This occurred while camping on North Manitou Island off the coast of Michigan. I later learned that burning ticks causes them to vomit their bacteria into the blood stream. I also learned a little too late that North Manitou has explosive Lyme rates. Hindsight, gotta love it.
As depicted in the book, I actually went to the doctor immediately after I was bitten by the tick. He gave me a precautionary pill and sent me on my way. Because of this blind trust, when my knees started bothering me a few months later I did not make the connection to Lyme, and a year later I had all but forgotten about the tick bite.
The previous year, I had been to physical therapy for my knees and was led to believe I had tendinitis. At this time the pain had progressed to my hips, feet, elbows, and wrists. I was unable to exercise or play guitar and could hardly draw, yet for some reason I still believed I had tendinitis. I had just gotten married and embarked on what was supposed to be a carefree extended honeymoon in New Zealand, and my wife Emma had already gotten on my case for obsessing over supplements. I was fully aware of the ridiculous ways my desperation was manifesting itself, but I proceeded, regardless.
This was the first comic I drew for the book. I drew it the afternoon after I got the acupuncture. At the time, I had no idea it would turn into a book, but I found drawing the comic to be therapeutic, so I continued to produce more.
This was the first time I had dropped the absurd notion that simply all of my tendons were plagued with tendinitis. The thought of having rheumatoid arthritis was terrifying. I feared that my days of carefree activity were behind me, but even more, I worried that my wife of three months had married a dud. Though it was a depressing day, it was also a day that opened the door to considering other possibilities for my source of pain.
This comic is really poorly drawn. Not only do I hate the way I drew my face in panel four and the fact that it’s off-center, but I also drew my hand backwards in panel three. Sheesh, I must have been doped up on those Arnica drops or something. It’s kind of funny that I have the ambition and patience to write a 150-page book but am too lazy to redraw one comic. But that’s just the way I operate.
Okay, so I didn’t actually say what I said in the fourth panel, but I sure as hell wanted to.
I finally convinced the doctor to prescribe me antibiotics without getting my blood tested (without insurance it would have been crazy expensive), but I then learned what I was prescribed was far from sufficient, considering the duration of my infection. As if navigating the healthcare system in your own country isn’t frustrating enough . . .
The whole trip I felt this weird tension of feeling overwhelmingly privileged for traveling to New Zealand, while simultaneously fearing I might be, like, dying or something.
What I’m describing is called a Jarisch-Herxheimer reaction. Since I hadn’t previously known if I actually had Lyme disease or not, a Herxheimer reaction would imply that I did, and that the antibiotics were working. I think the idea of celebrating feeling worse than usual is hilarious.
I later found out (far later than I should have, of course) that tests for Lyme can be extremely unreliable and should not be exclusively relied on for diagnosis.
The author on the radio was David Adam talking about his book, The Man Who Couldn’t Stop: OCD and the True Story of a Life Lost in Thought.
Lyme sufferers are often led to believe that it’s “all in their head.” This whole experience has given me a newly developed empathy for those who live in chronic pain. It is so hard to care about anyone or anything other than yourself when your body hurts all the time.