Lindsay Hanway
For a long time, I kept the details of what happened close to my chest. Most of all, I tried to shelter my young daughter from the reality of it, as I was scared of the unknown and desperate to keep her from carrying a fear she was too small to bear. Now, looking back, the emotional weight of those days was staggering.
It started with a terrifying loss of control. I watched in disbelief as rapid paralysis crept through my arms, legs, and face, powerless to stop it. Bit by bit, my independence evaporated right before my eyes. Hand-and-foot numbness turned into facial weakness, unsteady steps, and eventually the complete inability to walk. At times, it felt like I had concrete buckets attached to my feet. Basic human functions I had taken for granted—speaking, chewing, swallowing, feeding myself, and even climbing stairs, became immense struggles, accompanied by excruciating and unexplained back pain.
Adding to the nightmare was the frustrating battle to be heard, for someone to take me seriously. I told doctor after doctor the exact same harrowing symptoms, only to be dismissed with labels like “bad posture” or “it’s just a migraine,” or handed pain medications and sent on my way. It took dozens of grueling appointments before I finally received a real answer.
The diagnosis was Guillain-Barré syndrome (GBS), a rare, serious neurological disorder where the body’s immune system mistakenly attacks its own peripheral nerves, leading to rapid muscle weakness and paralysis. Because GBS escalates so swiftly, identification and early treatment are critical as the single best factor in securing a strong recovery.
Once care began, my hospital journey was sustained by an extraordinary village. I remain deeply grateful to my entire ICU care team: the doctors, specialists, RNs, OTs, PTs, RTs, RD, CC, social workers, music thanatologists, chaplain, and even Gill, the therapy dog who brought comfort to my hardest days. Outside those hospital walls, my family and friends anchored me, offering unwavering love that continues nearly three years later as I still continue to navigate my ongoing recovery.
While I still have some lingering problems, they are much more mild and I am thrilled to report that I feel myself getting stronger every single day. Above all, I am thankful for the gift of time—to keep moving forward, to heal, and to raise my sweet baby, who remains my absolute world and reason for fighting so hard.