It was around the time I was crawling across the floor, on my hands and knees, full of fever, chills, and delirium, with my heart trying its best to give up and stop, that I thought I might be seriously ill. I couldn’t walk anymore; I was too weak. And if I tried to stand, pain, the likes of which I’d never experienced before, surged through my left leg with an intensity that made me consider my amputation options.

What have I done to myself now? I wondered.

The next time I woke up from hours of fever dreams, I was surprised to find my sore leg was only slightly pink. It was radiating heat, but didn’t look anywhere near as bad as it felt. Another day fixed that. When next I rose from my sweat-stained sheets, the leg had turned into rare roast beef.

By day three I was able to get to my feet in one try and stumble around the apartment. I was still waking up from every nap in a sweat, but my head was clearing and I was able to sit at the computer to do some research—with my leg raised on a stool to keep the ballooning swelling from getting out of control.

I didn’t like what I found. Pictures and symptoms suggested a blood clot as a likely suspect. I called my GP to see if she’d like to offer a second opinion, but she was all booked up for the next couple of days. Knowing my history of walking into her office and giving an accurate assessment of what was wrong with me, she told me to get my ass to the ER ASAP.

Eight hours of ultrasounds and blood tests later, I was pumped full of antibiotics and told to come back to the disease clinic for more the next day. My call was wrong. I had a leg infection. The kind that will go septic, spread, and kill you if you’re not careful.

I just finished a third round of intravenous antibiotics as an out-patient. Now it’s another four days of horse pills, weeks of recovery, and months of preventative measures to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

“You’ll live,” was the verdict.

Most people would consider this good news, but I do get tired of waiting around to see what will finally finish me off. The suspense is killing me.