I was about to say I don't have a horror story.
Then I remembered.
I lay in bed at home, unable to move, in agony if the sheet so much as brushed my stomach, with sickness and diarrhoea which smelt like death, and a temperature of 41.5 for three days while DH called out three separate doctors who all diagnosed food poisoning because despite the temperature I was lucid and could hold a conversation.
The last time he got someone out it was a paramedic who took one look at me, called it in and had me bluelighted to hospital.
I lay there for fourteen more hours while they did blood tests etc and scratched heads in the medical ward. Eventually they called for a surgical consult. She took one look and called a consultant. The consultant tore strips off the medical staff in front of me and had me transferred immediately. They did a scan, saw fluid and thought it was my appendix so scheduled me for surgery.
The professor came round, took one look and said, she's not making it to that scheduled slot, get her downstairs now.
All of this I remember, I was lucid, I was talking, I couldn't get out bed and was in agony but by now had morphine at least.
I had blood borne pneumonia which had caused peritonitis and septicemia, my lung collapsed during surgery, I woke up in high dependency with oxygen, an arterial line, a main line into my neck, you name it.
So yes some poor judgements, particularly by the gps, but also some spot on treatment which is the only reason I'm still here today.