Throughout my years as a physician, diagnosing patients has defined my life. I have taken pride in exploring symptoms methodically and listening intently to the stories my patients shared. For me, it was standard practice — my job, my passion, my life. I saw myself as a medical detective gathering evidence that, when properly compiled, could lead me to the correct diagnosis. I love my work, and I never imagined I’d become the guy trapped in a medical nightmare due to a series of misdiagnoses.

My problems began innocently enough. For years, I’d felt increasingly sleepy and foggy-headed during the day, with a deep fatigue caffeine couldn’t alleviate. Whenever possible, I seized my lunch hour as an opportunity better spent napping than eating. Most days, I would make a quick trip to my car f

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