I've never had brain fog in any meaningful way. At the most I was globally slowed, with speech slowing commensurate with body movements generally. At my worst I could barely eat and was unable to maintain nutrition and lost weight rapidly. Fortunately in my case this was a relatively short period and with spontaneous improvement to "merely severe" and the support of my wife I managed to avoid the need for more advanced measures. At no point was I not fully compos mentis, and fully aware of my situation, its wider context and able to make rational decisions. I will admit to being more emotional at that time, but I don't think even that was in anyway abnormal given the circumstance — I'm sure I would have been the same had I been Christopher Reeve falling from his horse and suddenly finding a life destroyed, likely permanently.
I could not have qualified for mental health sectioning - unless the rules were meaningless.
And, as Maeve did, I knew the futility of my situation at that time, and I also knew the horror of severe symptoms where death was not necessarily the worst outcome or to be avoided at all costs. I'll quote my wife at the time when describing to colleagues: "Both of us had worked in healthcare for 30 years - nothing prepared us for this disease."
And during this time of severity and dreadful symptoms, the horror was compounded by the realisation of medicine's error — and its magnitude. I've said this before but I was immensely proud of what we did in medicine and it was an enormous blow to realise that there was - shall we just say - this whole other thing. That was something that I came to understand quite quickly, although it's taken further years here to even start to appreciate the history of all the — what we've come to term — shitfuckery*.
However, at the time I would not have pursued or agreed to "sectioning" under psychiatric services if that was what was required for feeding support. As I saw it my life had already been sacrificed and the die was cast by medicine, probably around the time I was born. I might love medicine, sadly medicine did not love me back. One thing still in my power was not to contribute to the disinformation, stick to my truth and the scientific truth, and not reinforce the problem for those following me. Yes it was a hill I would die on.
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* The same term is also applied to the symptoms themselves, such that medical friends in this boat with all the formal language to hand simply enquire: "how's the shitfuckery today?".