09/23/2026
I lost my son to MenB. Today, there’s a vaccine.
Submission by Meredith Leigh
---
A decade ago, my oldest son, Henry, was a vibrant twenty-one-year-old junior at UW-Madison, studying economics and creative writing. In his spare time, he was the pulse behind a band known as Phantom Vibration and a charismatic DJ at the campus radio station, WSUM, hosting a show called “The Grooving Tree.”
Over spring break, Henry decided to spend time with me in Saint Paul. He returned to school, and just six days later, the world as we knew it would never be the same.
Henry sent me a text that his roommates had rushed him to the emergency room with a temperature of 104 degrees. The doctor at the ER ruled out pneumonia, and even though Henry wasn’t coughing, they suspected it was the flu. They sent him home with the advice to return if things worsened. Unfortunately, no one caught the signs and symptoms of bacterial meningitis or how sick Henry really was.
The following night, Henry experienced right-sided numbness, garbled speech, and cloudy thoughts. Despite being confused, he mustered the strength to walk himself back to the ER at 3 AM. Soon thereafter, the doctor believed that Henry was having a stroke. I inquired about his fever from the previous evening, but my concerns were dismissed.
He complained of an excruciating headache and was given Demerol, a strong narcotic pain reliever. Less than an hour later, his right-sided weakness seemed to resolve, and the doctor thought that his diagnosis was most likely a cluster migraine. But at 4:30 in the morning, I heard Henry’s voice over the phone. He confessed to having the worst headache of his life, coupled with nausea. I told him I was on my way to Madison.
With his grandparents by my side, we embarked on that harrowing drive at 7 AM. Then came the call that changed everything––Henry had a seizure, and meningitis was suspected. Antibiotics were initiated, but at 7:30 AM, it was too late.
In the realm of meningitis, minutes are worth their weight in gold. Three misdiagnoses in thirty hours had a devastating outcome for my son, Henry.
The rest of Meredith and Henry's story is linked below.
