Peace in the Valley: How to Live With Valley Fever

Here is a post submitted by one of the followers of my blog, from Ana Daksina’s blog, Timeless Classics.

Her blog empowers rhythmic words to bring us in closer contact with all that is deepest, highest and finest in each of us. Her site is full of wonderful poems, quotes, photos, and stories like the one below on Valley Fever.

I appreciate Ana. She is yet one more confirmation that my blog could touch at least one soul, and that it could be used as a vehicle to galvanize others, who are like-minded, for discussion, and information sharing.

Please show Ana love, as I am. We thank God for you Ana! –

Please read our medical disclaimer – Not all alternative treatments work for those who do not believe that they will.

At first it seems like the worst airborne allergy you have ever had, or hope (very devoutly) ever to have again.

Tossing away the totally inadequate, now seemingly actually miniature facial tissues (to be accurate, you ran through the remainders of every box in your household during this very first afternoon), you reach for extra-large sized rolls of toilet paper, paper towels, tea towels and finally bath towels to get you through till morning. At least the bath towels give you more than one blow…

Chills sweep up your body like giant flames of ice. You put on a sweater. Then over it your robe. Your ankles, sticking up out of strangely thin house slippers, feel as though unprotected in a major draft. You go for the sweat pants. Okay, maybe the good winter pair. Over your wrists, likewise, you draw the sleeves of your robe all the way down, laughing at yourself a little for the urge to put gloves on indoors.

Then you don a knit hat. Eighty percent of the body’s heat routinely leaves via the top of the head, so this does help, but the sensitive nape of your neck is requiring that you add, at the least, a soft indoor scarf, doubled and wrapped twice

Even after all this, amazingly, it takes you several minutes to stop shaking violently and begin feel somewhat normalized in temperature.

Every muscle in your body aches too outrageously to describe and all the way to the skin, which itself feels much as you suspect it might if universally wired to a low-level electric current. It’s not really okay to touch it any more than you feel you must. Really, it feels like you shouldn’t even breathe on it, you’re in that much agony from this one symptom alone. Whatever — whatever you do, DON’T bump up against anything, even lightly. Just don’t.

But that proves difficult because, as you tell yourself you’re just being a terrible wussy and lever yourself (gingerly) out of the suddenly infinitely luxurious embrace of your very softest, most comforting sitting surface, you make a shortlist of additionally unpleasant discoveries — including that you now seem to be looking at the world through the wrong end of a spy glass, and that someone seems to have installed motion-sensitive fun-house mirrors inside it as well.

This does not do wonders for your coordination. You find this out by bumping your newly sensitive skin lightly against a few surfaces. The agony astounds you. So does the fact that even before you have managed to accomplish one single actually constructive deed (such as the procuring of a simple cup of hot tea, which suddenly appears to you as the eighth wonder of current comfort), you are not only more exhausted than you have ever been in your whole life — unless you’re conversant with the effects of about ten extra reps of everything added to your routine all at once — but now literally streaming with sweat as well.

This sweating instantly soaks the first layer of your clothing just as surely if someone had fully dunked it and not so fully wrung it.

It makes you cold again.

The agony in muscles and skin jumps another seven or eight impossible notches.

To change that layer out, you’re going to have to strip off all the others and then put them on again afterward. Right now, the effort required for this feat would on a normal day get you most of the way up that mountain you’ve never found the nerve to tackle. And the thought of doing it in this howling Everest of a room- temperature space registers in your newly but alas not temporarily mushy brain as an act little short of suicidal in nature.

Besides, by now the dunk-and-sort-of-wrung effect is taking over your second layer of clothing as well. You’re not sure you even have replacements for them all.

You jump into bed, pulling several blankets over you. This gets you warm enough to fall almost immediately into a near-catatonic state of absolutely immobile slumber.

Violent shivering wakes you several times overnight. Wildly you grope for extra fabric and pillows, piling every item within reach of your shaking arms on top of your body before succumbing suddenly and mercifully once again.

In the morning, every layer you are wearing is right next to dripping wet. There’s an exact imprint of your body on the lower sheet beneath you which permeates well into to the mattress. Sweat has also soaked abundantly upward through at least your first two blankets.

The thought of throwing off the now minimal but, to you at that miserable moment, very very real warmth afforded by those blankets prior to doing something (?) to remedy the situation is so absolutely to-the-core dismaying that you just don’t, that’s all — until you absolutely, absolutely have to.

And then you’re just as sorry as you thought you would be…


Welcome to the world of Valley Fever.

Your life will never be the same again.

You follow all the steps recommended below, and finally after over a week do experience a bit of cranial clearing. You rejoice! You lighten up on your regimen, preparing yourself for a triumphal return to normality.

BIG mistake.

Here it comes back in your lungs. The very, very bottoms of your lungs. All the other symptoms return as well. Now you are hacking like a consumptive and deeply, deeply depressed.

But not as deeply depressed as you’re about to be if you didn’t use that interim to talk your employer into a significant period of sabbatical, tap all your bank accounts and sell anything you needed to sell to finance a very minimum of six months in bed (for most it’s much closer to two years).

That’s unless you want to find yourself hospitalized or dead, as do fully forty percent of the sufferers of this disease.

You probably live in the American West, where the effects of global warming have created both higher winds and increased dust. It’s that dust which has carried the virus-bearing mold spores into your body, along with those of a very rapidly escalating number of people living in our new Dust Bowl.

There is no known cure.

You will be scheduling diminished activities with an eye to sudden (and highly relapse-inducing) exhaustion — for the duration.

Oh, you can fool yourself into thinking not by ingesting one of the new super antivirals they’re now handing out at the ol’ AMA offices. We wouldn’t recommend doing that for a whole list of reasons, primary among them that as soon as you finish the course and dare to take three steps outdoors again on a windy day, it comes right back.

Yours foolie raised a child for over ten years with these (as well as one or two other) major handicaps. Her then-partner left for work in the restaurant profession just as her highly energetic daughter came home from school each day.

She was on her own.

By dint of serious experimentation and research, she compiled the first few of the methods here listed, and by them eventually she did attain a return to perhaps one-half or three-quarters of her former level of activity.

But then of course that was thirty years ago, when both dust and wind levels were significantly lower — and almost every American lived indoors.

Two weeks ago she found herself newly installed in a tent at ground level in a little grassy field absolutely chock-full of those spores. WHAMO!

In true co-creative style, though possessing virtually no medical (or any other kind of) supplies whatsoever, she does find that she does have everything on her original list of remedies — plus two more she came up with additionally, buried forgotten in a crock with other small items, having unexpectedly appeared among the quite limited and usually ultra-mundane shopping purview which she is able to frequent.

A week ago she was unable to generate a single line of original work (this after having spewed at least two new creations per day nearly uninterruptedly over the previous six months). Today she’s written three new poems, and this post.

She’d better look out.

If she hasn’t learned by now to recognize the deadly perilous false euphorias of this affliction, she just deserves to take that dive again, that’s all. It’s not like it hasn’t been yawning beneath her precarious tightrope for a long, long time, after all.

She’s been blown her nose increasingly often as she writes. And the hacks on its way back…

Besides — trust her on this one — you’re not going to have it together to read, remember, refer to or carry out any lengthy, dainty drop-by-drop instructions anyway.

So here it is, quick and dirty, just like you need it:

  1. Be the day as hot as veritable Hades, never under any circumstances open a window in the direction of that cooling breeze.
  2. Watch your heartrate. If it climbs over 110 very often or remains there for long, do something about it. Yours foolie waited till hers was clocked at 180/min after resting for twenty minutes before she got a clue. Mistake.
  3. Stay warm.After you fail to provide yourself with sufficient heating indoors or the always-requisite two extra layers outdoors the first time or two, you won’t forget again.
  4. Loose pipe tobacco(no other kind will do) and powdered kitchen cloves. These both possess the “big three” whammy: antifungal, antibacterial, and antiviral. You need all three.
  5. Get yourself some clean (RAW brand) rolling papers (a pipe will work but far less well and, friend, you need all the help you can get), and learn to roll. Pipe tobacco’s chunky and oily, so roll it loose and smoke small puffs, inhaled deeply and held. Smoke about the first half and trash the rest. Your hack will loosen up into a productive cough, and you and everyone around you will be much happier.
  6. Tea tree oilin the mouth.
  7. Eucalyptus oil in the nose and as deeply into the ear canals as you can work it. There will be war in there, and it will be worth it.
  8. Don’t expect to get well.Work to get as better as possible instead. That depression’s a real killer.
  9. Rest
  10. Rest
  11. 10) Rest
  12. 11) Last but certainly not least, never underestimate the power of prayer.

Much as she’d love to stay for the after party — the work’s done an’… Well, she gotta go. Hopefully, that way, she get to see y’all a li’l bit again tomorrow.

Rest well, and a bright blessing on the new day awakening for us all. – ‘Kay’

Valley fever – Mayo Clinic

Valley fever is a fungal infection caused by coccidioides (kok-sid-e-OY-deze) organisms. It can cause fever, chest pain and coughing, among other signs and symptoms.

Two species of coccidioides fungi cause valley fever. These fungi are commonly found in soil in specific regions. The fungi’s spores can be stirred into the air by anything that disrupts the soil, such as farming, construction and wind.

The fungi can then be breathed into the lungs and cause valley fever, also known as acute coccidioidomycosis (kok-sid-e-oy-doh-my-KOH-sis). Mild cases of valley fever usually resolve on their own. In more severe cases, doctors prescribe antifungal medications that can treat the underlying infection.


Valley fever is the initial form of coccidioidomycosis infection. This initial, acute illness can develop into a more serious disease, including chronic and disseminated coccidioidomycosis. Read More

What’s the Best Treatment for Valley Fever? – Dr. Andrew Weil, MD – January 7, 2002

Valley Fever is an infection – usually of the lungs – caused by a fungus, Coccidioides immitis, found in the southwestern United States and northwestern Mexico. It was discovered in the San Joaquin Valley of California and is also sometimes called “San Joaquin Valley fever,” “desert fever,” or “desert rheumatism.” Valley Fever is very common here in Arizona. We see a lot of infections in June and July and then again in October and November. In California, the “season” for Valley Fever runs from June through November. The fungus lives in the soil, and those most susceptible to infection are farm and construction workers as well as archeologists and others whose jobs involve disturbing the soil and who may inhale the spores. Read More

Natural remedy for valley fever and pneumonia – 1,342 views – Published on Oct 10, 2017

A natural alternative for healing yourself from valley fever and pneumonia using tulsi and dashamula. Consult an ayurvedic practitioner.

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One thought on “Peace in the Valley: How to Live With Valley Fever

  1. I have been battling valley fever for four years and would not wish it upon my worst enemy. I hope you recover fully and are able to carry on with life as usual. It must be so tough when you don’t have access to doctors or medical supplies. Sending big prayers your way. <3
    In case there is something useful to you here, my current daily regimen includes: 400mg Diflucan (Rx), Oil of Oregano supplement, Aloe Vera juice, and 1-2 cloves raw garlic (all of which are anti-fungal). I'm undergoing Ozone Therapy weekly to boost my (critically low) oxygen saturation level. Though I'm not feeling "better," per se, I've been noticing small waves of time in which I feel a little better.
    Clinical trials for a new anti-fungal, Nikkomycin Z, will begin in summer 2019. If you're still in rough spot then, you might look into participation. Sending prayers your way and wishing you all the best.

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