Meningitis B

Meningitis B arrived without warning, on Christmas day

At the time, I was a student. It began in a way that felt almost routine: flu-like symptoms, a headache, the kind you assume will pass. By the evening, it had escalated beyond anything familiar. I could barely lift my head, forming words to explain how unwell I felt was impossible

During the night, the headache intensified into something I had no reference point for. I was helped to the bathroom, and it was then—almost incidentally—that my parents noticed what I had not. Under long winter pyjamas, my skin was marked with deep red and purple bruising: the visible signs of septicaemia.

I was already too delirious to register it.

What I remember comes in fragments. A doctor. An ambulance. The brief, oddly specific image of my wool sock falling into the gutter as I was carried out. Sirens. Then nothing.

I regained consciousness two weeks later, in the new year.

The room was unfamiliar in a subtle way—quiet, clinical, filled with cards and flowers that suggested time had passed without me. There was an IV in my arm. My body felt markedly different; I could feel the outline of my bones in a way that was both physical and disorienting. The intervening period—intensive care, the life support, the interventions—was entirely absent from my memory. It had been touch and go for the first 48 hours..

There is a particular strangeness in missing your own critical illness.

At that point, my instinct was simple: to return to normal life as quickly as possible. To study, to work, to resume what had been interrupted. Survival felt like an endpoint.

It wasn’t.

It was the beginning of a much longer process—one that is less visible, less clearly defined, and far more complex than the acute event itself

I later heard that this outbreak was isolated to 4 other young adults, none of whom I had knowingly met. One was found dead having not received medical care, one was left paraplegic and the other I didn’t hear the outcome

The NHS are amazing for emergency care and I am forever grateful to them for saving my life, but it is extremely sad to witness that in 2026 we are still having outbreaks and teenagers are not routinely vaccinated. The latest cost of a private vaccine is £220 – this is unaffordable for many families