I have reached my first year anniversary.
No, it is not the an anniversary of a more happy sort - not the one of a wedding, for instance. It has been a year since I first became bedridden from the side effects of a fluroquinolone class drug called Levaquin.
This drug is commonly given for such mild infections as bladder or sinus infections. Mine was of the former - I had suffered off and on for the infection for quite a while (and had had trouble perhaps for four years from a misdiagnosed one) and was "assured" that this drug could only help.
I did not listen to my intuition, that is my sin, not listening to a voice within myself that was screaming that if I took the pill, I would die - and of course this was written off as some psychosis or hypochondria by everyone else.
And now I lay here, listlessly - wishing for a death I cannot have since euthanasia is illegal.I fear suicide only because I am afraid of being maimed further.
No, this is not a wedding anniversary or anything of the more frivolous or benevolent sort - this is the story of how I ended up in stasis at 23 years old.