Letting Go

Early on in my Bee Venom Therapy journey, perhaps because of how peacefully I entered into this treatment, letting go has fallen into my lap and is sitting there like a cute kitty (“cute” + “kitty” = redundant, warm and fluffy) curled up and waiting for lots of pets.  But that’s not how it started.

      Pet the kitty

Living with Lyme Disease is complicated.  The longer the spirochetes are living in a person’s system, the wider the range of possibilities as to where they will reside and which body systems they will royally fuck up for the kind host who gives much more than a blood meal.  I have given these buggers a 5’6″ cellular buffet for 21 years.  Most Lyme patients are told indirectly and explicitly that their aches and pains and whatever seems “off” is just in their heads, that all tests are normal and they have nothing wrong with them other than needing a psych consult. After what feels like a long drawn out wild goose chase searching for a diagnosis, Lymies are fed up, tired from the chase, and wounded from medical professionals dismissing and not believing them.  So us Lymies, we search.  We search for answers.  We search for a diagnosis from our home computers.  We search for anyone out there like us. Every ache, pain, and body change is noted.  We pay attention to the details in hopes of finding the missing link that will help our doctors help us.  How hard it is to let go of a confounding type of pain and suffering.

Enter Bee Venom Therapy (BVT).  It has helped me let go of the details.  This is not how I started out with BVT, but I wised up quickly.  In the beginning of this treatment as with every Lyme treatment I have tried to date, I wanted to know everything about it.  As if somehow the knowledge would make the bee medicine work better??!? Crazy me!

Thankfully, I can’t.  I can’t know it all, I can’t study every aspect of the bee venom.  I can’t learn how it acts on the body on a microscopic level.  As much as I want to know, the information simply is not available.  So instead of researching the healing properties of mellitin, instead of studying which enzymes and peptides are viable in live honey bee venom but not in the injectable format, instead of looking for studies on what the peptides and enzymes do within the human body, I am letting go.

This is not a meditative practice or a type of high road that ought to be taken.  I’m here to tell you that letting go is possible. More than just a pipe dream or mind over matter. It has already happened early on for me with BVT treatment and plan to keep this peaceful momentum going.

Letting go means I:

  • continue with the BVT Lyme Protocol and observe the changes
  • continue to hope for and watch for signs of healing
  • lessen my urges to break it down into explanations of medical cause and effect
  • wait a few days before officially freaking out when something unexpected happens after stinging
  • be patient with the process

My best healing moments, days and weeks with BVT are when I let go of my body sensations and body changes due to stinging, and just roll with it.  Because the bees are taking care of it for me, I give it all up to Mother Nature.  SheLetting Go wins every time.

Letting go has been the most powerful piece of BVT for me.

Let Go of all your previous notions and Observe. Give your body time to get used to the Bee Medicine and simply Observe the interesting things it does.  I am glad that I don’t know, and can’t know, exactly how the bee venom works.

Letting Go

One Year of Trying and Waiting and Trying Again

The second Sunday in July. One year ago today, I was desperate to join my local Lyme Disease Support Group and meet other people in the same boat.  I missed that gathering.  It didn’t work out because our family was at our church picnic that ended up being a full day event. What a benchmark.  This year, on the second Sunday of July 2015 it turns out I have my first apitherapy (bee venom therapy) session.  I am at my church picnic today, and the bees are calling me. Time to start stinging!  Ironically, the scheduled time is 3:00pm, the same as last year’s Lyme Disease support group.   Reflecting on the past year, I see now how important it is to have patience.  (That was one hell of a year.)   I had no inkling that one year ago today I would be actively pursuing apitherapy, that I would be intentionally stinging myself with bees and praying their venom does everything it is said to do.

Faith is trusting that a good and positive future is really going to happen, becoming nearer and more real; faith is not knowing HOW it will happen.  Patience is waiting and wading through the not knowing what that future looks like and not knowing WHEN. Faith and Patience, they go hand in hand.  Faith means being tough and enduring the shit while waiting for the universe to do its beautiful thing.  Patience is waiting indefinitely for the (brain) fog and confusion to clear.

Not quite sure how I got through it.  Not once did I say to myself, “Oh, I have so much patience, everything will work out just fine.”  It looked quite different from inside my little fish bowl of chronic illness.  I saw frustration that treatments weren’t making me feel or function better.  I saw my own anger that I can’t control these damn spirochetes (Borrelia bacteria) inside me.  I saw so much sadness and grief to have lost my verve, my creative juices, my energy to get through the day and do barely more than basic chores.  I saw fear of my illness getting worse and slowly killing me.  Patience is not easy at times like this, nor is it a simple thing to have faith in the universe.

One Year of Trying and Waiting and Trying Again

Healing from the Heart Outwards

This has been a long journey.  Others that have come before me have paved the way and they have endured much, much more than I can bear.  Learning from them, I know that I can’t continue my healing path the way it has been.  It is time for a change, and change is a’comin’.

After a full year of treatment for Lyme Disease, I took some time to reflect on what this illness looks like in MY body, not anyone else’s.  How it makes me feel on a day-to-day physical level.  How certain treatments that I’ve tried have strained my spirit.  Where I thought I would be at the first year mark is nowhere close to where I am right now.  Whenever treatment isn’t going well, I find myself researching lesser known treatments.  One in particular is my barometer for depression; when I keep picking up my book about that particular treatment, I know it’s time to check in with my doc and reassess my health status.  Um, and put that book back on the shelf.

And then there were the bees.

Honey bees, that is.  Not the Midwestern English use of “bees” to mean “nasty, horrible wasps” or “anything with wings on it that makes me shriek in fear.”  I had been looking into the medicinal uses of honey bees, apitherapy, for a while now.  A few weeks ago when I stopped myself and visualized this treatment, this 2 or 3 year commitment, this mode of self-treating Lyme Disease, well, I felt peace.  I felt a gentleness wash over me that had not yet happened during any of my various treatments so far.  This decision to pursue apitherapy as my main treatment is a huge decision that is not entered into lightly.  And yet I feel none of that weight; rather, my soul is lifted.  I don’t know how or why, but my soul is speaking and I am doing what it asks with the bees.

Healing from the Heart Outwards