Which explains why lupus is so difficult to
diagnose and takes anywhere from 7-8 years to
get a diagnosis. I cannot begin to imagine what it
was like living with just the symptoms without a
name for how you were feeling.
It was hard for people to believe that I was
unwell. I was accused of being lazy and skipping
work and such when sometimes my joints got so
inflamed they had to give me a week off just to
rest and recover. I was in constant pain. I was
losing weight, not eating because everything I ate
made my face, throat and tongue swell. Severe
allergies were part of my lupus story, so I found
myself constantly rushing to the hospital at night
to get a shot of prednisone, because EpiPens were
not that common in St Lucia at the time.
I knew I was dying.
“One day your body just will not be able to cope,”
a doctor in St Lucia told me and suggested that I
go to the United States to seek help.
Had you seen any doctors outside of St.Lucia,
prior to traveling to the U.S.?
I had been to the doctor in Barbados and Trinidad
where I studied for two years. But no one could
diagnose me. I remember distinctly one incident
in 2001, where I got home and as soon as I
removed my pants I collapsed. I was rushed to the
hospital and was in bed with my feet elevated.
They looked like someone had put tiny red spots
on my entire legs. The doctor explained that he
had only ever seen this in one person, and they
had lupus. But I had none of the other symptoms
at the time so he ruled it out.
He said, “You’re young, you’re healthy but your
legs don’t want to work”.
That conversation stayed with me until 2007 when
I heard that word again — lupus. That was my aha
moment.
"I am doing great and my organs are
holding their own, like me, refusing to fail."
Felicia Leon
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