I recently read this story of an Irish man who has made a life-changing recovery from Lyme disease:
Full recovery from Lyme disease is something all patients dream of, but for many, months or years of treatment still only result in minor improvements. The fear of failed treatment is something I, and many others, have to battle with every day. I remain hopeful, because hope is the only way illness is bearable. When you get sick with the flu, it sucks and you feel miserable, but you deal with it because you know it will end soon. In chronic illness there is so much uncertainty and unpredictability, and that, for me, is one of the hardest things to deal with. If I feel well today, that doesn’t mean I will feel well tomorrow. But I always hope that tomorrow will be a better day, that next month will be a better month, next year a better year. The lowest and darkest times in my journey with chronic illness have been those times where hope has faded and all I can see is a past, present and future defined by illness. Hope is an essential ingredient for getting through difficult times.
And yet, it is difficult to avoid the sense of impending doom when you read stories of people who are still unwell despite ongoing treatment. I try to avoid spending too much time on those stories because I know it is bad for my wellbeing and ultimately, if I become one of those patients then I will cross that bridge when I come to it, like all the bridges I have crossed before. Nonetheless, when you are caught up in a complex disease you seem to develop a success-story radar. Your nose starts twitching as soon as you get a whiff of an “I’ve recovered” story, because a) it gives you hope, and b) maybe you can learn something that might help with your own quest for recovery.
I approach such stories with an open-minded but cautious curiosity. Sensationalist headlines are all around us and it is hard to work out fact from fiction, especially since everyone has their own agenda. So, I read this news story about the Irish guy with open-mindedness, with cynicism, with curiosity, but also with happiness for him and hope for myself. And then I got to this:
“His family raised the $90,000 cost of treatment and accommodation through an online fund-raising campaign”
Anyone who has ever done any kind of reading or research into Lyme disease knows that successful outcomes are almost entirely reliant on private healthcare. The current NHS treatment guidelines are so unbelievably far behind the latest science that it is truly frightening. I could write an entire essay on that subject (which, as it happens, I’ve been avoiding because I honestly wouldn’t even know where to start). But private healthcare isn’t the full story. Many people will seek private healthcare for many illnesses, for a bunch of different reasons, and so there are private specialists everywhere. But in the whole of the UK there are about four or five private healthcare specialists who treat Lyme disease according to the latest science. In the whole of the UK. I am currently undergoing treatment with the only infectious disease doctor in the UK that I am comfortable seeing, that I believe will offer me treatments with the most chance of success without ripping me off. So, if he cannot help me, the only option left will be to seek treatment abroad.
And this is where Lyme disease discriminates. Those who have no savings and no finances to fall back on have very limited treatment options. Many people with Lyme disease are too sick to work, and have often been ill for some time before being diagnosed. There is one clinic that I know of in the UK that charges very little by private healthcare standards, but you are still talking a hundred pounds or so for a consultation, plus the cost of private prescriptions and travel to the clinic. For people who have very little, a few hundred pounds is an incredible amount of money to try to source.
The next step up is the other small handful of UK clinics that offer more advanced treatment, costing anywhere from a couple of thousand to perhaps £10-15k for a course of treatment. But Lyme disease is a complex illness, especially for those who have been sick for a long time, and there are still no guarantees of a recovery.
The final option is to seek treatment abroad. I know people who have had great success with specialist clinics in Europe, but the clinics with the very best outcomes appear to be in the US. It is hard to estimate how much treatment there would cost since I have not been through it myself, and since every patients’ course of treatment will vary. But you are probably talking a minimum of £10,000 and there really is no top-cap on what you could spend. Some people who do not get better with oral antibiotics have better success with IV antibiotics, which of course requires you to be in constant proximity to a clinic. I have heard of people who have sold their houses and moved their families abroad in order to receive such treatments.
Honestly, if someone told me I would 100% recover and be back to full health if I quit my job, took out a £75000 loan and moved to the US, I think I would do it. But no-one can ever promise a 100% recovery rate, and people are making huge sacrifices for an unknown chance of getting better. And anyway, how on earth would I get a bank to loan me £75k and even if they did how would I ever pay it back?
There are the occasional stories of patients who have recovered from Lyme disease through self-treatment and with very little money, but these stories are few and far between. The vast majority of the success stories seem to be, like the Irish story above, that have enormous financial implications. This might partly be a reporting bias. Perhaps the £75000 recovery stories make much more exciting reading than the £200 recovery stories, so they’re the only stories we hear about. But I know from patient support groups that for Lyme disease patients all over the world, finances are an enormous barrier to getting well and a huge source of strain.
I am very fortunate to have a family who have worked hard and saved hard their entire lives, and who brought me up with the same values. We are by no means rich or well-off, but I know there are many patients in a much worse position than me. The money available to me is not unlimited, but there is enough for me to seek some form of treatment right now. I cannot imagine living with the stress of this illness while knowing the treatment that seems to be helping will have to go on hold because there’s no money left, or having to make the choice between a prescription and food for the week.
So while recovery stories like the one above give me hope for myself and for all of the patients out there who are still suffering and still seeking answers, those stories also fill me with anxiety and sadness. Anxiety because maybe recovery is preserved for those who have £75,000 to spend. And sadness that the hope for a healthy future is limited, like so many other things in life, by the power of privilege.