Five.

Today I read back through some old blog posts.

(And by old I mean like, the last few months, not old like 1927. Come on now, let's not get crazy. There were no computers in 1927. And even though my body feels like it was around in 1927, my birth certificate says otherwise.)

And, in reading those blog posts I realized a few things...1. I'm kind of funny and 2. I didn't tell you about the-great-tick-incident-of-2k16.

So, let's get started with the-great-tick-incident-of-2k16, shall we? Mostly because I don't want to keep writing "the-great-tick-incident-of-2k16" because that's a lot of hyphens and that's hard on an iPhone. Anyway, let's take it back to July. I was minding my own business--as most great-tick-incident stories begin--sleeping on the futon couch with my dog. I woke up in the middle of the night and my arm felt like it was completely on fire. I could feel the bones in my arm and they were in searing pain. I tried to pick my arm up off the bed and I couldn't. It felt like it was nailed down. But honestly, I didn't think much of it. As crazy as that probably sounds. Weird things like that happen to me on a semi-regular basis with my Lyme, and I figured I would check it out the next morning. Little did I know what I was in for. So, the next morning rolled around and once it was light out and I could survey the situation I realized what the issue was--I had a tick attached to my arm. A tick. Attached to my arm. My arm. The arm that belongs to me. And thus began the-great-tick-incident-of-2k16.

So, I woke up, in complete panic, as one who was already sick from these little blood sucking demons would be. And I called my mom. Now, I'm 26 years old. And I blog on a regular basis about what to do when you have a tick. But, when I had one, suddenly I didn't have any idea what to do. Suddenly I had no idea how to human at all. So, I got the tick off. Put it in a ziplock bag (always remember that step!) and called the next day to make an appointment with the doctor. I should have made an appointment sooner. But I was stubborn. I didn't want to believe what was happening to me. And I wanted to believe that it was just going to be fine. Even though that clearly wasn't the case. Do as I say, friends, not as I do.

So, anyway. Went to the doctor. By this time, not even 48 hours later, I could barely lift my arm, I could barely hold my head up, my hands were shaky, I had a fever of 102, and my heart rate was slow. All from that tick bite. That fast. (Didn't believe me before? Believe me now. It happens that fast. That tick was on me for maybe 6 hours. Maybe. Not the 24 hours that they tell you. 6 hours.) I was diagnosed that day with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. The kind of tick that bit me did not carry Lyme, but it carries Rocky Mountain--another tick-borne disease. Bringing the grand total of tick-borne diseases in my body up to 5. Five. That is five more than should be in my body. Five more than I went there. And five more than I EVER want you to have to experience.

So please. PLEASE. Be cautious. Be vigilant. Be aware. I didn't get this tick from being in the woods, from being in the grass, or even from being outside. I didn't get it from anything that "they" tell you you can get ticks from. I got it from sleeping. As dramatic as it may sound--you aren't safe anywhere.

And now it's September. Two months after the-great-tick-incident-of-2k16. I'm seeing incredible doctors. And I'm incredibly fortunate. But I'm also very sick. And as true as it is, and as true as it has been for quite some time now, that's not a sentence I like to say. But I'll say it a thousand times if it helps to get the point across.

Please. Care about YOU. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than five tick-borne diseases. You deserve better than even one. Take the steps. You matter.