Ticks in the nymph stage are often those who cause Lyme disease

http://www.ocala.com/article/20130526/ARTICLES/130529874?p=2&tc=pg

When you think you've been infected with Lyme disease, it's easy to panic

Nature trails can expose hikers and runners to disease-carrying ticks, so it's wise to take precautions.

Erica Brough/Staff Photographer/File

By Kristine Crane
Staff writer

Published: Sunday, May 26, 2013 at 6:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Wednesday, May 22, 2013 at 5:46 p.m.

When I moved to Gainesville seven months ago, I was vaguely aware of Florida's reputation as the buggiest state in the nation. Since then I've seen plenty of critters, and fortunately until a couple of weeks ago — minus love bugs and mosquitos — none of them had taken much interest in me.

And then I discovered the Manatee Springs, and the hiking trails surrounding them. On a short walk, I marveled at the first armadillos I'd ever seen.

Later that night, just as I was getting into my bath, I saw something on my stomach: a tiny brown creature with little legs, like a spider — except when I pulled it, it clung to my skin. It was a tick. I didn't panic at first — I grew up in Iowa, so checking myself for ticks was just part of going to the family farms during the summertime.

But then I saw another tick on my thigh, and then another, and another...

I must have removed a dozen ticks from my body — my belly, behind my knees and my legs. Fortunately, most of them were crawling on my skin and not clinging to it. It is when ticks are embedded in your skin that they transmit diseases — the scariest being Lyme disease.

I happened to be reporting on Lyme disease, so I knew that it could be a serious condition causing extreme fatigue and arthritis, among other things.

Makeup mirror in hand, I looked over every inch of my body with steadfast discernment: mole, birthmark, or tick? What made the task so difficult was that many of the ticks were no bigger than a pinhead, and could easily be mistaken for moles.

Once I was done with my body, I turned to a more difficult task: my hair.

There was no way I could look through my hair alone: When I was little, I remember my mother's long nails scourging my scalp for ticks, and the sense of relief when it came out clean.

Now I would have to just wash my hair, scrubbing my scalp to ensure that I had killed any remaining ticks.

The next day, I called a woman whom I had interviewed for my article on Lyme disease, who had battled it for several years. “Get on doxycycline for two weeks,” she said. “Don't wait for the symptoms. I don't want you to go through what I went through.”

The nurse at the Minute Clinic wouldn't give me the antibiotic, though. She said the CDC recommends against giving it out preventively, not least because such prophylactic dosages risks a drug shortage. I could take it only if symptoms developed, she said, and those might include flu-like symptoms and the tell-tale “bull's-eye” rash.

The nurse also checked my thick, curly hair for ticks. “This is like looking for a needle in a haystack,” she said, adding, “I don't think you have much to worry about.”

As a Gainesville native, she had been on plenty of hikes where she was covered in ticks, and she never got anything. Plus, I learned that the deer tick that transmits lyme isn't typically found in Florida. It's all over the Midwest and Northeast, which is why those parts of the country have higher rates of Lyme disease.

Over the course of interviews with an entomologist, public health specialist, and doctors, all of whom I asked about my case, I felt reassured that the likelihood of my developing Lyme disease was slim.

Still, my concern was somewhat justified: The ticks might have been deer ticks — even though they are less prevalent in Florida, they do populate during summertime, and on the hike, I'd heard something rustling in the woods — which my hiking buddy thought was a deer. And the ticks that covered me were tiny — precisely those in the “nymphal” stage that pass on the disease.

While I was no longer panicked, I took ordinary precautions: disinfecting and vacuuming the bathroom, washing my hiking attire in hot water, and drying them at the highest temperature possible.

If I go hiking again, I'll be sure and do what's recommended: cover myself with repellant, wear light-colored clothing, long sleeves and pants, and pay attention to more than the armadillos in my path.

Contact Kristine Crane at 338-3119, orkristine.crane@gvillesun.com.