'I figured out my friend was faking being sick, so I sent her a message.'

The first time Sinead* texted me with a health emergency, I reacted with sympathy, eager to try and ease the burden. 

"Well, my day didn't go as planned!" she wrote, alongside a selfie where she appeared in a hospital gown, a drip snaking out from the crook of her arm. 

"OMG! What happened?!" I texted back in horror.

"Passed out at the gym," came the instant reply, "They're keeping me in for the next four hours for observation."

Watch the trailer for Netflix's Apple Cider Vinegar, a true-ish story based on the life of Belle Gibson. Post continues below.

A friend I'd met in a local Pilates class, Sinead and I had hit it off chatting about our kids, who were similar ages, and lamenting the difficulty of one particular instructor's moves. 

We'd met up for a few after-class coffees, and had gone for a drink one Friday night, but we were in what I'd call the burgeoning stages of a friendship. I thought she was funny and self-deprecating, and having only recently moved to regional Victoria from the city, I was keen to put down roots.

The following day, Sinead was out of hospital and resting up at home. Instead of going to our scheduled gym class, I dropped in with a casserole to visit her at home and see how she was faring. 

She told me how much she appreciated the gesture, and seemed so touched by the fact I'd come to see her. We sat chatting about her medical incident (which doctors had put down to dehydration and low blood sugar), and she regaled me with stories of her mortification after coming to with a very young, ripped personal trainer lifting her off the floor. 

In the weeks following, I checked in more regularly with my friend, who had made a full recovery. She came back to the gym, and I felt our friendship had moved to a deeper level, as friendships tend to do when hit with a big event. 

About three weeks after her fall, Sinead asked me if I wanted to go to see a band with her at the local pub. I already had plans with my husband that night so I turned her down. Around 10:30pm, I got a strange text.

"Back in hospital. Chest pains."

I immediately tried phoning Sinead, but it kept going to voicemail. I didn't have her ex's number, or any of her other connections, so I was in the dark about what might have happened until about 24 hours later, when I finally got another text.

"Back home. Phone died. So sorry to worry you."

I jumped straight in the car and drove over to Sinead's. Her kids were back, she was cooking dinner, and she seemed bubbly as ever. 

"Oh you didn't have to come!" she insisted, "the doctors think it was because of a new supplement I'd been taking!"

I stayed for dinner and helped her wash up, but something strange was niggling at the corners of my brain. She just seemed so… unrattled by the whole thing. In the days that followed, she didn't mention it again, but was in near-constant contact via text — sending memes, asking questions, proposing dates to hang out. I had the fleeting thought: if I'd agreed to go and watch the band with her, would she have ended up in hospital?

There was a neediness to Sinead — a kind of obsessive attention that, while not unwelcome, made me feel like she wanted a closeness I wasn't necessarily ready to give. 

Over the next few months, I noticed a pattern. Every time I tried to pull back, there would be another bizarre, vague medical issue. She had Covid and couldn't get out of bed, so I went and dropped some groceries at the front door. Then there was a UTI so severe she needed to be admitted for IV antibiotics overnight. Then suspected gallstones. Then it was influenza B. Then suspected appendicitis. 

Many of these events were accompanied by hospital selfies, alarming half-messages that made me panic and ask for more information, and seemed to resolve without any concrete diagnosis. 

It was strange and unsettling, but it was when I bumped into a mutual friend at a school assembly that it took on a darker tone.

She brought up the issue of Sinead's most recent hospitalisation — more unexplained chest pains — and commented on how scary it must have been for her to have a seizure while she was in there. 

Except, on this occasion, I'd gone in to wait with her in Emergency. Hospital staff checked her over and then released her a few hours later. I drove her home — and there was no seizure. 

Upon chatting further with the other mum, it became clear that Sinead had been spinning different stories to different people in her life.

She'd been lying to me. I felt sick.

I'd heard about Munchausen's syndrome, and as soon as I started googling, I became more and more convinced this was what I was dealing with. 

"Factitious disorder imposed on self (FDIS), also known as Münchausen disorder is a complex mental health condition in which individuals feign illness to obtain psychological validation, such as attention, sympathy, or physical care," explained clinical psychotherapist Julie Sweet, who runs Seaway Counselling and Psychotherapy.

"Adverse childhood experiences, such as emotional, physical, or sexual abuse, chronic illness during childhood, grief and loss (for example the death of a loved one), and parental neglect or abandonment, are some identified risk factors for the disorder."

FDIS is having what you might call a bit of a moment right now.

Scammer Belle Gibson — who pretended to have cured 'terminal brain cancer' using alternative methods (and profited heavily from the lie through selling, among other things, a cookbook and an app) — has recently been back in the headlines. 

Netflix's Apple Cider Vinegar is a fictionalised (or self-described 'true-ish' story) based on Belle Gibson's lies and the subsequent scandal when they unravelled. 

And while I'm no psychologist, I think it's fair to say her behaviour meets many of the diagnostic criteria for this kind of disorder.

Asking around, it seems my experience with Sinead is far from uncommon.

"I went to school with a girl who told me she had a brain tumour and was having surgery on a Friday," recalled a workmate when I mentioned the drama. 

"She was back at school on the Monday and let me feel the "scar" on her head, which was just a little lump and none of her hair was missing. I never doubted her at the time, it didn't feel like that was even an option, but now I know it was absolutely not true and she just probably craved attention. I still see her around, but I'd never ask."

Another colleague had a similar tale: "During high school, my best friend was dating this guy. He was always very charismatic, but something was off about him. Then she told me that he had confided in her that he had cancer. It was this whole ordeal; she cried for months until we learned it wasn't true. He had also cheated on her, so sadly it wasn't surprising when it all came out."

The more I looked into it, the more things checked out. 

Spooked, I fired off a text that I still regret sending.

"I feel like you've lied to me Sinead," I wrote, "and I feel like the stories about your illnesses and medical events aren't checking out. I hope you're OK but I think it's best if we detach from one another for a while. I wish you the best."

The little text bubbles that indicate someone is typing appeared on my screen, then went away. 

After spending a sleepless night researching more about FDIS, I was overwhelmed with guilt. Clearly a serious psychological condition, I felt as though I could have been a lifeline to Sinead, but instead just piled more judgment onto her. 

I sent her an apology text, telling her I would be willing to hear her out if she wanted to talk, and help her get some help if she was open to it. My text sat there on the screen, unread, with only one grey tick next to it. Sinead had blocked my number. 

I searched her on Instagram to discover she'd done the same there. 

Julie Sweet says FDIS is particularly tricky to diagnose and treat, because of an unwillingness of those affected to accept or acknowledge it.

"The treatment process generally begins with acknowledgement, without which meaningful fundamental behavioural change is unlikely," she said.

"In instances of factitious disorder imposed upon self, patients frequently refuse or deny the condition, resulting in resistance to treatment plans and complicating the treatment process."

She does caution that compassion is the best way forward in situations where you suspect it might be happening.

"Encouraging treatment while avoiding enabling the person can be a delicate balance for those supporting people with this condition, yet it is possible," she said.

In the months that have followed, I haven't run into Sinead even once. She's either stopped going to the gym, or stopped coming to the Pilates class we used to attend.

I did run into our mutual acquaintance in Woollies a few weeks ago, however. 

"Awful to hear about Sinead's recent scare, wasn't it?" she asked me. 

Not wanting to create more drama, I just nodded my head in agreement. 

"It is," I said, "she really does have horrible luck."

*Names have been changed.

The author of this article is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons. 

If you or someone you know needs support for Munchausen syndrome/FDIS in Australia, you can contact the Beyond Blue Support Service on 1300 22 4636 for 24/7 confidential counselling, or reach out to your GP for information and referral to a mental health professional; other options include Lifeline (13 11 14) and the Suicide Call Back Service (1300 659 467) for crisis support.

Feature: Canva.