Dec 14th, 2025, Alaska, 46-year-old male. I woke in my own bed with some pretty severe stomach pains and went to the local small hospital ER. They performed a CT scan and found I had a lower intestine complete blockage. It is important to note that I am a veteran of the US Navy, as it will become very important later in my story. The local hospital transferred me to the military base hospital per the VA's request. A few days passed with lots of blood work and X-rays, and I was able to use the bathroom. This was a green light to send me home. I was discharged and proceeded to get some food since I basically had not eaten in a few days. We drove the 68 miles home. About two hours after I arrived home, I had the worst pain I had ever experienced in my entire life. I was profusely sweating, couldn't talk, I could barely breathe, and I could not get the feeling that I was going to die right there out of my mind.
We then called the ambulance and went back to the ER at the local hospital since it was the closest and my vitals were dropping fast. After another CT scan, multiple morphine shots, and finally two shots of Dilaudid, I was transferred by ambulance back to the military base hospital. It was there I found out it was a complete blockage, and I would need emergency surgery. It started as a laparoscopic event and when that did not produce results I was then cut straight down my stomach approximately 12". After a long six-hour surgery removing the blockage and performing numerous lysis of adhesions, I was stapled up and sent to the ICU for what was supposed to be a short recovery.
In the ICU at the military base hospital, I developed very severe sepsis infection, which was caused by an anastomotic leak and caused extreme inflammation. This event caused the repaired section of my intestines to rip. I was awake for this and passed out immediately from the pain. My wife said I screamed like nothing she had ever heard and my face went purple. I was rushed immediately back into my third surgery for what was basically a redo. I underwent an eight-hour surgery in which an intestinal resection was performed, taking out 24" of my lower intestines and repairing the damage caused by the event.
I arrived back in the ICU and my sepsis got completely out of control and I had MOSF (multi-organ systems failure). This all happened from Dec 21st to Dec 27th, 2025. On the 27th of December I experienced the worst day of my life. On this day my kidneys shut down completely, I had heart failure, my blood work went completely insane, and I had acidosis. Now fighting all this plus the septic shock, and at 4:11pm according to my medical records, I had a pulmonary embolism. Luckily, nurses were sitting bedside when that happened and they caught it in time. However, severe damage was done. I was intubated and placed on life support because I was about to punch my life's timecard.
The ICU on the military base was unable to care for my extreme condition and my need for immediate dialysis. A Hail Mary call was made to the Providence Medical Center Hospital, and I was transferred with my abdomen open the 10 miles in a critical care ambulance. Mind you, I was heavily sedated for all this and am providing information directly from my medical records and my wife and friends' accounts, who were both there the entire time.
I arrived at the largest hospital in Alaska to begin a higher level of care and immediately received lifesaving attention. I presented to the hospital as a critical patient with MOSF, ARDS, renal failure, and heart failure. Still on life support, they placed a PICC line and got me started on dialysis, of which I was on for nine days straight. Started on pressors and sedated with Propofol, Ketamine, and Fentanyl, I was about as sick as one can get and still be hanging on to a small thread of life.
On the 28th of December I was so bad the hospital wanted to place me on palliative care and in hospice to let me pass peacefully. My wife resisted, and when the doctors met my kids and saw how much I meant to my wonderful friends, they honoured her wishes and proceeded with lifesaving care. Throughout my ICU stay my blood work was awful. I had forced diabetes with glucose readings in the 300–500 range every three hours and seven blood transfusions.
Then on the 15th of January, now 20 days in the ICU on life support, I made an incredible turn. I pooped! My wife said there were cheers and tears of joy at the nurses' station over this, because it meant that my body was finally catching up and hope for a recovery was restored. I was taken off life support the next day and had a tracheotomy placed for continued ventilation support.
At this time I was cycling off sedation, and they were only keeping me slightly under for comfort and to make sure I didn't pull any tubes out — which I did. In a psychotic event I managed to get my safety mitts off and pull out my trach. I just remember lots of alarms going off and about 30 people running towards my room, and then I was out again.
On the 22nd I was moved to a room in the ICU called a step-down unit and was breathing on my own. Still out of it and still battling some pockets of sepsis, I was able to eat for the first time. On January 25th I was moved to LTAC (long-term acute care). I was able to use my phone, calling my mum for the first time, my friends, and talking to my children. I spent 33 days in critical condition and 32 in the ICU. On the 31st of January I was honoured and privileged to transfer to a specialty LTAC and rehab hospital where I learned to walk again, had my trach removed, had my PICC line removed, and was awake and alert enough to enjoy many visitors. There were many challenges in my new temporary home. My muscles had pretty much vanished. I couldn't hold a fork very well or a pencil and my coordination was nonexistent. I also had no appetite, so I was severely malnourished. I arrived home after 30 days in rehab at the beginning of March. The challenges continued, but to a lesser extent.
I remember waking up slightly because a nurse was squeezing my toes. She said my name so softly as to not frighten me, and introduced herself and said she was my personal attending nurse for the day. I was so comforted by this — it was very surreal. I did not have any idea what was happening or even where I was, but this nurse was so kind and patient that all that didn't matter. I don't know — maybe it was an angel?
When I was coasting in and out of sedation, I swear the ICU had a train in it — like the ones at Disneyland that used to take you from the parking lot to the front gate. Of course it did not, but the staff were being so kind in my delusions.
The lighting. I remember it being so incredibly bright. I remember a few times when they came rushing into the room it was like they turned on the sun in front of my face. Then when they were off, the lighting in the halls and nurses' station was so bright to me it made everyone look like shadows. That was excessively scary to me.
One of the doctors I met stood out. He was so sharply dressed and spoke with such class and knowledge. He commanded the room, and I remember that when he began to speak, no matter what was happening, everyone stopped to listen. He did not seem mean or a jerk, nor did anyone seem nervous or scared of him — he was just one of those people who are at the very top of their profession. That same doctor was, according to my wife, the one who made the big decisions. He was also the pulmonary specialist and the hospitalist in charge of my ultimate care.
I can't even begin to explain or put into words the absolute fear and intensity of my mind while in the ICU. There are so many wild experiences I endured, and my dreams were all horror and backrooms-like. Although I do not want to get into my spiritual and faith-based experiences, I can say that I am 100% certain I was dealing with an actual demon. Let me focus on a specific event so as not to make this a Stephen King mixed with a Robin Cook novel.
This experience I remember 100%, even though I was sedated. The music and timing were verified with my wife, and the events coincide with actual events happening in the ICU room at the military hospital. I opened my eyes into a different world that I did not recognise, and I remember thinking to myself that a pretty elaborate joke — like the ones on those TV shows — was happening. I woke up in a Silent Hill-like main street of a town, but with more vivid colours. There were tomato plants growing up the buildings. The unsettling part was that the streets, no matter which direction, were always going down steeply. There was a bloodied, crazed woman chasing me all around and dragging me down the streets. I managed to fight her off and ran down a side street.
This street was different and turned into a tunnel, and I could hear music — music like from an old Victrola in the distance, low quality. I thought I recognised the song, and I kept hearing this voice say "I love you, I need you." As I got closer there were what I call boom tubes — long cylindrical tubes coming from a central point, way down where I could see. They had a flare on the end like the aforementioned Victrolas. The music was coming out of them, but I couldn't get too close because I felt that if I did I would never be able to go back. They seemed like some sort of doorway. I felt weak and my movements were very slow. I could hear horns and a low guitar.
As I proceeded a bit further I could see light, and I felt extremely claustrophobic. I went to the light and began to see — and no, don't make an assumption about what I am going to say. OK, here it goes. I am writing this part through tears, because it is single-handedly the most profound experience I have ever had. I was hearing the song "Phyllis" by the band Lettuce — one of my favourite songs from the pre-sickness days. It was still distant, but as my eyes adjusted I froze. I was looking out of my ear at my wife, who was huge, sitting by my bed crying so intensely she could hardly breathe. Like a little mini me, looking out of my own ear.
It turns out my wife said she was absolutely playing that song and all of my playlist, and it was on the 27th of December — the worst day of my entire life. I was then sucked back to that street with the odd buildings and tomato plants growing all up them, and forced onto a table. As I looked up there were shadow people, and as they got closer their faces with medical masks came into view. According to my wife I was having an emergency, all sorts of alarms were blaring, and my heart rate was almost zero. She was rushed out of the room and I was thrust into another terrifying dream experience.
I truly believe this was my mind allowing me to see the severity and reality of what was happening or was about to happen, and it was a way for me to see my wife one more time before I died. The dreams that followed were continuations of this one, and they were all situations that started out OK but devolved — most likely following the most severe period of my illness.
I have been trying to understand what my wife went through — the terrible possibilities, the heartbreak, the emotional toll. What she talked about with my kids, how they handled it. They are all concerned that if they tell me it could affect me too much. I want to talk about it, but I also don't want to stoke the hurtful experiences they had during this, or drag on the healing process. I give them all the time they need — but if it never happens, that's OK too.
Basically, when you are in the ICU you are a newborn baby. You can't do anything for yourself — you can't wash, breathe, eat, use the bathroom, or walk. The total reliance on the professionals and their abilities is sobering. Nurses are a gift from God and they are very special people.
How fast my body became unable to do something as simple as walking. Being sedated and lying on your back for 30 days evaporates muscles, and I have had to spend the last six months getting to the point where my body does not hurt just walking to the bathroom. I stood for the first time in over a month on February 5th using a Sara Stedy, and it was intensely hard.
My family and friends. Most importantly, my wife. She was a rock star throughout the whole ordeal — the rock I held onto when the waves tried to sweep me away. My friends coming to visit kept me alert and hopeful. They were there when I needed them the most, and to know that some people don't have such things makes me exceedingly sad.
This is a hard one and very private, but it needs to be told. At one point in the ICU, after a bout of extreme pain and just in general having a day of pain, bad dreams, discomfort, and a dismantling of who I was, I questioned whether I would be able to live without being a terrible burden on my family. I questioned the possible immense cost of my hospital stay. I questioned my ability to provide for my family ever again. I questioned whether I should still be alive, and whether it was better to let go.
I decided to try and let go. I lay there in the bed and asked God to take away my suffering, and I tried with everything I had to release my hold on life. I don't know how to explain it — how do you give up the will to live? I know it sounds selfish and terrible to think this way, but I learned in those dark moments who I really was, and I received my answer. There was silence. No voice answering my cries, just the clock ticking on the wall. But I felt hope come back. I felt warm, and then I drifted to sleep. For the first time, I didn't dream — I just slept. I awoke more alert than on any previous day. I have never looked back.
My time in this terrible situation has absolutely changed almost everything about me. From a medical standpoint I am doing pretty well — I eat better, drink better, rest better, love better, and appreciate everything to an extent I never thought possible. During this time I became unable to return to my career as I knew it, so I have had a lot of time to rest and focus. My time with my kids is better spent, and we have deeper, more meaningful conversations. My outlook on this beautiful planet has completely changed. I learned that I have deeply loving and profound friends.
The most important thing I have learned is my purpose here on Earth. As I move to enact this purpose and build on it, my life keeps getting better. I believe I was meant to go through this illness. It changed my understanding of how literally everything works. It made me realise how special nurses and doctors are, and how important it is to be faithful to your spouse and family — because when you are as I was, they will be there for you when you need them the most. Looking back after writing all this, gratitude is all that comes to mind.