My name is Monica from Norway. Born in 1975. Me and my father have survived meningitis.
1975 was the year I was diagnosed. I was only eight months old. The doctor who took me in, knew right away what it was. It probably saved my life. We didn't have time to wait for an ambulance, so my father was asked if we had a fast car. Driving to the hospital normally takes 45 minutes. After a wild and reckless drive, he called the police and explained the reason. They had received two calls about the drive. One was not stopping at a red light. It was a matter of minutes to save me. I was unconscious twice on the way.
We arrived at the hospital, and the doctor tore off my clothes and held me out of the window. They cooled my body down because November in Norway it gets cold. The hospitalization lasted two weeks between life and death. When I was going home, I didn't recognize my parents and cried when they pulled me away from the nurses who looked after me.
For the rest of my life, I have been in and out of the hospital a lot – strange, rare diagnoses and a body that no one can quite understand. Narcolepsy, immunodeficiency and electrolyte disturbance are some of them. Blepharospasm in one eye and headache. It's like some of the same bacteria are still in my body. After several dangerous infections, especially in recent years, with coma, CRP was at 600, I had water in my lungs when I got a cold. The list is huge. Now I receive treatment for the immune system and need this for the rest of my life. I have to live with what I call late-onset injuries for the rest of my life.
I have a motto that keeps me going. As bad as it may be, it could be worse.