “Upside Down” dimension. In other words, the Lyme is an actual negative energy and a battle with Lyme is almost like a battle between positive energy and negative energy. This would mean that you’ve only won half the battle if you’ve treated the physical component of Lyme with medication or vitamin supplements. If Lyme is an actual negative energy, then physical medications and vitamins are powerless against it. Something else must be done. But what?

Well, I started doing some Googling to see if I got any hits that would confirm my suspicions about Lyme and its energetic properties. Specifically, I Googled “clearing Lyme from my energy field” and I stumbled upon an excerpt from a book. The book was called Clear Your Way to Freedom: The Key to Unlocking Your Whole Healing by Rachael Bleau. In the excerpt, the author discussed how she did energy healing and had a client who had Lyme for more than ten years. This healer was able to locate the actual energy of the Lyme that was hiding out in one of the client’s bodily cells, remove it, and replace the cell with positive energy. Her client ultimately ended up being 100 percent Lyme-free and also 100 percent symptom-free. After years of trying drug after drug and supplement after supplement, it was this energetic healing that ultimately brought her the complete healing she needed.

Needless to say, the book sounded very intriguing. I ended up ordering it on Amazon and I read it in full within a couple of days. I found the concept extremely interesting. Could many—if not all—chronic diseases just be a stubborn ball of negative energy that must be removed from our bodies? Conventional drugs and vitamins are certainly necessary, but is energy healing that one last step we must take to reach a state of normalcy again?

I was willing to give energy healing a try. And, believe it or not, I already knew how to perform such a healing…sort of. About 15 years ago, my family started seeing a “health coach”. This “health coach” was a dietician, a homeopathic therapist and also a Reiki master. Initially, my family and I started seeing her for allergies but then we eventually started getting Reiki treatments as well. These treatments consisted of her “clearing” certain allergies from our bodies or also thought-patterns, traumas, insecurities or any other negative energies that weren’t in our highest and best interest to “have with us” at the time.

I personally saw this “health coach” for a variety of issues, mainly allergies, but she cleared me of all different things, like antibiotics I had taken in the past, as well as vaccines. She also cleared negative thought-patterns I had. She even cleared me of a pneumonia-causing bacteria (mycoplasma) I had inhaled via sawdust.

Anyway, at a certain point down the line, my “health coach” taught me how to clear negative energies on my own. This way, I didn’t have to see said health coach whenever I had picked up something negative. I could feel empowered knowing I had the power to rid myself of the energy, all on my own. 

The clearing method she taught me involved a pendulum, a bathroom sink and also a few magic words. I’m kind of kidding about the magic words but not completely because there are some special words you must say. Basically, you ask your “higher self” to “please remove any energies that are not in my highest and best interest to have with me at this time.” With one hand you hold the faucet and with the other hand you hold your pendulum. After you say the magic words, the pendulum starts swinging and you wait for it to finish swinging until becoming still again. Once the pendulum is still, the clearing is done.

For the most part, I usually did a general clearing of negative energy; that is, I asked my higher self to identify, disorganize and remove all energies that were not in my highest and best interest to have with me at the time. This would clear my body of any general negative energy I may have picked up while I was out and about in the world. However, you can also be specific about what energy you want cleared. It could be a specific trauma or though-pattern. It could also be a specific virus or disease.

In my current case, I obviously wanted to specifically target Lyme and that’s exactly what I did. Boy, let me tell you, that pendulum started moving like crazy as soon as I said the "magic words". It took about 7-10 minutes for it to stop moving. I thought this was a good sign. If the pendulum was any accurate indication, hopefully a great deal of negative energy was clearing from my body and, using the running faucet as a conductor (only a trickle of water is necessary), the energy was running down the drain and being carried down to the bowels of the earth. That’s how the theory goes, anyway.

I felt a bit lightheaded afterwards, which was normal, but I must say: as the day went on, I felt kind of lighter, like a heaviness in my energy had been lifted. As the days went forward, I could tell I was clearing because I would feel fatigued at times and even have mysterious hotspots on my body. Based on my experiences with clearing in the past, I knew this was normal and I just had to ride it all out.

Gradually, I started to feel less and less 'off' and more and more like myself, kind of like I had won my body back. Of course, it's not like a magic wand was waved and, wa-lah, I was well again. The benefits of the clearing have been gradual.

As I write this, I still seem to be improving, slowly but surely. I do believe clearing Lyme was one more necessary step to take in my healing process, along with the initial antibiotics and subsequent vitamin regimen etc.

The question now is, how far will this clearing take me in my healing? Only time will provide the answer. Patience will be needed, perhaps more patience than I've ever needed in my entire life...

Friday, January 12, 2018

The Illness Begins

Read the previous installment to the "Lymey" series here: One Last Hurrah with Daddy.

I’d had one hell of a July 4th weekend, that’s for sure. All right, it was nothing too special, but I did have such a great time in Boston that night when I danced my pants off and I also had a good time at the July 3rd Walpole fireworks display a couple nights later. That night wasn’t as fun as the Boston night but it was still delightful. Walpole (a suburb of Boston) has one of the best fireworks displays in the history of fireworks displays. I sipped a cupla suds that night as well. Beers, I mean.

But, then, along came July 5th. It was about halfway through the day that I said to myself, man, I feel kinda drained. But I didn’t think all that much of it. I chalked the fatigue up to me having one hell of a weekend with dancing, karaoke, fireworks and plenty of brewski-stewski’s throughout. I probably had a crap-ton of toxins in my blood. I was still hung over, essentially, not necessarily from all the beer, but from all the fun. The fatigue I felt was my holiday high coming down…

I also thought my fatigue could be attributed to allergies. The summer of 2017 was known amongst ragweed experts to be one of the most intense ragweed seasons Massachusetts had experienced in a long time. Ragweed had a tendency to make me feel very drained. So I thought it was maybe the ragweed getting me down? Yes. Very possible.

My solution to my fatigue was to go out for a run. Now, you would think that running would make me feel even more drained but I’d found that the opposite was usually true. Running seemed to help me sweat all the toxins out of my body and I’d feel like a million bucks afterwards. It was usually the best solution to getting over the hangover of a rather fun (but toxic) holiday weekend.

So I went for a run and, at first, I didn’t feel all that much better. In fact, I felt very nasty. But this was perfectly normal. See, when you first start your run, all the toxins get flushed out of your muscle tissues and you feel gross. However, as your run progresses, you feel better and better because said toxins get processed and eventually eliminated from your body via sweat. Or at least that’s how I understand it. I think it’s pretty close to that.

Anyway, feeling gross during the beginning part of my run was normal and I felt gross. I grew concerned, however, when the gross feeling didn’t dissipate. And not only did I feel gross but I felt very ‘off’. I was probably only about 15 or 20 minutes into my run when I said to myself, “You know, I REALLY don’t feel so hot.”

I ended up cutting my run short. My thinking was, hmmm, maybe I pushed things too far over the weekend. Maybe my immune system got compromised and I was coming down with a little something. But in July? C’mon, who gets sick in July?!

Well, it wasn’t until later that night that I officially proclaimed (to myself) that I was in sick mode. “Sick mode” basically means I shut down life for a little while and watch TV and/or movies until further notice. In my case, I curled up on my couch with a blanket and watched a movie on Netflix. I started getting the chills and I knew I must’ve had a fever, nothing too high, but I definitely thought I was likely in the 100 degrees area.

The next day, I felt the same. Not too bad but bad enough to stay in official sick mode and watch TV. There was a Karate Kid marathon on AMC. I watched most—if not all—of all three Karate Kid movies. Those are still excellent movies, by the way. They pass the test of time. But that's not important right now.

Eventually, my body started to ache and I figured I had somehow contracted a summer flu virus. I figured I had probably partied too hard over the weekend, compromised my immune system and now I was paying the price. “Well,” I thought, “It’s a small price to pay for a good time. Besides, I could use some sick-mode time. It’s a good excuse to veg out like a zombie and watch TV. We need that sometimes.” I’d had plenty of flus in the past and they usually ran their course after a few days and then I would feel better and I’d move on with life.

The problem was that this “flu” didn’t run its course. In fact, it seemed to escalate each day that went by. The middle of the night was the worst. I would wake up in my bed and feel like absolute death. My fever would feel so high. I had sweats. My body ached all over. Every muscle. Some joints hurt. Head was pounding. You name it.

I also couldn’t eat hardly anything. It was a huge chore getting any food down and just the thought of food grossed me out. In fact, I couldn’t understand how I had ever been able to eat food at any point in my life.

I eventually started taking an Advil here and there and then a couple of Extra-strength Tylenol. These medicines seemed to make me sweat profusely but then my fever went down and I was able to eat a little something before the drug wore off and I felt horrible all over again.

By day four or five, I was extremely concerned about my health. In fact, I had never been sick like this before. Everything seemed to be getting worse and worse and I couldn’t seem to get a grip on it all. Was this even the flu? Well, I needed to check on that. 

I knew I needed to see a doctor.


Read the next installments to the "Lymey" series (in order):

Levaquin with a Twist of Lyme

Lyme Brain


Living in the Lymelight

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

One Last Hurrah with Daddy

This is a prologue to my ongoing "Lymey" blog series that documents my ongoing struggles with Lyme disease and its aftermath.

I was on the fence about meeting my friends in Boston. They were at a new outdoor “beer garden” called Trillium. I knew this beer garden’s homemade drinks would be expensive, probably five dollars for their cheapest IPA. I didn’t want to spend that much money.

On the other hand, I hadn’t had a night out in Boston in a long time. I figured I was due to have a little fun, even if it cost me more money than I wanted to spend. I also figured I could drink a beer or two on the train-ride into the city. Get a warm, cozy buzz going. Then, meet up with my friends and only get a couple of expensive beers at this "beer garden" place.

It was the Fourth of July weekend, after all, and the Tall Ships had just left Boston Harbor after a week-long docking. Plus, the world-famous Independence Day fireworks were just a few days away. The city would be buzzing with tourists and good, holiday cheer. I needed this, I thought. I needed a good night out in town. Yes, a good night out is what I deserved and a good night out is what I was determined to have.

The night started with the relaxing, early-Saturday evening train-ride into Beantown. I brought a Thermos with me and in this Thermos was my drink -- or perhaps the more proper word is “drug” -- of choice, the notorious “Natty Daddy” beer, the father of Natural (aka Natty) Ice. Natty Daddy was a stronger version of its icy son, with almost twice the alcohol volume (8% alcohol volume if you want to get down to the natty-gritty...er, I mean nitty-gritty...details).

Slouching low in my seat, I sipped my Daddy and listened to my iPod. A song by the Beastie Boys came on. It was called “The Move” from the album Hello Nasty. My warm buzz started to ooze through my bloodstream. I peered out the train window and caught glimpses of the magnificent Prudential Building as the train moved in and out of tunnels. “I feel very fine right now,” I said to myself. “I feel so very fine.”

The train pulled into South Station and I felt even more swell by this point. A mischievous voice in my head kept saying that I needed to keep the excellent buzz going. This voice came from my alter-ego, the funner personality that makes its presence known when I start drinking. Shit, let’s call this voice Daddy, first name Natty. Daddy wanted to keep the buzz going strong but I didn’t want to start paying an arm and a leg for those fancy beer garden beers. I giggled with Daddy and he suggested I make a short pitstop at another bar with cheaper beers. I’d slug two or three sudsy ones there. THEN I’d meet up with my friends.

This “other bar” was a favorite bar of mine called “The Wild Rover”. Their beers were sometimes a dollar, sometimes a dollar and a half, but never any more than two dollars. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from Faneuil Hall, but the way I walked? It was more like 7-10 minutes, dude. No problemo.

I speed-walked to Wild Rover and made terrific time. My buzz was still going strong and my iPod was blasting Kanye West's "All of the Lights", not that I'm a big fan of Kanye but that song, for some reason, goes excellent with a solid buzz. Daddy likes that song. Daddy likes it a lot.

The buzz and the music gave me an extra boost of adrenaline, but the truth is that I was probably in the best shape of my life, give or take, maybe take a bit, but I was in excellent shape. For the past two years, I had been running every other day, at least three or four miles, but I had even more recently integrated speed workouts into my exercise regimen, not to mention bleacher workouts and upper-body workouts like push-ups and, well, just push-ups. 

The point is that I was in superb shape and I speed-walked to “Wild Rover” like it was nothing. I should have taken a moment to appreciate the fact that I could get from point A to point B on my own two feet like a well-oiled machine. I didn’t have to pay for a cab. I didn’t have to pay for a subway ride, either. I had a great and quick means of city transportation: my own two feet. I really should have taken a moment to appreciate that.

“I’ll take two Bud Lights,” I said to the Wild Rover bartender who had the most incredible cleavage I had ever set my eyes on. By the way, it’s not offensive to say what I just said because the bartenders at Wild Rover wear uniforms that are meant to display and celebrate their cleavage. Just because I have an appreciation of cleavage doesn't mean I'm objectifying women. This is what Daddy has told me, anyway.

“Are both beers for you?” the bartender asked me.

I gave her a sheepish smile. “What do you want to hear?”

“The law says I can only serve you one at a time.”

“Okay, just one, then.”

She smiled and poured me the Bud Light. I started slugging it fast but not too fast in case the bartender took notice and shut me off prematurely.

I also figured I should text my friends and tell them I would arrive at the beer garden soon. “Just made one pit-stop,” I texted to them. They all immediately knew I was at my favorite “Wild Rover” bar without me even telling them.

By the time I was finished sending the text, my beer glass was already empty. “I’ll take another one, please,” I said to the bartender, being careful to enunciate every word free of slurs. Again, I did not want to be shut off.

Daddy figured I could chug one more beer and THEN meet up with my friends. After all, how long was having one more beer going to take, anyway? I had only been at the bar ten minutes, tops. Maybe it would, what, take me another ten minutes to drink one more beer?

I slugged the second beer and Daddy figured, what the hell, I might as well have a third beer. This third beer turned into a fourth beer and this fourth beer may or may not have turned into a fifth beer and I’ll answer that for you and say it definitely turned into a fifth beer.

I must say, though, that I’d never had so much fun alone at a bar. I started chatting with an (older) woman next to me about the Tall Ships. She had pictures of the ships on her phone, she showed them to me, we hooted and hawed, clapped our hands, stomped our feet and we drank together with great joy. 

Then, a (younger) girl came into the bar and sat next to me. She was meeting up with some friends but they hadn’t arrived yet. I asked her a question about how to use the Google Maps Application on my smartphone. I already knew the answer to the question, but my purpose was to strike up a conversation and I was successful doing that. We drank together in high spirits and she even gave me her number at the end of the night.

Once I was about five or six beers deep, I did eventually meet up with my friends who were now at another bar in the area. They weren’t particularly happy with me, that I took so long to meet up with them, but, long story short, we ended up going back to the Wild Rover anyway and I proceeded to bee-bop and skip-a-dee-doo my way around the bar like I was the personification of a million bucks. Yes, I was Mr. Wild Rover that night. I could do absolutely no wrong. Daddy and I were riding out such a great buzz and there wasn’t nothin’ gonna keep us down.

Karaoke was taking place at this point in the night and I decided to “come out of retirement” and resurrect my famous Guns N’ Roses “Welcome to the Jungle” performance that I hadn’t done in about five or six years. It was a little sloppy but I got the bar crowd going with my sha-na-na-knees shouts and serpentine hip grinds.

Riding high on adrenalin, I immediately made my way upstairs as soon as I ended my performance. The “upstairs” of The Wild Rover was the dancing area with a DJ and another bar. It was still early in the night so the dance floor was pretty much empty but the DJ’s subwoofery jams were going strong and I decided to start busting moves.

And bust moves I did. Holy shit! I don’t mean to brag but I was busting some of the craziest shit I had ever busted. There was something different about me that night. I was so…ON. It’s like I was possessed by something...something good, I guess. Angels were with me. God was with me. Something was different about me, in a good way. I had so much positive energy.

The more I busted moves, the more the dance floor started filling up. Again, I’m not bragging here; I’m merely stating fact and the FACT is that I started the party in the bar that night. There was no question about that. I was busting moves I never knew I could even do. My body felt so flexible and elastic. It was incredible.

At one point, a felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a beautiful Greek girl looking at me. She said, “I saw you out there [on the dance floor] and I just needed to say hello. What is your name?”

“I’m Matt,” I said. “What’s your name?”

She said her name but I don’t remember what it was. And then I said…

“You’re beautiful.” And she WAS beautiful. And then I saw that a young man was standing beside her. “Is this your boyfriend?” I asked.

She looked a bit embarrassed by the question. In fact, they both seemed to blush. “No,” she said.

And that was that. She said it was nice to meet me, she'd be going back to Greece after the holiday and then she and the male friend left. Sorry, I guess that story was anticlimactic. I probably should’ve chatted her up more or asked for a brief make-out session but I guess—even though I was still so “on”—I was still kind of a wuss-bag about talking to such a beautiful girl. The point I’m trying to make, however, is that she came up to ME…and “HAD” to say hello. This is concrete evidence of me being so “on” and also having such great dance moves that night.

Overall, it was one of the funnest nights of my life, or at least the funnest night I’d had in quite a long time. Perhaps on some level of higher consciousness I knew that, in just a few days, my life was going to change in a radical way. Somehow, I knew—or maybe the universe knew—that this would be the last fun night I had for a long while. It was my one last hurrah. For a while.

It was also my one last hurrah with Daddy.

Probably forever.


Read the next installments to the Lymey series (in order) here: