I didn’t want to get up at 4:45 am this morning, but I did. The heat is defeating me once again. This is my third summer in Tucson and I get a Lyme relapse for weeks every time. I’m never quite well until it cools off, usually in late September or early October (and by “cool off,” I mean under 100°).

I’m no stranger to heat. I used to play tennis in Houston when the temperature was over 90° with 40% humidity. I ran in Memorial Park after work during the summer. I ran around Town Lake in Austin all year round, with no problems. All that changed with Lyme.

Dad gets outside in the heat here with less trouble than I do. He has been weeding the yard since May and is now done. Weeding is not like the weeding I’ve done anywhere else. The soil is hard and compacted so the weeds are spindly and have shallow roots. They sell a garden tool called a “scuffle hoe” all over southwest Arizona.

Dad scuffles it back and forth and the weeds let go easily, for their roots are not deep. The biggest part of the process is cramming them into the trash can. He works early in the morning and sometimes naps afterwards, but the heat doesn’t bother him too much.

I couldn’t be in a worse place to have an intolerance for heat. It is well documented that Lyme patients relapse in hot weather. The bugs get stirred up by the heat but no one knows why. The fancy word for this is dysautonomia, Merriam-Webster defines the condition as “a disorder of the autonomic nervous system that causes disturbances in all or some autonomic functions and may result from the course of a disease (as diabetes) or from injury or poisoning.”

I know I have to walk Rocky before anything else in the morning. It’s wonderfully cool here before the sun rises, usually around 72°. The humidity stays low until monsoon season. Here monsoon season means we get 40-50% yearly precipitation between June and September. Since the total precipitation is usually ten inches, that means we might get a whopping four or five inches of rain in the next three months. Still, 40% humidity is sticky, just as 110° is hot.

My first summer here I was still relapsing regularly no matter the weather, so I didn’t think the heat was responsible. Last summer, I knew the heat was causing problems but decided it was a one-time thing. This summer it has become obvious that the heat is the problem.

If the last two years are any indication, I know I’m in for a long stretch of misery. Sometimes I know it will be a bad day before I’m out of bed. I wake up exhausted, with an aching body and pounding head. I often have a sore throat all day. My neck crackles and my brain refuses to move out of neutral. On those days I slog through my walk, using my ear buds as an excuse to not talk to anyone. It is surreal to be out walking that early and encountering ten to fifteen people who chirp “Good morning!” like living in Tucson in the summer is fucking fantastic!

Don’t get me wrong, once I’ve gotten started, I love the walk itself. It’s a time for meditation, rumination, and reflection. The beauty of the desert is showy at sunrise. If I’m not too sick, the rest of the morning is a carousel of activities that must be done outside: swimming, weightlifting, grocery shopping, errands, and appointments. The goal is to be inside for the day by eleven.

I’ve never lived anywhere like Tucson. Desert heat has to be experienced to be believed. “It’s a dry heat,” natives say. I’ll agree to that. Heat bothers me with Lyme anywhere, but in Tucson, if I have to be outside for more than a few minutes during the heat of the day, I can practically feel the bugs inside me stirring angrily. My skin itches and zaps and zings travel through my hands and feet.

Adapting to the heat is a necessity. I nearly always have to take a siesta in the afternoon. I go to bed before it is dark outside, and yet I still relapse. Brain fog is a defining nuisance right now. Although I continue to study Spanish daily, remembering the vocabulary is a struggle, and speaking is difficult. Writing is a meandering exercise in frustration. My mind wanders and I can’t find the heart of whatever I’m working on.This blog took nearly three weeks to finish because I would jot down a few paragraphs, read it later, and think, “wtf am I saying here?” On the positive side, I can still cook, shop, and clean. I can’t tell you how important it is to me to not get so bogged down that I live in chaos, eating junk in a messy house.

This month marks the tenth anniversary of my tick bite. I don’t know if summers almost anywhere are forever doomed to be times when I have to hide inside. In Tucson they are. Call it bad timing, less-than-ideal circumstances, or simply a poor fit, Tucson has never felt like home. The unrelenting heat is not balanced by the mild winters for me.

When I leave here, I most likely will never return. I am like the quintessential southwestern weed, the tumbleweed. My roots here are very shallow and I will be more than ready to go tumbling back to Colorado.