The Indian Rupee That Knew It All

My perpetual coin flipping habits have become more pronounced lately. I believe ultimately, too much in fate. I can tend to shy away from decisions due to this maddening M.O. I've been using for years. Life works out always. So, why should I get in the way?

I have been trying to get through 10-14 days of IV antibiotics as part of a preventative schedule that will make my Lyme doctor “feel better.” Sometimes I picture us both walking on egg shells, deciding when it’s ok to be a little more liberal; a little less Lyme cautious. “You are the first,” I keep hearing. “We just don’t know yet.” I truly get it. I’m doing so well so what is a small dose of antibiotics going to hurt, if it’s merely insurance that the bacteria will stay under control (that is, if it’s even there anymore)? My body is well into repair so why take chances that all of that miracle work can come undone? I hear what my doctor is saying loud and clear. We agreed that if I got through this, I could go all the way until January without anyone (like him or Dr. Shroff) even mentioning I go near my butt with a shot or my arm with an IV needle. The medical intuitive I consulted several months ago was adamant the Lyme infection was gone. But unfortunately with this disease, there are no guarantees, and no testing to measure exactly what is happening inside my body. Why can’t I see in there? Why won’t it tell me? These questions rummage through my too-tired-of-dealing-with-Lyme mind during times like these. I feel so confident that I am fine but the ones around me in protection mode seem to want proof to make sure I'll stay healthy like this forever.

So, like a good patient who wants to please my doctor that has been amazingly supportive of me stepping out of the medical box, and into another country for an experimental treatment, I have been grinning and bearing two IV’s a day for six days. I only had four more to go. That is, until the final straw that broke the already agitated patient’s back (me).

After days of burning veins from the harsh medication, swollen arms and uncooperative IV catheters, the Universe shouted at me. When the nurse started IV drip number seven, an unusually insane burning quickly became intolerable in my forearm. So, I looked down to assess the problem and noticed the infusion spot swelling at a rapid rate. Somehow, the catheter in which they infuse the drugs through, had slipped out from my vein and the medication was accumulating in my arm, just under the skin. With only half the antibiotic agreement filled and half more to go before I was free until my January goal, I sat on my bed in probably the tenth near panic since I'd started the regimin. They removed the line from my arm and it would have to be re-inserted the following day by my talented catheter guru, Dr. Ashish. But, something was nudging me, telling me I was done.

I pondered what my doctor at home would say if I called it quits, and what Dr. Shroff and Dr. Ashish would say when I saw them. And then I did what I think anyone would do in this situation…..I got out a shiny Indian Rupee. My surrogate mother upstairs helped me examine the coin until I decided which side was “heads” and which was “tales.” Heads would be the side with the hand and five fingers (like a "stop" sign). If that side would come up, I would stop the IV antibiotics and deal with the possible consequences later.

We flipped it anxiously and up came a big sign from above. No more meds. I never second guess this crazy way I make some of my most important decisions -- unless it has to do with food and I’m flipping for dinner choices in which I secretly wanted the dinner that didn’t turn up. That often calls for a double flip, just to be sure. When I told Dr. Shroff and Dr. Ashish the story (minus the crazy coin flipping), Dr. Shroff immediately said, “That’s it. You are off of it.” Dr. Ashish couldn’t help but agree that maybe my body was giving me a sign.

So, today I have faxed my doctor back home. It admittedly sounded like a break-up letter. It explained that I just couldn’t deal with the drama -- that I tried so hard, but it clearly wasn’t working out. I was patient for as long as humanly possible, but everyone has a threshold. I couldn’t go on like this, I gently told him. I hope he understands that it just can’t be. Monocef and me just don’t get along anymore as much as I wish it wasn't so.

If he questions my decision, I’ll try to make him understand why it had to be over. My veins busted and my body was trying to show me that it wasn’t right. Plus, let's face it. The Indian rupee told me so.

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After the publication of this post, a fellow victim of "vein drama" sent me this hilarious self-authored version of a popular song:

Stopping Drugs is Hard To Do (sung to the tune of Neil Sedaka's "Breaking up is Hard to Do")

Please take the drugs away from me

Can't you see my arm's in misery? 

Just told my doc and he was blue

Cause stopping drugs is hard to do

Sitting there with my arm held tight

Poked and prodded all through the night

After all my veins are through

Stopping drugs is hard to do

They say that stopping drugs is hard to do

But I tossed a coin, and know that it's true

No IVs, it is the end

Instead of swelling up, I wish my arm was not in pain again

I beg of you, please say goodbye

No search for veins to give a try

Come on Amy, you are through

Stopping drugs is hard to do

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About Amy B. Scher

A passionate author, pioneering patient, and sassy spirit with just enough sweetness to get me by, I live by my self-created motto: when life kicks your ass, kick back.Amy B. Scher's profile Amy B. Scher's blog