Sharon E. Rainey's Blog, page 10

From Head Lice to Co-Infections of Lyme Disease

From Debbie Kushner, a friend of mine

At my son’s school this week, my gentle suggestion that lice were not merely a nuisance but also a possible vector for infections like Bartonella was met with disbelief since the school nurse couldn’t find anything during a quick Google search from NIH. Clearly, she felt I was mistaken.

I know you all have encountered this before. No one believes us until it is too late.

I’ve been corresponding with Amanda Brickman Elam, president of Galaxy Diagnostics, offline this morning to gain some recent research to help support my position as well as educate the school nurse.

Amanda asked that I share what we discussed. As Amanda says one of her favorite quotes is from Mother Theresa: “we can do no great things, only small things with great love.” Educating one school nurse is a small thing, but could be important for each community.

Amanda told me the NIH and the CDC have not updated their Bartonella postings in nearly 10 years!

She shared some links to recent research that do make a strong connection between head lice and the transmission of Bartonella. and there have been quite a few publications documenting Bartonella head lice around the world.

Here are some of the research publications that support the transmission from head lice to people.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/…

This study is from CDC Bartonella research team, led by Mike Kosoy:http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25280380

She also said that both body lice and head lice can infect the head, and they look quite different. Body lice can carry a number of different pathogens.http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25688336

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24935950

I truly believe that as a community, each one of us, with exposure to different populations, can help turn the tide and educate our friends and neighbors.

Tell Me Everything

When Jeff’s dad died on New Year’s Eve, I wrote a poem about all the things I told him in the final three days we had with him. That started me thinking about what I would want to hear in my final days. And that’s how I wrote this:

Tell Me Everything

When I am lying in bed,

Dying,

And you know I won’t survive

I want you to prepare my room –

Bring fragrant spring flowers at my bedside.

Cover me with softest blanket you can find, preferably in pink.

Dim the lights and keep it calm.

Light a gardenia candle.

Spray eucalyptus oil on my sheets and keep them neat. You know I need a neat bed.

Drop some lavender oil on my pillow

Dab my favorite perfume behind my ears.

Mix your organic honey with the morphine; release the sweet nectar on my tongue.

I want you to have Hospice come in and take care of the things they do so well.

Because you and I have a lot of talking to do.

This is our last chance to say what we need to say.

And I want it to be our best conversation ever.

My primary job here is dying. So you need to do most of the talking.

I made you a list, because you know I like making lists and I like keeping you organized.

I want you to tell me:

You love me.

You don’t want me to leave, but it’s ok to leave.

Tell me every bad pun you can think of.

Tell me I was a good mother, a good stepmother

A good wife, a good person.

Remind me of

how I helped people,

A time when I showed courage.

Reminisce about your favorite memory of us.

Tell me what you loved about me;

when you made me laugh or

when I made you laugh and most importantly,

when I drove you crazy.

Tell me about your favorite tender moment with me.

Tell me about a time when you were watching me and I didn’t know it. What was I doing and why did you watch?

Assure me it was ok to want to be a hermit; that I can be a hermit in heaven too, if I choose.

When you don’t know what else to tell me,

then read to me.

Read me your favorite poems.

Read to me David Whyte, Oriah Mountain Dancer, Sue Monk Kidd, Shakespeare, poems by my friends.

In fact, write me a poem and share it with me. Tell my friends to write poems and send them to us.

We can laugh together in the silence.

Read to me

The House at Pooh Corner

Proof of Heaven by Eben Alexander

Us by Michael Kimball

And then tell me more bad puns (there are books filled with puns in case you need some help).

But do not read to me Billy Budd; I still do not like Herman Melville.

And do not read Dante’s Inferno.

List me your favorite book titles. Explain why they are your favorites.

Name your favorite character from each book.

If you want to play music, play me the Beatles

“I Will,”

“Blackbird,”

“And I Love Her.”

Play me a little Chicago, Pat Metheny, and Dave Matthews.

Fill my room with Earth, Wind and Fire, and Sting, and Joni Mitchell but softly.

Don’t let it hurt my ears.

Play the B-52s “Love Shack” at least once. I want to dance in heaven better than I could dance on earth.

Tell me I can dance in heaven, even with everyone watching.

Play me “Big Country Sky” by Chris Whitley so I can see far and wide.

Let Seal serenade me to heaven.

Tell me about your favorite songs. And sing me just one.

Tell me what happened today.

Tell me what your last ice cream cone tasted like

and

what today smells like.

Don’t leave me and sit in the next room. Take shifts, but keep someone with me.

I know I wanted to be alone so much in life, but I don’t think I want to be alone when dying.

Dying is hard work; and I think I need you at my side.

Lie beside me and play with my hair.

Hold my hand, caress my cheek, rub my arm.

Let my friends do the same if they wish.

Kiss me gently

and tell me you love me.

And tell me it’s ok to go.

I think I am going to need to hear it a few times.

Tell me my skin is soft and not too pale; that I look good despite my gray roots and no mascara.

Assure me that when I go to heaven I will have no more pain, no more sickness, no more limitations.

Describe how my soul will be free of my body and it will be beautiful.

Tell me you love me again and that you will be ok without me.

Tell me it’s ok to let God take over.

Ask me if I see the angels yet.

Ask me what heaven looks like.

Ask me to come in your dreams and to stay in your heart.

And then,

Let me go.

– Sharon Rainey, 1/1/15

Everything I Told Him

Jeff’s father, James Rainey, died on New Year’s Eve, 2014.  I wrote this poem four hours later, recounting all the things I said to him in his final few days and hours.  I didn’t want to forget.

 

I love you.

You created two beautiful children who learned your kindness and generosity. You did a good job of raising them. You should be proud.

Thank you for giving me the most wonderful husband I could have dreamed of.

Thank you for loving me unconditionally. In 25 years, you never said an unkind or unsupportive word. You never spoke to me in anger.

It’s ok to let God take over now.

Do whatever you need to do to get up there.

Come to me in my dreams and show me what heaven looks like. I want a preview!

You are so loved by so many people.

When you get to heaven you will no longer be limited in your hearing, sight, speech, or mobility. Your soul will be free of all limitations. And you will be in paradise.

The blue in your eyes is fading which tells me you are preparing to leave. It’s ok to leave. But I am so going to miss your aqua gaze.

A friend of mine sang songs to his brother as he lay dying. I would try that but I am afraid it may hasten your departure.

And I don’t know what songs I would sing. I know you loved opera. But that just isn’t going to happen.

Should I read to you from a book?  I’m not sure what you want to hear right now. I don’t want to sound like an audio recording.

Thank you for reading my book over and over and over. And complimenting me every time you read it. I think next to Jeff, you are my biggest fan.

You are so loved.

I want to curl up here in bed and lie next to you. I want to never leave your side until you leave us. I want to keep caressing your arm, running my fingers through your snowy hair, holding your hand and telling you I love you. But I don’t think a daughter in law should do that. I think they might think it’s a little weird.

I don’t care that they might think it’s weird. You treated me like a daughter. You loved me like a daughter.

I didn’t realize it, but dying is really hard work. It’s torturous and beautiful to watch.

My friend Lisa’s father died this past weekend and she didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Thank you for giving each of us the opportunity to say goodbye. Thank you for letting us spend time with you, holding you, talking to you. Thank you for giving us this time and space.

What color is heaven?

I think it’s the color of your eyes.

I think it tastes like the flourless chocolate cakes you baked on my birthdays.

I think it smells like the ocean air off your 17th floor balcony.

And I think your heaven sounds like your summertime clambakes.

It’s ok to let go. We will be all right here.

Yes that’s Heather in the other room. You keep looking at the door when you hear her laugh.

Remember her report cards?  “Heather needs to focus a little more on her schoolwork and a little less on her social life.”

Your skin looks better today. I can’t tell if it’s because it really looks better or because I want it too.

I’m glad the seizures seem to be over. It made me wonder if you were in pain. It was easier when you could talk or blink and tell me yes or no about the pain. Are you in pain, Jim? Squeeze my hand if you are in pain.

You look different today. I don’t know if your soul is still there. It’s as though most of it is gone and just a little bit is attached to your body by a thread. Should I be looking up in the room to talk to you? Because you just don’t seem to be in there anymore.

Who is with you? Who is greeting you? Can you see the angels yet? What do they say to you?

I’m so grateful to you for all the things you have given to me and done for me.  Thank you for everything.

Joey is very sad that he can’t be here in person. I’m glad he got to tell you everything over the phone. He loves you so much. He will always carry a piece of you in his heart.

I know. Stephen doesn’t say much does he?  I don’t know what he shared with you. But I know he held your hand a lot these past few days.

You are his first grandparent death. And it hurts. So spend a little time with him after you leave ok?  Let him know you are ok. Come to him in his dreams, or let him feel your spirit. Something, ok?

You are one stubborn man, James Rainey.

I’m taking your brown fuzzy blanket.

I want to let go of you completely. I know you need that in order to leave. But it’s really hard to do this. I still need you; I still want you to stay. I’m being selfish, I know.

It’s ok to leave Jim. I’ll be ok without you. Jeff takes such good care of me, but you already know that. You know how much I love and adore your son. He is the best person who ever came into my life. Thank you for giving him to me.

You should be so proud of your son. You know how uncomfortable he is in these situations. And yet he sits with you and holds your hand. I watch him from the doorway. With every seizure you have, he says, “It’s ok Dad, l’m here with you now. I’m not leaving. I love you Dad.” And then he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in case you can’t hear him. He wants you to feel him here with you.

He’s trying to tell you it’s ok to go. He’s going to be ok without you.

That’s my favorite blue shirt on you. It matches your eyes.

You gave us Thanksgiving and Christmas. Thank you for staying with us through the holidays.

Five days ago, you said you had gone enough places, met enough people and done enough things. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything or meet anyone new.

I agree.

It’s time for you to go home Jim.

I love you too.

The Protozoa is LOSING

I saw Dr M yesterday and my blood smear is the best looking I have ever had! The level of biofilm is down significantly. The number of infected red blood cells is down significantly.

Dr. M called it a “new scenario” for me, which I am ecstatic about. It’s not all gone; and it’s definitely still in my muscle tissue, but the change between this past spring and now is incredible.

So, we have decided to keep at it. We took a pause this past spring and the protozoa flourished in my system, and we don’t want that to happen again.

I am going to continue his protocol with another item added in to see if we can finally kick this protozoa in the ass.

He says my increased fatigue is due to the other stressors in life. I’ve been sleeping 10 hours a night the past four nights and that has made a significant improvement. I’m also not absorbing B12 that I am taking in because of a gene mutation that I have, but he changed that around so it should not be an issue from here.

I was starting to give up the idea of ever completely healing, but after yesterday’s slides, I know we can do this. The data doesn’t lie.