Why I’m Telling My Story Now

I didn’t expect to become a case study in medical failure.
I didn’t expect to be hospitalized twice in one week.
I didn’t expect to explain my diagnosis—biotoxin illness, also known as Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS)—to a team of providers who had no framework for it, even with documentation in hand.

But here I am. And I’m no longer willing to stay quiet.

The Long Road to Diagnosis

My first known exposure to a biotoxin-contaminated environment began in August 2023. I knew something was wrong almost immediately—but I didn’t have the clinical diagnosis, and I’m not a doctor.

What I did have was professional experience working with clients who had been diagnosed with “mold sickness,” and I had already learned firsthand that I’m allergic to molds and mildews. So when symptoms began escalating, I didn’t dismiss them. I listened to my body. I tracked what changed. I avoided the exposure as much as I could, and I did everything I knew to stabilize.

I knew what was happening—and I could not find help through any agencies or organizations.
The health department had no answers. The housing system offered no protection. Medical providers waved away my concerns. The systems I turned to didn’t understand biotoxin illness—or chose not to recognize it.

In November 2023, I sustained a mild brain injury during a motor vehicle accident, adding a short-lived neurological complication to an already complex picture. That injury resolved fully by early 2024 with appropriate care.

From March through August 2024, I limited my time inside the contaminated apartment to a few hours a day. On August 1, 2024, my diagnosis of Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS) was confirmed through Shoemaker-aligned testing: positive VCS screening and high-risk environmental results on ERMI and HERTSMI-2. I began treatment immediately—without binders, due to lack of safe housing.

By August 31, I stopped entering the building entirely.

I followed the protocol as best I could.
I relied on my professional training, somatic awareness, and scientific evidence.
And still—I got sick again.

The Breaking Point

In February 2025, a re-exposure triggered a full-body inflammatory storm. Within days, I had bile disruptions, nausea, vagal suppression, dry mouth, and destabilizing fatigue. Then in late March, after attempting to resume limited professional activity, I experienced a neurological collapse—complete loss of coordination, cognitive function, and physical stability.

An ERCP confirmed ductal stones, which were removed, but I was discharged on oral antibiotics known to provoke inflammatory flares in CIRS patients. I followed the prescription. I stayed hydrated. I collapsed again three days later.

On readmission, I respectfully requested to remain for a few days to stabilize and re-evaluate a safer plan moving forward—whether that meant staying inpatient with continuous IV fluids, IV antibiotics, and oral hydration, or transitioning to an outpatient plan with daily IV fluids, oral antibiotics, and oral hydration.
I expressed clearly that inpatient care would be the least risky option based on my history and clinical presentation.

The team initially agreed. I improved.
I was receiving continuous IV fluids and IV antibiotics with full oral hydration—550 mL hourly—when I was notified of discharge less than 24 hours after admission.

This Is Why I’m Speaking Now

This post isn’t just my story—it’s a reflection of what happens when clinical frameworks fail to evolve alongside evidence, and when patient voice is sidelined in critical decision-making. My experience is not isolated. And as I continue to recover, I’ll continue to document, speak plainly, and advocate for systems that do better—for all of us.