Here's my story, which I haven't told anyone on this site because it still scares me to death....it's hard to talk about. I had C***d last year. I was having difficulty swallowing and hadn't eaten in several days. Since I couldn't swallow, I was becoming dehydrated. My husband decided I needed professional help because I had lost 28 lbs in two weeks, and was having a hard time even swallowing water so he called an ambulance and I was admitted to a local hospital. Once there they gave me an IV for fluids, and after the first day I started drinking and eating on my own.

Then it got bizarre: The doctor came in and told me he was going to give me Remdesivir. I had read that that drug was used as a preventative and not a treatment, and was usually given when a patient FIRST came down with symptoms of C***d.....not two weeks later (which is how long I had symptoms of the v***s for), and I called my regular doctor to confirm that, which he did. So I told the doctor no, it was too late for that. (Little did I know at the time that remdesivir causes kidney failure and people were dying from it!)

The next thing that happened was they told me they were going to move me to an ICU and put me on a ventilator! I wasn't having trouble breathing, I was having trouble swallowing, which had been resolved already - so why did I need help with breathing??? I also know that once someone is intubated, they rarely survive - it is a last resort when other treatments don't work. My sister, who is a Registered Nurse in a Cardiac ICU told me this. I called my husband to come and take me home - I was scared because the treatment they wanted to do didn't match what was wrong with me and knowing that hospitals and doctors get a big kickback for patients with C***d - and ESPECIALLY for patients who die from C***d ($35,000.00!!) I got panicky, called my husband and told him to come and get me and told them to take me to the door so I could wait for him. They refused to do that, and my husband was on his way to pick me up when I fell down and hit my head on something! I don't know what I hit my head on and there is nothing in my chart or any notes anywhere regarding what happened: how I fell, what I hit my head on and what drugs they were giving me. They were strong drugs because I have no recollection wh**ever of the fall and hitting my head on something. I still don't know after many repeated attempts to ask them to provide written documentation of the incident.

I do know that they did THREE MRI's on me to see if I had a concussion (and therefore another reason to keep me in the hospital). None of the nurses could - or would - tell me or my husband what happened and why I fell! My husband went home, but he was very wary that something was wrong and he was in constant touch with the hospital wanting to know my condition. That lasted about a week. I called him on the 9th day and told him I was terrified because they were about to take me to the ICU for ventilation, and to come immediately and take me out of there, which he did. When he arrived and told them he was taking me home without being discharged, they walked out of the room and left him and me alone. He had to find a wheelchair, wheel me down to the door and carry me out to the car himself. He had a hard time carrying me and putting me in the car, and the doctors and staff just stood at the door and watched him without helping him. A stranger who was walking by the car finally stopped and helped him put me in the car. This was in December last year (December 3 - 12) when it was snowing and freezing outside.

One of the more obvious tell-tale signs that something was VERY wrong was that I never got a bill for anything! I was there for 9 days total, and I never received a bill for hospital stay, drugs, the ambulance that took me there (which is a separate bill from the hospital one) or ANYTHING related to my entire experience with that hospital stay!! Not one dime!

After being home for a couple of days, the drugs they gave me started to wear off and the "fog" that was in my brain completely lifted and I was fine - eating, drinking and back to normal. I don't know what they gave me when I was unconscious. I don't know what happened to me to make me fall down, and I certainly don't understand why I wasn't billed for anything - especially the ambulance, which has nothing to do with the hospital! And I am left with a big half-dollar sized scar on the back of my head as a "souvenir" for my troubles.

I really believe that if my husband hadn't forced the issue and brought me home when he did, I would not be here today to relate this story.