Am I going to die?

The following days stretched on like an endless haze, each one blending into the next, indistinguishable from the last. The headache persisted, its unrelenting pressure like a vice around my skull, threatening to crush me with its weight. Every time I opened my eyes, the world seemed blurry and unfocused, as if I were seeing it through a fog. My body, once so strong and impervious to exhaustion, now felt fragile. Even the simplest movements—shifting in bed, reaching for a cup of water—drained what little energy I had left.

I couldn't even remember when I had last eaten properly. I was barely able to keep down water, let alone food. The nausea that gripped me in the mornings only added to my misery. Each time I tried to stand, the room swayed violently, and I had to grip the bedpost to keep myself from falling.

It was on the third day that things finally reached a breaking point.