From The Brink and Back Again – My ICU Odyssey
By Scotia
If you’re reading this, then I’ve made it – just about. Still not entirely sure how, but the fact I’m able to type this out (well, slowly, and with the occasional moan) is nothing short of miraculous.
A few weeks ago, I was cruising through life – a seasoned 74-year-old with a few hospital stints under the belt, but nothing to really write home about. Then along came The Virus – name still unknown – that decided to throw me into a 30-day, all-inclusive stay in ICU with some truly horrific extras: panic, tubes, nappies, and a heart machine soundtrack worthy of a Marvel villain.
A Hellish Start
It all kicked off innocently enough: legs turned to jelly, body shook like I was auditioning for Strictly Come Delirious, and off I went to Pretoria East High Care. I was burning up, shaking uncontrollably, and my body felt like it had checked out before I did. Several blood tests, failed stabs at diagnosis, and suddenly I’m in ICU, facing the very real prospect that I might not be making it to the wedding in the UK (sorry, family!).
The first weekend, I came frighteningly close twice to not making it. Then came three more near calls after that. Apparently, I don’t do things in half measures.
Humility, Machines, and Becoming a Baby Again
Here’s something they don’t put in the brochures: 30 days in ICU and you basically regress into a human baby. I’m talking full nappies, daily sponge baths, and an almost complete loss of dignity. Humiliation? Hectic. But necessary.
I had three straight days on a breathing mask – the kind that looks like something from a NASA documentary – and bounced between diarrhoea and constipation, which I can now confirm are both equally hellish in a hospital gown.
Machines beeped nonstop. Lights blinked. I often wondered whether I’d woken up in a casino or a spaceship. And when you're that deep in pain and panic, your mind goes somewhere else – somewhere dark, surreal, and disorientating.
But Then, the Angels
Despite all of it – the tubes, the terror, and the smell of hospital disinfectant – what kept me going were the people.
The nurses and doctors at Pretoria East are not just staff – they’re guardian angels in scrubs. They washed me, soothed me, dealt with my grumpy moments, and treated me with dignity when I felt I had none left.
And then there’s Sue, my wife, partner, and saint-in-residence. Watching her sit beside me, day after day, through tears and monitors and false alarms – it was equal parts heart-breaking and life-saving. If love could heal, I’d have walked out on day one.
To Everyone Who Reached Out – Thank You
To all the friends, family, and kind souls who messaged, prayed, called, or just thought of me – thank you. When your mind is 24/7 in a weird ICU purgatory, knowing you're not alone makes a bigger difference than you’ll ever know.
A New Perspective
I'm still in pain. Recovery isn’t fast, and I’m still trying to get my strength (and sense of humour) back. But I have a second shot – and I intend to take it.
Old age really isn’t for sissies. But if this whole journey’s taught me anything, it’s this: no matter how far gone you feel, hope, humour, and love are the strongest medicines of all.
Oh, and never underestimate the power of a clean nappy and a decent cup of tea.
🎶 My song of choice? Still The Who – My Generation.
“I hope I die before I get old…”
Well, I clearly missed that bit. But no regrets.
With love,
Scotia
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