I had Lyme disease a number of years ago, but my idiot doctor used an outmoded test when they were trying to figure out wtf was wrong with me, so I scored a false positive.
It went untreated for nearly a year after the onset of symptoms, to the point that it began to affect my brain. They thought I had MS.
The neurologist I was seeing wanted to try me on meds, so he ended up referring me to a colleague who specialized in it. The MS specialist did some fresh bloodwork straight away — he never expected to find anything — and that’s how they finally figured out it was Lyme (along with a co-infection).
I knew a nurse whose daughter wasn’t so lucky. She spent 10 years being medicated for MS until she had to move up north to live with her mother because she was no longer able to take care of herself, let alone her child.
Naturally, she needed a new neurologist. The new guy realized right away that something didn’t add up, and they eventually ended up suing that first doctor for misdiagnosing her Lyme as MS.
I don’t know whatever came of the suit, but the woman’s life was permanently ruined — moreso by the MS drugs that the Lyme.
She was around my age. Her son was around my son’s age. 🙁
This is terrifying to me. Putting aside the issue of crimethink, I was stuck in a hospital (and later nursing home) for a number of weeks because I required 24/7 palliative care. Between the pain itself and the incredible amount of Dilaudid they had to keep circulating through my system even as I slept, I was completely out of my goddamned mind. I couldn’t make my own medical decisions because much of the time I was delirious, and even when I seemed alert, I had very little grasp on what was happening to me. (I refused food for a full two weeks, all the while complaining that the nurses were starving me.)
My short term memory was shot (I ended up being blessed with permanent amnesia), and I was an absolute fucking bitch, screaming all sorts of abusive things at every female who came in contact with me. (Yes, just the women, apparently.)
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’m normally the world’s most charismatic patient, but between the pain and the drugs and the trauma (both physical and emotional), I was an absolute hellion to the poor people at the hospital. (From what I understand, the nursing home staff deserved me.)
I didn’t have any mental health issue to help account for my behavior, and it wasn’t until I was readmitted (a few weeks after my release) that they realized the extent to which my “medically-induced psychosis” had influenced my behavior. (One of the palliative care nurses confided in me that she’d assumed I was just a bitch.)
So yeah, the idea of being abandoned to that kind of suffering and ultimately left to die of shock both terrifies and angers me.