Cytokine Storm

  The Ukraine war has made me aware of how insignificant life on this Earth might be. The period I spent in hospital following a covid infection and a cytokine storm made me realise how remarkable my existence on this planet might be. The experience all but concluded my life, and indeed, many shared my expectations. I am left with no doubt that I had reached the boundary that characterised the point of departure. 

I owe gratitude to the doctors who refused my appeals for them to withdraw and leave me to face the inevitable. I was so sick and in pain that it seemed to be a desirable outcome. 

During the first two weeks of January 2022, I drifted into a completely unknown world. Driven by outrageous dreams and horrifying hallucinations, I felt distressed, solitary and alone, often in a dark, infinite and featureless world. Short-term sensory deprivation sessions can be relaxing; extended sensory deprivation can result in extreme anxiety, hallucinations, bizarre thoughts, and depression. 

One morning, I awoke to find myself in a fantastic coherent world that made sense. I felt invigorated but was nevertheless wholly hindered by the loss of physical strength. There is no doubt that my mind and my sight had suffered the consequences of the experience.

I resolved to continue the struggle and did my best to recover. I had no desire for food, yet I picked out the most protein bearing and nutritious morsels I could find within the meals supplied. During the night, I would plan my next physical endeavour. I might decide to sit at the foot of my bed or walk along the bed clutching at the side rails, but I lacked the strength even to reach the foot of the bed.

Toward the end of January, I was visited by three physiotherapist carers who were to get me up and mobile. I rarely had visits of this nature and insisted that I return home to my family waiting for me. After several exhausting and harrowing events to satisfy the authorities, I and my wheelchair were winched up into a waiting vehicle to return home.

Once home, I was allocated three carer visits daily, evidently, to assist Myrtle. Myrtle's dedication and a more suitable diet nurtured me, and I quickly began to recover my strength. The visiting carers insisted I perform prescribed exercises daily, among other supportive duties.

It is now mid-May, and I am all but thoroughly recovered. I can walk freely about the house and attend to all my basic needs; I prefer to use a rollator or a wheeled walker when walking outdoors.

If I learned anything from my experience, that is to continue my exercises for as long as I live. I am now more mobile and physically stronger than I was before.