Thursday, July 21

Even more whiney bullshit.

Look ma, no track marks!
See that thing over there to the right?

Its called a PICC line. That's a Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter if you want to be through about it. Its so the medical folks can give you IV medications without constantly jamming a needle into your arm.

You may not recognize the pale, flabby flesh of that arm but I can assure you, it is mine.

So, no doubt if you've read any of the sad saga of my summer, you know what this means... My love affair with Lyme Borreliosis, that's Lyme Diesease to those of you who haven't been intimate with a deer tick, is deepening.

From fever, aches, malaise and then finally Bell's Palsy, its only gotten stupider worse. Evidently, only losing half my face wasn't enough to placate whatever divine being I've managed to piss off, so now both sides of my goddamned face have stopped functioning. Neither eye closes, mouth doesn't open, can't speak for shit and I'm pretty much effectively useless because I'm constantly putting gel-based synthetic tears in both my fucking eyes.

See if you can spot the part that marks me a degenerate.
Yep. The neurologist was actually concerned that tests were ordered and my case has transferred to Infectious Disease. It was determined that the Lyme was now what they called CNS Lyme, or in my central nervous system, possibly my brain, and that it was time to hit it with the most aggressive treatment they could, intravenously administered antibiotics. So, they dropped a tap and now they give me my very own antibiotics so I can shoot my shit up daily, at home, on my lonesome.

Fortunatly, the brain MRI came back without the tell tale marks of Lyme in my brain, so I've got that going for me.

Twenty-eight days of bullshit. A fucking IV line into my motherfucking arm. 50 centimeters of plastic tube up my arm, over my shoulder and all of like 2" from the entrance to my heart. All because of something the size of the head of a pin. Think about that.

Someone asked a question on a public forum, termed the "mid year review." I'd like to repeat my answer as a cautionary tale, what I learned this year about fly fishing:

Long sleeves.
Long pants.
Wear a hat.

I don't give a rat's ass how hot it is, I won't break from long pants and hat ever, EVER again.

If you enjoy wet wading in shorts and a t-shirt, then invest in a pair or two of "guide pants." You know, the ultra light kind that dry out in seconds. They're light enough that they'll probably feel cooler than heavy cotten shorts, anyways, and they will be dry in 5 minutes of warm air or breeze. The same for shirts, as well. Not all the shirts are created equal, either. I have some from Cabela's, and some from Columbia Sports Wear, and the Columbia ones are lighter, breezier, and dry quicker than the Cabela's branded ones.

Long sleeves.
Long pants.
Wear a hat.

It doesn't take much to end up completely f'd up. Trust me. I don't go on deep woods hikes. I don't more than 5 miles from my goddamned house in the middle of the 'burbs. The most woods I walk through is maybe 5' of brush to access the stream, and even that is rare, because my usual haunts are easily gotten to without ANY bushwhacking. Eight and a half weeks ago I was having a fine time at the PAFF Jam, without a goddamned care in the world. This morning I took a call from a neurologist telling me I don't have any spots on my brain, so the lyme hasn't gottne that far, yet, and must be localized to other parts of my CNS, but they're sitll probably going to send me to have an IV tap put in so I can apply my own IV bags of antibiotics. Why? Because I ignored the following three lines of advise:

Long sleeves.
Long pants.
Wear a hat.

That's what I learned. You should learn it to. They say the rash appears in the bite area, if you get it at all. I had mine at the top of my right thigh. That means one of those times when those guide pants were dirty, I went out in shorts. The little bastard crawled up my leg, and bit me. I bet that wouldn't have happened in pants, if for no other reason than even if it had gotten up to a point where it felt dark and safe, it wouldn't been submerged and thus dropped off or drowned. But, because they were shorts it found a dry, dark, and evidently tasty place.

So, feel free to wear shorts and t shirts and sandals out there. It ain't nothing to me, really. But, I've spent the entire summer in a personal hell, watching things get much, much worse every goddamned day. But, considering there's not much you can goddamned do the repel or even find a tick the size of a dot on a piece of paper, I suggest you suck it up, sweat a little bit and wear long sleeves, long pants, and a hat.

Coz you might just have an unlucky day. And that'll lead to a whole lotta suck.

Anyways, I'm getting really tired of bitching about this. I promise you, real actual fishing content coming up soon. Promise!


  1. Just get thru this and get back to fishing... and keep up the blogs... Its a great stress reliever.

  2. hey, it is what it is. i'm getting tired of doctors, though.
    after a week of this nonsense, i've learned that once i fix in the afternoon i'm done being whatever level of useful i normally am, all i wanna do is sleep. i also know that i can move my eyebrows and close both my eyebrows.

    my wife points out my face doesn't droop so bad, either, so that's good.

    i cannot wait for this stupid thing to get out of my arm, maybe I'll try fishing sometime soon, although i've got a weird paranoia going on.

  3. Gary,

    Sweet blog dude!

    Get better soon man this place needs some big brown photos!