
If I were to thank one form of healing that came into my life so long ago, it would be Yoga. I can very much say that if it didn’t, I would not be who I am today. When I started practicing Yoga when I was 28 – 20 years ago, I didn’t do it with the intention to grow spiritually or to fulfill any higher purpose. Like many, I did it to lose weight and as an attempt to become healthier. Little did I know just how profound of an effect it would have on the very core of my living and breathing existence just 4 years later.
In 2007, I nearly died of an infectious disease. Rewind 1.5 months before my 5-day stint in the intensive care unit where I was fighting for my life, I started getting intermittent high fevers. Not the kind of fever that makes you feel sleepy and mildly crummy but the type of fever that makes you hallucinate. Next came the rash that covered my feet, ankles, wrists, and hands followed by the gradual malfunctioning of my joints. First, my neck just seemed to stop working, then my elbows and knees just locked up. This all happened within one week. I went to my family doctor. After she determined that she had no idea what was going on, nor had she ever seen anything like this before – I was referred to every specialist under the sun. I was tested for hand, foot, and mouth disease, Scarlet fever, osteoporosis, rheumatoid arthritis, lymes disease, multiple nerve disorders….and nothing. For every blood test invented, I took it. Nothing.
This is how this disease takes your life for it is so rare in the United States, there isn’t even a blood test to detect it. After so many doctors’ appointments and diagnoses of “we don’t know,” my only directive was to go to the emergency room so they could treat the symptoms. With seemingly nothing left to do but “see what happens,” I retreated to my bedroom with my mom by my side. She was an RN. Completely baffled and beside herself with fear, frustration, and worry.
Never in my life had I felt so alone. How come no one could help me? I was young, a mother of 3, in good shape, and dying. There isn’t much I remember around this time. The little bits and pieces that I do remember were my children. My then-husband was afraid to have them near me. We didn’t even know if what I had was contagious. They would peek in periodically to tell me to get better and that they loved me. When the body is dying, that’s one thing. When your heart breaks, like breaks in a way the physical can’t even touch – that’s a death I would never wish upon anyone.
There was one day that I distinctly remember. It was the day I either lost my mind completely or decided that leaving this existence and my children was not an option. I somehow snuck past my family and slipped out the front door, not to be heard. I somehow made it to my car. I can’t even tell you to this day what I intended to do, where I was going, or what I had hoped to accomplish. I just knew that it wasn’t my time.
I ended up at Quest Diagnostics. I don’t remember any of it. The story I have heard is that I basically stumbled in, rambling incoherently, and collapsing. The next thing I don’t remember is ending up in the ER. What happened after that, I do not know.
Approximately 5 days later, I woke up in the intensive care unit. I was surrounded by doctors in what appeared to be space suits, my arms were filled with IV’s, and beeping. Lots and lots of beeping. As scary as this sounds, it wasn’t. I was calm. I was alive. My mom still by my side.
My next memory, and by far the most important, was seeing my children. That was all that mattered. I didn’t even care about what I had, why I was there, or what was to happen next. It was that moment that I never wanted to end.
This was the day I learned the definition of gratitude. My mom, the doctors, the infectious disease team that spent countless hours working on a diagnosis and treatment, my then-husband for his patience, and my children – and me. I am grateful for the me that didn’t give up. I am grateful for the me that believed in miracles even when I had seemingly left my body.
My diagnosis was Rat Bite Fever.
Rat bite fever (RBF) is an infectious disease caused by bacteria that are normally found
in the mouths and respiratory tracts of many pet and wild rodents, most commonly rats. In the United States, RBF is caused primarily by Streptobacillus moniliformis bacteria. Because RBF is not a reportable disease in almost every US state, it is unknown how many cases occur each year. However, RBF is believed to be rare. You can read more about it here.
“Although it is more commonly reported to cause rat-bite fever with reactive arthritides, it can also lead to pyogenic infection of the joints. (or Septic Arthritis)”

This was how the disease affected me the most acutely. The cartilage in and around my joints was basically disintegrated. Pain meds and cortisol shots were the treatment. I tried this for a couple of weeks. That was all it took for me to say, “No more.”
I decided that I wanted to do things my way. Being on painkillers and getting painful shots in multiple joints 1x per week was not on my life agenda. It was hard. So hard but I just stopped.
...And now, Yoga. ~ Patanjali
अथ योगानुशासनम् atha yoganushasanam. Loosely translated to be “yoga can only be approached in earnest when one is ready for it.”
After years of practicing yoga primarily for the physical & calming benefits, I stepped back into my practice with more of a seeking mentality. At that time, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for but I knew that Yoga (more soon)