Today my little guy woke up quietly and came and gently placed himself prone on the hardwood floor next to my bed. He had a tummy ache after his Lyme Specific Transfer factor. I tried to get him up on the bed, but he wasn’t interested in an elevator ride, being lifted like a sack of potatoes, or any other trick. Finally, I just picked him up and set him on top of our pillowtop mattress to slumber.
Before too long, he was throwing up the meds. And then another time. And a third. And then he slept and slept. The lethargy brought me back to his hospitalization for what they feared was “Cat Scratch Fever”. What? How could he get THAT, I wondered at the time. Now I know it as Bartonella. The staff at the hospital thought the specimen and samples were suspicious of Bartonella but when he responded to the IV antibiotics, they abandoned their search and sent us home.
Now, his body is working to re-educate itself with the Transfer Factor, and it seems to be the hardest work he has ever faced. This is a kid who had very little birth trauma — homebirth in the water, no real pushing, we just wiggled together and out he came. Watching him this morning I realized he is in for the fight of his life. Instead of blaming myself though, I need to see him as a fighter. My superhero. My Firefighter. Let’s get those bugs little fiesty boy!