Michelle Gibson

In August of 2020, when I was 49, I went to urgent care with a fever of 104.7. I had been too stubborn to go to the hospital. At first, they didn’t believe me when I told them how high my fever was, but they quickly changed their tune once it was confirmed. I don’t remember much after that—I crashed, and an ambulance was called.

I was admitted to the hospital with MRSA and went into septic shock. (Sepsis and MRSA) Initially, all the doctors suspected COVID-19, but I tested negative four times. In total, I spent 62 days in the hospital—42 of those in the ICU, including 14 days in a medically induced coma on a ventilator. During that time, I required three blood transfusions, my lungs collapsed twice, and I developed pneumonia.

While in the ICU, I experienced ICU delirium. I truly believed the nurses were trying to kill me. Every time they entered the room, I was terrified. I was convinced that if I couldn’t do what they asked, they would harm me—either through my IV or by smothering me. Even now, I still have nightmares about those experiences, almost every week.

The exact cause of my illness was never confirmed. I was told it could have been something as simple as an infected mosquito bite or even a scratch from a cat. Not knowing is one of the hardest parts—it leaves me with an ongoing fear that something like this could happen again.

After I was released from the hospital, I spent another 27 days in a nursing home for rehabilitation and to receive IV antibiotics twice a day. I had to relearn how to walk and rebuild my motor skills. That experience was almost as difficult as the hospital stay. Because it was during the COVID-19 pandemic, I wasn’t allowed any visitors. I didn’t see my husband for 27 days. At the same time, my father was very ill, and I lived in constant fear that he might pass away before I could see him again. I also had to remind the staff to give me my antibiotic infusions—they were often forgotten.

To say I was relieved to finally go home would be an understatement.

Even now, I am still dealing with the lasting effects of my illness. I have permanent lung damage, chronic fatigue, nightmares, and severe anxiety. Despite all of this, I am deeply grateful to be here—and especially grateful to my husband for insisting that I go to urgent care. Without him, I truly believe I would not have survived.