Here’s the promised tale of health woes resulting from a research trip to Yellowstone to collect content for my book about the Common Loon (Gavia immer). I considered the trip a success based on time spent with researchers and scientists from the Biodiversity Research Institute (BRI) based in Portland, Maine. But I learned when a writer, particularly of nonfiction, produces words for a reader, either in book or digital form, securing data (through field research) that is then converted into readable content, isn’t always easy, safe, or healthy.
The term ‘field research’ was apt, as we trudged through hip-tall high grasses (that’s not saying much as I’m only 5”3”, but still the grass was tall!) We trudged through marshy areas, and forest stands to reach rural parts of Yellowstone where some of the known 17 pairs of nesting loons spend their summers. In one hectic 24-hour period, I did not change clothes or shower. Once refreshed, I didn’t feel or see anything amiss.
Less than a week later at home, flu-like symptoms like extreme fatigue, sore throat, fever, and glassy eyes, hit. It’s true the flu makes one feel like a Mac truck rammed you, but I also felt that same vehicle ran over me, too. But it was the near inability to walk without pain by evening, along with strange red spots on my legs, that worried me most.
Before I could see a doctor, I had one commitment to fulfill. I was scheduled to speak at a popular summer speaker series in the Town of Barnstable on Cape Cod. I couldn’t miss it as it would be nearly impossible to reschedule. I made sure two friends were in the audience that night in case I ‘collapsed.’ I even said to the audience something like, “hey, my insurance card is in my wallet in case something happens.” Folks chuckled thinking I was joking. The looks of concern on my friends’ faces were very real. After the lecture, they walked me to the car because it was painful to walk! I was okay to drive, though. I got in, thanked them, and made my way home.
The next day, I was on an exam table in my dermatologist’s office to check out those red spots on my leg. I was weeping because the pain in my feet was bad, my spots were increasing in brightness—shades of red—and I felt like I had a severe flu. I had seen Dr. Marian K. over the years, and we’d gotten to know one another. I trusted her. I provided a monologue of symptoms including a peek at my legs! She took one look at me and said, “You have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. I want you to drive to the ER right now, and I’m calling them telling them to expect you.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Tell me where you’ve been?”
“The Rocky Mountains.”
And off I went to the ER, calling my family from the road and they met me at the hospital.
The doctor came in and examined me. A nurse drew blood and ran tests. Soon, they were back, and both looked at my legs and asked the same thing that Dr. Marian K. had.
“Where do you think you picked up Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever?”
“In the Rocky Mountains.”
Upset, I drew over my head that cottony, warm, beige blanket that hospitals give patients. I just felt so awful I just wanted to sleep.
I was sent home with a script for Doxycycline, with strict orders to stay out of the sun since the medication doesn’t work well in daylight exposure. My blessed family waited on me hand and foot, so to speak!
After three days my symptoms faded. The next time I saw Dr. Marian K. she gave me a ‘script for Doxycycline, just to keep on hand.
“If you ever get bit by another tick, take one right away.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. Lessons learned.
By the way, I’m still working on that loon book and was recently out West again. Read about my trip to Montana next month! This time, the Rocky Mountains were in the distance!
Thanks for your time.
Best, Theresa
