A Treacherous Epidemic Needs Our Allied Forces”
This country, especially the eastern seaboard, is currently in the throes of a swiftly moving explosion of Lyme disease. Hundreds of cases are contracted weekly and the tick population, the primary carrier, is multiplying in greater proportions than what has been historically normal. Many compare Lyme’s rapid growth to that of the polio epidemics of the last century. Immediate attention, funding, research, and treatment need to be put into stepped up action mode regarding Lyme disease. Homeopathy could be a pivotal player if we can unite on this matter. Kim Makris is the author of "Out of the Woods," a book on the disease from both a personal and professional practitioner perspective.
Thousands of people are afflicted with chronic Lyme disease. Thousands more are wrongly diagnosed with illnesses such as fibromyalgia, lupus, chronic fatigue syndrome, rheumatoid arthritis, parkinson’s and more, when in actuality the Lyme bacterials are at the root of their problems. Mysterious symptoms, alarming fatigue, and an unexplained ability to get well accompany these omnipresent struggles. Lyme disease can be a misleading and devastating illness when neglected or misdiagnosed, leading to sometimes life altering effects. Once considered to be a short term infectious illness, the past two decades of patient results and clinical findings have illuminated that chronic Lyme disease is a multifaceted, complex, systemic illness of a treacherous nature. Recovery is often only partial, if not addressed thoroughly.
This country, especially the eastern seaboard, is currently in the throes of a swiftly moving explosion of Lyme disease. Hundreds of cases are contracted weekly and the tick population, the primary carrier, is multiplying in greater proportions than what has been historically normal. Many compare Lyme’s rapid growth to that of the polio epidemics of the last century. Immediate attention, funding, research, and treatment need to be put into stepped up action mode regarding Lyme disease. Homeopathy could be a pivotal player if we can unite on this matter.
A big problem is that large sectors of the health care community are uninformed about the extent of chronic Lyme, its various forms, and even proper laboratory diagnostic and treatment routes, as controversy abounds surrounding the symptoms of the chronic form of Lyme disease. The Center for Disease Control has yet to establish a criteria for long term infections, leaving many physicians in the dark about making a proper diagnosis. The conventional ELISA and Western Blot Lyme test panels will not necessarily identify a case of chronic Lyme disease, merely early onset ones.
Lyme disease is a vector-borne infection caused by a bacteria known as Borrelia burgdorferi. There are also three variant Lyme co-infections caused by similar microbes, ehrlichia, babesia, and bartonella. Borellia is a spirochete, or corkscrew, bacteria, which are in the same family as syphilis, yet is considered to be stronger and more virulent. Like syphilis, Lyme initially starts out with seemingly mild symptomology, but over time, if untreated, it can cause devastating effects to the central nervous system, heart, kidneys, skeletal and immune system with sometimes permanent repercussions.
The bacterium is spread by a blood transfer. It’s most commonly transmitted by the bite of a very tiny insect, the deer tick, found nationwide. Sexual relations may transmit a milder form of the disease also. Pregnant mothers may transfer the bacteria to the fetus, as Lyme bacteria is capable of passing through the placenta, as well as in breast milk in an estimated 33% of mothers. Some mothers whom are infected with Lyme disease, do not necessarily spread the actual bacteria to the fetus, but the baby may be affected with central nervous system issues, ADHD, food allergies, Tourrette’s syndrome or other syndromes. The miasmatic influence from the mother sets up a host of sensitivities or imbalances in the offspring.
Lyme disease is a rampant epidemic. Over 20,000 diagnosed cases are reported annually, the Center for Disease Control themselves estimates that well over 300,000 people are infected yearly, yet these cases are not actually diagnosed or treated in acute onset form due to faulty testing and ignorance of symptoms. Accordingly, 89 countries of the world report Lyme disease.
The most telltale sign of a new Lyme infection is the “bull’s-eye” rash or bite from the tick. This target-shaped rash may be as small as a dime or as large as a softball. Sometimes it’s a pale pink color, other times it’s a vermillion red, even inflamed to a swollen, sore, black and blue degree. Ledum 2000 or 1M, three doses per day for three consecutive days should be immediately administered. However, unfortunately, only approximately 50% of infections exhibit this visible symptom.
Other early symptoms of a Lyme infection can include an aching, flu-like feeling, often noted in the limbs and neck, mild chills and nausea. Some individuals will exhibit a frank swelling or pronounced pain in their joints (the left knee being the most common). A slight fever, headaches, often severe, dizziness, sore throat, fatigue, and swollen glands may all manifest, as well. Depression is not atypical.
Any constellation of the above mentioned symptomology tends to linger beyond a few days without blossoming into the customary respiratory or gastrointestinal pathway of influenza. What later sets in is the heavy malaise and pronounced fatigue, often accompanied by a “cottony” head sensation, and mental dullness. Individuals with very strong immune systems, often including youngsters, may get these flu-like symptoms for only a few days, to relapse again weeks or even months later.
Because children so frequently experience mild fevers, sore throats, and tiredness associated with a touch of some passing viral infection going through their school or daycare, we tend to just ride out their discomforts for a few days or a week, assuming it will all pass, as their active immune system capably arrests the microbe invasion.
If a child or teen complains of headaches, is unfocused in school, is showing anxiety or restlessness, has a knee or other joint that hurts, or just doesn’t seem to have his or her usual energy, a few weeks after a seemingly mild cold of flu-like episode, have them tested for Lyme disease, from one of the Lyme speciality labs.
Chronic Lyme disease is a very evasive condition, defying a clear black and white set of diagnostic keynotes, making it the ideal illness for homeopaths. It may attack one or more primary system of the body, creating a broad variety of symptoms, dependent to particular constitutional type traits. i.e. Silica, Causticum and Calcarea phos can all show joint, neck and neurological symptomology readily, while Sepia and Natrum mur will produce chronic fatigue and migraines initially. Lachesis and Naja quickly highlight heart palpitations and arrythmias. Sulphur and Calcarea carb can become lazy and arthritic.
Various types of palsy, MS, manic-depressive disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, hallucinations, peri-carditis or valve problems and occular blindness are all possible. Lyme takes the physical, mental and emotional stuffing out of so many people and their caregivers. Tending to a broken spirit is just as critical to me as mending a broken body. This rampaging illness of the 21st century has showed us its very ugly face. Thousands of people are suffering at many levels because of it.
As homeopaths we are currently placed in a very important position. Lyme disease is potentially the epidemic of this century where, as practitioners, authors and pharmacists, we can showcase the stunning capabilities of our profession. Lyme disease could be our “shining hour” if we can all band together, collect case data and statistics, collate our knowledge and hold symposiums on Lyme treatment protocols.
I recovered from an advanced and entrenched case of chronic Lyme disease. This is not the norm. Homeopathy, employed in a very aggressive clinical manner, along with constitutional back-up support was a cornerstone of my healing, and is a tool tens of thousands of people do not even know exists.
Having worked with dozens of Lyme cases, I am a strong proponent of nosode use, as well as simillimum prescriptions. However, entrenched cases, years in duration, with pathology such as pericarditis, Parkinson’s and constant migraines, will not respond well to a purist classical approach of a “one dose and wait” method. In our famous peeling the onion layer model, complementary functional level remedies, often employed in a daily 6c-30c potency range, for weeks in succession (ie Bryonia, Eup perf, Kalmia, Kali phos etc.) can help the client move through the true restrictive pathology levels of Lyme, while background constitutional support is fostered. Chronic Lyme is a serious, decimating, aggressive bacterial infection, it requires strong, clinical homeopathic work..
As homeopaths we must step up to the plate, hone our clinical skills to their razor-fine best, and not be afraid to roll up our sleeves in the murky mess of this trench warfare with a raging illness. Those practitioners on the east coast will resonate with the magnitude of this outbreak. Peter Alex, in his book “Homeopathic Treatment of Lyme Disease” has identified Aurum arsenicosium as the genus simillimum in parts of Germany. It could very well be so, yet we need clinical homeopathic ‘trials’ regarding this in the US.
I share my personal story in my new book “Out of the Woods”. My experience as a practitioner and my plea now, as a Lyme advocate, is to band together as a profession and let us demonstrate to the long-doubting world at large just how resourceful and capable Homeopathy can be. At the bare minimum, a Borellia nosode used as a widespread “immunization” is a safe ticket for those living in frank fear in Lyme disease states in this country.
As follows in an excerpt from my new book “Out of the Woods; Healing Lyme Disease, Body, Mind and Spirit.” It is simple to see how these well-schooled medical physicians and prestigious hospitals such as Dartmouth-Hitchcock all missed the Lyme diagnosis. Please do not let this happen in your office. Igenex, Clongen and SUNY Stoneybrook labs are the foremost Lyme disease testing facilities in the USA, with much more specific testing protocols than standard labs. Help yourself and your patients by testing properly.
Excerpt from “Out of the Woods; Healing Lyme Disease, Body, Mind and Spirit”
It is a beautiful summer solstice, June 21, 2000. New England summertime at its best, I think. The last few days have been postcard perfect; clear, fine air, crystalline skies and wildflowers bursting in color. I love late June especially, for its lush green forests and long leisurely hours of daylight. We all savor these precious months, especially in counterpoint to the fierce, bitter New Hampshire winters.
“Joel, I’ve got to go. Can you take Eli?” I call walking outside onto the deck where he sits with Sarah.
“Sure, here.” Joel extends his arms upwards, three year old Eli tipping downwards onto his daddy’s lap.
“I’ve got to get over to the Hawthorne’s. It’s the last hour of Wyeth’s vigil.”
“No problem,” Joel says.
“Can you get dinner started? There’s fish in the fridge,” I suggest.
“Sure, easy enough.”
“I’ll be home by six,” I call over my shoulder as I skim out the sunroom door. “Love you.”
I navigate the back roads with ease. These parts are so familiar to me now. I pass the entrance to one of my favorite hikes, an old, overgrown cart path. The sun-dappled trail beckons and I instantly think of dear Wyeth, who was so at home in the woods. What a shame that he is gone.
Wyeth Hawthorne was a weathered sprite of a man, an intuitive, and skilled in the ways of the land. A throwback to eras past, he was an Earthwright by trade, dowsing for wells, laying out sacred labyrinths, and reading the terrain for the best placements of a house site. Sadly, we have lost Wyeth unexpectedly in a swift landslide to leukemia. His sudden decline caught us all by surprise.
On my last walk in the woods with Wyeth, we visited a favored spot, an outcropping of stately granite boulders clumped at the end of an untouched pond. We sat in silence for some time, meditating on the magic of our natural kingdom and its vast powers. We watched wood ducks squawk and climb in flight, then the arrival of a flock of Canadian geese, tawny downed goslings trailing in tow, paddling in single file. Their curious black eyes peered up at us, questioning these large gangly creatures resting on the rocks.
Wyeth told me he had seen glimpses of the “other side” as of late. He knew his time was coming to pass. By now he was weak and frail, graying and coming to the end of his earth days. It was a poignant visit, saying my goodbye to this unusual man who walked amid the trees and hills as if he knew their heartbeats like his own. Wyeth had sensed my own earth-centered proclivities over the years, teaching me how to read the weather, a cluster of trees gathered in a ring, to play the digeridoo.
Today, at the Hawthornes’ I sit with Wyeth’s deceased body for one hour as his family has designed. His numerous friends and loved ones each take a turn being with him, as his spirit ascends in these days after death. The instructions are to sit in prayer or mediation, or to read to him from one of a stack of books—Thoreau, Emerson, Mary Oliver—easing his crossing, paying our respects. It’s a thoughtful hour for me, both sad and contemplative. Flowers, cards, ribbons, drawings, and candles are everywhere, surrounding the altar near his casket. Much love and familial outpouring flows in the home.
In these minutes with Wyeth much runs through my mind. I reflect on the rich life he has lived and the palpable truth that I will miss him. Death has a way of making me grateful for what I have, to cherish my family, our sturdy oaken home in the countryside, and my health. It reminds me to honor my ancestors, to recognize how hard we have each worked to get where we are today. I feel a great reverence within.
The ebbing afternoon sunshine, illuminating the west windows is soft, but when I rise to depart, saying goodbye to Wyeth’s family members, I feel an overwhelming rush of dizziness, heaviness, and nausea flooding me. Is it my emotional state, the air being too still, or perhaps me being hungry? I realize I need some air and hastily manage to express my sentiments to Wyeth’s wife before going.
“Lynn, I’m so sorry Wyeth’s gone. He was such a special man. So poetic in his knowings and patient with us all. I’ll miss him. I know how hard it must be for each of you.”
“Thank you, Kim, for the kindness. Your homeopathic remedies helped us.” I sense an inner strength in her that I would be proud to claim as my own during such a time. But my head is swimming, my throat burning raw in pain. I express my condolences to the others and quickly plunge for the outside fresh air, my car awaiting me in the ascending twilight.
On the drive home I feel just awful. Chills creep up my spine and neck, a clammy feverish moisture clings to my brow, and muscle pains wrap around my shoulders and down the sides of my legs. I’m thinking that a summertime flu is sometimes worse than a wintertime one, as it seems so wrongly placed on a breezy, sunny day.
As I round the bend in the road, toward the climb over Arrow Mountain homeward, the dizziness floods me again, this time like a tidal wave. I have to pull over to steady myself and let my vision clear. Swollen glands, intensely sore throat, emerging headache. I figure a client in my office must have brought this flu bug in the door to me. By the time I get home, I feel like hell.
Standing at the kitchen sick, doing after-dinner dishes and watching the kids playing in the yard outside the double hung windows, I call out to Joel, asking him to go upstairs to my homeopathic home pharmacy and get a bottle of gelsemium, a remedy that can often halt flu dead in its tracks. I start popping the pellets and dowse myself with a sturdy dose of zinc and echinachea, hoping to kick this thing out before it grabs hold too fiercely.
“Go up to bed early, Kim,” Joel says. “I’ll get the kids tucked in.”
By 7:30 I’m under the covers, aching and perspiring, determined to sweat this thing out while I sleep tonight.
As dawn breaks, I’m surprised to find I feel just as horrid. Homeopathic remedies and a quick jump on vitamins usually curtail any common illness in me. With my unusually strong immune system, I rarely pick up typical colds and flus. I have never had bronchitis, strep, or pneumonia in my life. Now, I have to call clients and cancel my day at the office.
Three days later I’m no better, even weaker in fact. Strangely, the flu has not progressed into the typical respiratory symptoms. I muster up enough self-will to get to the office and see people. After the first client, though, my head is whirling. I can barely concentrate. Objects appear to be moving around the room. My head feels as if a boulder is bearing down on it. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt this sick in my life. I stumble downstairs into the office of my former business partner, John Miller, an MD.
“John, something is terribly wrong with me,” I grumble. “I’m totally woozy and so much aches, everywhere.”
John gives me a quick exam, has some blood work ordered, and insists I cancel clients and go back to bed for two days. He loads me up with some good immune support herbs.
The next morning, I wake up at home, feeling horrid.
“Something is way wrong with me,” I tell Joel.
“You’re dehydrated and have a mild bacterial infection,” John says when I see him. “Maybe a sinus infection or a respiratory infection,” he concludes.
Since I’ve always been so vital, John feels I will bounce back readily. He prefers to treat me with a natural immune support protocol of powerful herbs and homeopathy versus an antibiotic. I get a shot, some supplies, and crawl back home to bed. Again, I have to cancel another few days of clients, but I figure by next week I should be fine.
John leaves for a two-week vacation on Friday. By the weekend I can’t stand up without the room spinning. My head is awash in a foggy, cottony heaviness. My eyelids feel like sandbags are dragging them down. All my limbs still ache and the weakness is extreme. It’s frightening for me to feel so depleted in one week’s time. His on-call doctor can’t see me until next week. I start the ten day back-up prescription of amoxycillin John has left on call for me at the pharmacy.
“This will pull me out of it for sure, I know,” I mutter through the stupor.
A week later, July 4th comes and I’m still a mess. The world is some sort of hazy place with me locked in a chamber of gauze. I’ve never felt so out of sorts. I call my usual GP/Gynecologist, since John is still away. She calls me back and I relay the entire situation to her on the phone. Given the profound exhaustion and no response to the antibiotic, Nora thinks perhaps it’s walking pneumonia.
“Come in and see my associate physician, Dr. Cummings,” she says. “I’m totally booked solid this week. I can slip you in with him.”
Joel takes me in. I get a chest x-ray, they shoot me up with a bazooka antibiotic, and I go home to collapse back into bed. It could take six weeks to heal, I’ve been told. Something feels intuitively not right about this walking pneumonia diagnosis. I’ve never had a bacterial infection in my life, other than the common variety female bladder infection. My respiratory and lymph systems have essentially been impenetrable. I have a strange itchy rash on my chest, violent headaches, roiling gut upset, and no cough. Plus, my heart takes off in irregular rhythms now and then. Anxiety and panic are popping up, and my neck hurts a lot. Strangely, too, the left side of my face has numb sensations and a droopy feeling when I talk. It’s like a mild Bell’s Palsy. As a natural health care practitioner I know a little too much.
A few days later, I go back to Nora’s office. More of the killer antibiotic is shot into my gluteus muscle.
Meanwhile, all hell breaks loose in the household. Laundry, dishes, and toys are strewn haphazardly. Joel’s work piles up. My three-year-old son can’t understand why Mommy is stuck in bed, unable to get up and play. I’m so weak I need help just showering. Joel must steer me to the bathroom and shampoo my hair while I hold onto the shower curtain bar. Then I’m wiped out for another two hours and can’t move a muscle in bed. It’s exhausting to just breathe. The world spins. I feel strangely frightened.
Perfect summer days sail by outside my bedroom window. I peer out through the fluttering cotton sheers, staring at the weeds accumulating in my gardens, watching the foxglove grow, my meadow rue bloom and the bee balm gather the tender, ruby-throated hummingbirds. Church people cook some meals for us, and the kindly elderly minister pays me a call. It’s an enormous effort to sit on the deck with him for twenty minutes. In all honesty, it’s tiring just to hold my head up.
I lie on the sofa, lost in a tepid fog. Sitting up to eat I feel like an amoeba. Cutting my meat is an effort. They prop me up on the chaise lounge on a sunny July day. I watch Eli playing freely in the glade of cinnamon ferns. There he stands in the vivid brocade, only the tips of his shiny hair and glittering eyes cresting above the greenery. Echo proudly attempts to “herd” the chickens, showing me how capable she is. I hear our borrowed summertime sheep bleating in the distance, bells tinkling as they wander. Joel is due home tonight. I look forward to his sturdy presence. He makes me feel safe. Maybe I’ll feel less worn when he arrives?
The stress bearing down on me is enormous. My confidence is totally shot. Fear grips my every breath. Panic attacks strike in the middle of the night now. I wake Joel, my heart throbbing, my chest gripped in a vise.
My not getting well is not my only fear. I don’t know how to cope with being so dependent on others. It’s not my forte. I've always been so fearless and capable. I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. My trusted homeopathic remedies are the only things that boost me along, though very moderately. I need something to hold onto. I imagine myself healthy and vital, climbing my favorite spruce-trimmed peak, laughing at a party, working at my office. I know positive imagery does wonders. Now, it merely pads the walls of my frantic mind.
“Help will come,” I whisper. “Soon.”
