Tag: ticks

Summer Reflections: Closing the Cottage Experience

October 8, 2025

It is a bittersweet event. This past summer experienced record-high temperatures, resulting in lake conditions suitable for extended periods of comfortable swimming. Family visited, and friends came, to enjoy the water activities. As we near the end of the summer, the forecast indicates colder weather next week. Although we swam with our short wetsuits on this weekend, the water cooled us off, and our stay in the water was brief. But we kayaked every day when the lake was smooth as ice and went for walks in the back.

With the leaves falling, we saw much more sky than during the summer. We have giant maple trees around us. But now with much of the foliage falling, the ground was bathed in sunlight, and the leaves formed a thick, carpet-like cover. And there were no bugs, no mosquitoes, no ticks. Nevertheless, I still wore my tick-proof jacket and long pants for protection from nasty bugs, just in case.

I saw a massive fungus on an old and diseased tree; the fungus must be over a foot in diameter, with a yellowish color and parallel lines across its surface, making it artsy. While walking through the forest after leaf fall, we observed prominent burls, mushrooms, and lichens on the trees, which were readily apparent.  And I recognized the sounds of many birds, such as the black-capped chickadee, Canada geese, American crows, blue jays, and an app on my iPhone identified the yellow-rumped warbler. The loudest, of course, were the loons on the lake.

Crossing the large green pasture, we met three deer, looking at us. They always notice you before you see them. They hear the crunch of the leaves under our feet, while they remain quiet in their movements in the forest, avoiding attention from people passing by. And they always stand sideways with their heads turned, looking at us, waiting to see if we’re going to chase them or feed them. We stopped and took some pictures of them facing us sideways. I know the fellow who lives next to the pasture most of the year and feeds the deer. That is why they are friendly towards people.

Kayaking around the lake is a friendly affair; we always chat with people sitting on their decks. And there are the fishermen who talk about the number of fish caught that day. Yesterday, the surprising social event on the water was meeting three women standing in the water. They proudly announced that that day was a record for them in terms of being in the water this late in the season. I admired them for cheerfully chattering, but surely they were suffering the pain of standing in the cold water

But it was time to close the cottage despite the summer-like weather. All the neighbors were gone except a handful of fishermen on the lake.

Closing the cottage is a process that we have done many times, and it follows a routine. I unhooked the seats in the kayaks and pulled them up onto the shore, storing them upside down along with the windsurfers and canoes. I stored the seats and paddles in the storage hut. Covering the outdoor furniture with tarps was next, while Kathy cleared out the main fridge.

The final closing steps are moving all the stuff we take home to the boat and turning off the hot water tank and pump. My friend Jeff drains the water lines and adds antifreeze to the plumbing for winter.  And a local contractor pulls my floating dock around into quiet waters to protect it from breaking from the harsh winter ice.

The last activity is to place mouse poison around the cottage. Every ten years, there is a mouse invasion. We experienced it once and try to avoid it.

We drove the boat slowly to the marina, feeling the sun on our backs and watching the shore, one final enjoyment on the lake this year. Oh, and we’ll have to let the marina know that our propeller needs straightening; we had the misfortune of hitting a rock a week ago in the extremely shallow water resulting from the hot and dry summer.

Regaining Your Mojo After Tick Illness

July 22, 2025

Have you ever lost your mojo? Your ability to function? Do you enjoy making decisions and following through, but have lost the ability to do so? Have you ever felt in the dumps, with no ambition to do anything? Tired and spent, and the only thing you can do is sit around and maybe have coffee? In other words, you have lost interest in life and feel incapable of accomplishing anything, searching for a sense of purpose.

What would cause such a state? Perhaps you lost your job, were reorganized out of a job, or what they call today, the organization was right-sized! You may have lost your home to one of the out-of-control fires that have been spreading in many states and provinces. I lost my mojo due to a tick, a small bugger no bigger than a poppy seed. They are small, and most of the time, when they find you, you do not feel them. But when they get hold of you, they gorge on you and swell up, and that is when you can see them. If you discover them within twenty-four hours, you should liberate your body from them and go to a pharmacist who will give you a double dose of prophylactic, and that is the end of it. If, however, you never see and feel them, they can create havoc with your body.

I suffered the consequences of one of those nasty critters, ending up in the hospital for four days, trying to get my health back via IVs dripping medicine into my veins and also taking doxycycline for over a week. Yes, I lost my mojo for a few weeks; I was tired all the time, with no ambition to do anything.

When I was well enough to leave the hospital and, in a week, return to the cottage, most bothersome was my paranoia about walking in the tall grass around the cottage, the natural home for ticks, and fearing another one of those tiny monsters crawling on me again. I did not want to go through the hospital routine once more. So, what could I do?

I discovered a jacket in one specialty store that is both mosquito-proof and, more importantly, tick-proof. I had to have one of those. Based on this finding, I searched for other clothing that is tick-proof but could not find any, except for a pair of pants called “bug pants”, in an outdoor store, that are designed to protect against bugs. So, I had to have one of those. To protect my head, I decided to use my wide-brimmed Tilley hat, which I sprayed with an anti-tick chemical. Now I was ready to tackle the outdoors again. Once dressed, I felt as if I were in a hazmat suit. The bug pants and the protective jacket were hot, especially during the heatwaves.

I was still paranoid going to the cottage because that is where I think the tiny and nasty critter attached itself to me, sending me to the hospital. The problem was the tall grass that I had to cut back and trim down. Although I have a corded weed eater, I decided to buy a battery-powered one to reach every corner of the yard, both up front and in the back. There was no question in my mind that I had to clear the entire property of tall grass to make sure ticks would not feel at home there.

In addition to buying protective gear, I learned that I should also pull up my socks over my pants to create a firm closure so no ticks can wander onto my skin. Another tip I learned was to visually inspect myself when entering the cottage to detect any ticks on my clothing that I should remove, and also to check my body for ticks at night while showering. And place all the clothing I wore outside into the dryer to kill any ticks that may be on it.

Whenever I went outside the cottage to cut the grass, dressed up with all the protective gear, I felt nervous. But I knew that I had to overcome this fear and try to regain my mojo, the confidence to take care of the yard as I used to do before. And I am succeeding; the more times I work outside, the more comfortable I feel now.

My Emergency Room Journey: Insights and Reflections

July 6, 2025

I discovered I lost seven pounds. It was not a diet; I spent four days at the hospital, a day in the emergency observation unit, and then three days on a ward. What took me there was high fever alternating with chills in between and a general crappy feeling.

Kathy dropped me off at the Emergency entrance of the Civic Hospital, where I showed my health card and was told to sit down and join the fifty other patients in the waiting room. I observed with interest the people, some of whom did not seem to be sick at all, while others were in wheelchairs. There were people of all ages, and all ethnicities dressed informally.

The elderly gentleman, with a white beard and a black t-shirt featuring a giant fox on the front, impressed me because he wore a t-shirt befitting a teenager while having the demeanor of an academic. His partner gently guided him along while he also brandished a cane.

And then a huge African Canadian man squeezed himself into the narrow chair next to me, in a cloud of perfume, wearing multiple chains around his neck with his long hair neatly braided. Excuse me, I thought there were signs advising against using any perfume. Then he got up when the loudspeaker system called for Josephine.

Then the triage nurse took my vital health signs and gave me a bottle for a urine sample, assuming I could void at that time. I rejoined the waiting room after completing what I was instructed to do. An hour later, I was called to the registration station, where an agent placed a paper bracelet on my wrist with my DOB, name, and ID number.  

Then it was back to the waiting room again, where a sudden commotion broke out with three large policemen pushing a hollering woman into the room. Many people averted their eyes while I wanted to see why she was yelling, “I cannot take this anymore.” The policemen waited for the staff to take the hollering individual off their hands.

Complicating this atmosphere of general buzz, a young girl was throwing up, and people were getting up to register at different windows. Ambulance drivers were also pushing gurneys through the waiting room. You would think that waiting for treatment would be boring; I found the entire scene fascinating to observe. It appeared to be controlled chaos. 

I thought of getting a cup of coffee and some food to carry me through after a few hours of waiting, only to discover that the vending machines were not working. Kathy went outside and entered the main hospital door, where there were fast food places, and picked up some food for me. I wondered how people without a companion would obtain food without missing their turn when called. Finally, they called my name and instructed me to follow the yellow dots on the floor, which led to the “urgent care” door. Nine colored dots were running in parallel and then peeling off in different directions.

In one of the examining rooms in the urgent care unit, they took my blood from both arms and put me through tests. An hour later, a medical student interviewed me and said he would advise the emergency doctor, who would then advise me on the next steps. In the meantime, I socialized with my neighbor, a young woman with sepsis, who showed me a portion of her arm from where four skinny hoses hung out of a port. I did not think I wanted to further our medical conversation about her history of sepsis.

 I had been here for over five hours when the Emergency Department doctor showed up and explained that I seemed to be alright overall but had an infection and ordered a CT scan of my pelvic region. My mind did not connect the CT scan with my complaint that brought me in here; it was beyond my comprehension. I just waited to have the scan completed and then waited again until the nurse showed up with a couple of pages of text and a prescription for two medicines. One was an antibiotic, while the other had something to do with acid reflux and GERD; the latter was a complete mystery to me. But I was drained and happy to get out after seven hours in the ED without asking any further questions.

The antibiotic prescription did not work; after four days, I still had a fever and chills. I found antibiotics to work in a day or so in the past, so it was time to go back to the hospital, this time to another one, the Queensway Carleton. After seeing the triage nurse, I was pleasantly surprised when a young attendant quietly asked me if I was Andy. When I said that it was me, she asked me to follow her into the ED observation rooms, where they put me in a cubicle. I asked the attendant how she knew who I was and found out that I looked my age and was the only one of my age in the waiting room, one benefit of growing old.

They performed all the blood work and testing again, and then it was a matter of waiting again. However, I knew I could ask for some food that they provided for lunch, a nice feature. In this ED, a doctor came around to discuss my symptoms, and later the internal medicine doctor came and provided a diagnosis that was satisfying, knowing that he was pretty convinced I had a tickborne infection called anaplasmosis. The reason the previous antibiotic did not work, in his opinion, was that it did not address this infection; it targeted Lyme disease. By the way, I have recently read several articles about the proliferation of ticks in the Northeast, attributed to the warming climate.

So, the treatment started with an IV drip and doxycycline pills, a double attack to begin the healing, while waiting for the blood analysis proving that it was anaplasmosis. Start the treatment and save time while waiting for confirmation.

Now, if you have ever been in an ED space overnight, you know that it is not the place for a quiet sleep. The traffic was constant all night, in addition to the nurses taking your vital signs every couple of hours. So, little snippets of sleep, each two hours in duration, was my night. The next day, they found a room for me upstairs, advising me that my infection had to improve before they would let me go home.

I was miffed to find out that I was in a geriatric ward until my daughter informed me that I was one of them chronologically, if not by physical condition.

Sleeping in the ward was a bit better than sleeping in the ED space, although bells were ringing all night, patients were requesting attention, and the nurses still checked my vitals every three hours, day and night.

Furthermore, I found out I was in a ward with Alzheimer’s patients, and my next-door neighbor was either yelling, listening to a radio, or crying. I heard the nurse coming, informing her colleagues that she brought some “great” music for the gentleman next door: Nat King Cole and Dolly Parton. Fortunately, I enjoy a wide range of music. By the way, I couldn’t leave the ward without someone taking me, due to the type of ward I was in.

And then the nurse came in with the news that I would have to wear a pulsating sleeve on my leg, powered by an air pump, to prevent a blood clot from forming due to lying in bed all day (the name of the gadget was a sequential compression comfort sleeve). Wait a minute, I said, what do I do when I have to void at night? No problem, the nurse said, “You just take off the sleeve. I didn’t like the idea at all, since I get up a few times a night. Without saying another word, the nurse left and consulted with someone. When she returned, she explained that instead of the sleeve, I would get a shot in my belly to thin my blood. I had no choice at this time.

With the daily blood work showing improvement, they decided to let me go home in three days with a doxycycline prescription for another four days. And a follow-up visit with the infectious disease doctor.

Overall, I would have preferred not to have the experience. But going from feeling awful to good was worth it. The amount of attention I received from the nurses and doctors was genuinely excellent at the Queensway Carleton Hospital. Also impressive is the amount of paperwork I found on my account, which documents all the tests and the extensive reporting by doctors on X-rays, CT scans, ECGs, and the opinions of specialists in emergency medicine, internal medicine, and infectious diseases. And don’t forget, I’m still down seven pounds!

A Taste of Canada: Getting Tick-ed

August 29, 2023

I contracted Lyme disease and take anti-biotics to get rid of it, doxycycline tablets for twenty-eight day. Not sure when a tick, those nasty tiny little bugs, gorged on my blood but suspect that when I cycled on a rail-to-trail over a month ago and stopped in the tall grass to relieve myself, a tick may have found me. That night my foot began to hurt, swelled up and was hot to touch, and the next day I could not put any weight on it.

The pain went away in a few days when I decided to see a nurse practitioner to find out what it could have been. She examined the foot but came up with no conclusions, so I ignored it. In retrospect, that was a mistake.

A month later, I had the worst shakes of my life, my teeth were chattering. The following days I had become extremely tired, moved like molasses, and lost my appetite to such an extent that I lost six pounds in a few days, symptoms of Lyme disease. On the positive side, if you can call it positive, I had no headache and fever. And then a rash appeared on my belly, another symptom of Lyme disease, that I was not aware of that time.

The symptoms convinced me to go back to my clinic and this time I saw another nurse practitioner who gave me a thorough examination and sent me for blood tests, including Lyme disease. But impatient to wait for the test results which would take numerous days in the labs, I admitted myself to emergency at the local hospital knowing that it could be a long wait, hours, to see an emergency doctor. But I would have the results immediately at the hospital emergency department.

Enterng the emergency room, a large sign welcomed me announcing that the waiting time to see a doctor is five hours, measuring at least four feet by four feet,. OK. Then I looked around and absorbed the cacophony generated by dozens of people in the room when a middle-aged and heavy person in a tennis outfit rolled around a wheelchair with, I think, his wife in it, who moaned loudly about the pain that she could not bear any more and wished to be dead. The scene reminded me of a lunatic asylum. Across from where I sat was a youngish fellow with a neck brace. Some people stood and shifted their feet back and forth; there were not enough chairs. The loudspeaker called my name and nurses triaged me asking about the reason for my presence here. I explained that I thought I had Lyme desease. The nurses took copious notes while measuring my blood pressure and pulse rate. And then I returned to the waiting room.

I observed the people around me and was struck by the diversity, i.e., including all shades of brown to black. Is this the composition of Ottawa today? Or are these the people who have no family doctors and forced to attend the hospital emergency room for health care? But then the loudspeaker called my name again for registration; I had to provide my address and other information, information that the hospital already possessed. During this time a little girl, perhaps three years old, held by her father, was crying constantly, adding to the loud buzz in the emergency room. This whole experience was emotionally taxing on me and imagined that there were people here who have had much more serious problems than I had. But Lyme disease can be very serious in the long run if not treated.

But after five hours, as announced on the large bulletin board entering the emergency room, my name was called again, and I entered a large room with a dozen or so examining rooms around a central area where the emergency doctors and nurses worked and consulted with each other. A nurse directed me to a small waiting room that I shared with a young teenager. He moaned about how hungry he was, having been here for eight hours with no food. I asked him if he would be picked up by his parents, when finished. Or were his parents waiting in the outer room and could get him some food at the food outlet next door? No, he said, his parents were not there, he will take the bus home after his stay at the emergency room experience. That surprised me and felt sorry for him.

It was close to midnight when an examining room had become available, and I was invited to enter it. I did not have to wait long, an emergency doctor came to see me and in ten minutes, prescribed an antibiotic for the blood test that showed a high count of white blood cells and another drug for the rash. And that was it; he said he did not know about Lyme disease.

Leaving after midnight after a seven hour stay tired me out. And I found it emotionally taxing observing all the people in the emergency room suffering from some ailment. But the simple recommendations of the emergency doc soothed me somewhat even though he did not confirm I had Lyme disease or even identify my illness. 

The bombshell came the next week when the the blood test the nurse practitioner ordered showed I had Lyme disease. I had been tick-ed. And I received the typical treatment: twenty-eight days of taking doxycycline.

I learned a few lessons from this experience. A conscientious nurse practitioner may provide excellent service. An emergency doctor treats obvious symptoms and may not search for root causes. And although I find emergency rooms interesting, I prefer to avoid them in the future.  When I go for a walk in the country now, I wear long pants and long-sleeve shirts and tuck my pant legs into my socks to make sure no nasty ticks can access my body for a blood-sucking treat.