2006

May

Montana

The first thing that seemed out of the ordinary was slow hands. Working at my computer in Miles City, Montana, I was preparing for a busy season of field work. As I tried to type, my hands moved slowly. I just couldn’t get my fingers to move. It was like a dream where you are running away but your legs are heavy and slow and you move like a slug. I was frustrated that I wasn’t able to work efficiently with so much to do. I didn’t think a lot of it, but when I told my Mom on the phone that night, she was concerned. I still didn’t think much of it. Mom and Dad live in Auburn, California, about 1,400 miles away. At this time she especially didn’t like to be so far apart.
About a week earlier I had the flu, or at least what I thought was the flu. But this was no ordinary flu. I was so extremely tired, it took everything I had to go to the kitchen and fix myself a bowl of cereal. I did this once a day. I lost about 15 pounds that week. For two weeks before that, I had that feeling where you know you have a bug that is going to turn into something, slightly achy and tired, just not right.
I slept for 10 days. Besides being exhausted, the only other problem I had was chills and sweating. I didn’t have a thermometer, but I figured I had a fever. I was awake for a few hours per day. During those hours I lay in bed and watched a spider move around on the ceiling. I kept the phone by my bed. Mom grew more apprehensive each day.
That week I went to the walk-in clinic three times. I had never been to an emergency room or a walk-in clinic before. I was a very healthy girl, a beast, a Viking, things like the flu didn’t bother me much, and they never lasted more than a few days. I went to the clinic because I was so extremely tired and it wasn’t going away. My body was heavy, I was weak. This wasn’t a feeling I was familiar with.
The first time I went in, the doctor did some blood tests. Everything was within normal limits. He said it was probably the flu and sent me home. The second time I went was mostly for a doctor’s note to take the rest of the week off from work.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m tired, but not in an ordinary way.”
I should have told him that I had to lie on the waiting room floor. He was a pediatrician and seemed to be in a hurry. He said it was probably the flu and he wrote me a note for work. I felt like an idiot. Idiot!
I returned to work the following Monday although I was still extremely exhausted. I was painfully exhausted. But there was so much work to be done. It was early May, the beginning of the field season, and I didn’t want to get behind schedule because things are supposed to be done at the same time each year. It was very hard to work; the exhaustion was overwhelming. I dragged myself around every second I was there. All I could think about was lying down and resting, sleeping, I needed sleep. I needed more sleep. The hours between workdays were all sleep. Eight hours of work, sixteen hours of sleep, not enough sleep. I couldn’t catch up, I just got tireder and tireder with each day of work.
I worked outside, and I had to lie down on the ground every twenty minutes or so and take a rest to make it through the day. Normally I am a very efficient worker. I can out-work most people or at least keep up with the best. Now I was last. I was ashamed. I went back to the clinic for the third time that week. More blood tests, all normal. IDIOT! Get over it.
I had to get through two more weeks of work before the annual family vacation in Hawaii. Plenty of time to recover from the flu and enjoy the vacation. I took a couple of half days off work to go home and sleep. In between the two weeks of working, I slept the whole weekend. Dead to the world. I couldn’t get rested. Mom’s uneasiness grew. Sleep. Sleeping. Slept.
On Friday, May the 19th, I flew from Miles City to Sacramento, California. I appeared fine and normal to Dad when we met at the airport. We drove home. Mom was glad to see that I looked well, “and so thin!” I was happy to be home, excited about Hawaii, and glad that I had a week to relax and rest before things really got going at work.

The Blood-Brain Barrier

The blood-brain barrier is a membrane separating the brain and spinal cord from the rest of the body. This barrier was discovered when someone observed that when the body was injected with a stain, all of the organs would stain except the brain. And then when dye was injected directly into the spine, the spine and the brain stained, but most of the other organs remained stain free. The barrier surrounding these vital organs was protected from the rest of the body and not crossed by the dye.
In most areas of our bodies, our cells, forming the tissues that hold us together, are connected loosely. This loose connection allows nutrients and chemicals and waste products to pass through blood stream and nourish and cleanse our organs and tissues.
However, the blood-brain barrier does not have loosely connected cells. These cells are cinched tightly together to protect the delicate nerves of the brain and spinal cord from the harsh and dynamic climate of our body. The brain must have a stable, unchanging environment in order to conduct our symphony. The blood-brain barrier provides just that. Blood carrying oxygen and nutrients to nourish the brain are allowed to pass, but all the other garbage is supposed to stay out of that biosphere.
So the cells hold together as tight as they can, like when you play Red Rover and you hold hands so tightly that the line is impossible to break through. Sometimes the right person is very strong or finds a weak link in the chain and pass through like a key in a lock. A virus crossed my blood-brain barrier. This is not supposed to happen, but evolution is not perfect.