Initial Injury and Onset
In early 2023, I was recovering from a cold virus when our new 12-week-old puppy, Harriet the Harrier, accidentally scratched my left shin, leaving a 1 cm wound. Initially, I thought little of it. Within 48 hours, I began experiencing flu-like symptoms and gastrointestinal upset. I assumed it was a recurrence of the cold virus. I emailed work to say I was feeling unwell.
That same day, my condition deteriorated rapidly. As I had previously experienced severe infections, and what I would later come to realise was sepsis, I was aware of the feeling of deterioration associated with this. I became cognitively impaired, struggled to stay awake, lost control of my bowels, and found it difficult to breathe. I waited for my partner, who was undergoing cancer treatment, to finish her oncology appointment before heading to the hospital.
By the time we arrived at the emergency department, I was barely conscious, my legs were tingling and numb, and I could barely walk. The 300–400 metre walk from the car to triage required multiple rest stops. Upon arrival, I was immediately triaged and placed on the sepsis pathway. The leg scratch was identified as the likely source of infection.
ICU Experience
The emergency department quickly identified the seriousness of my condition, and I was transferred to the ICU at Ballarat Base Hospital. What unfolded over the next few days was a battle for survival.
I was transferred to the ICU at Ballarat Base Hospital within hours of admission through the emergency department. Over the next 24 hours, my vital signs crashed. Despite antibiotic treatment for my Group A Streptococcus (GAS) infection, there was no improvement. My partner and ex-wife were informed of my deteriorating condition.
I have little recollection of the 24 hours between triage and surgery. My mental state was impaired, and I was not making clear decisions. Doctors told me my life was in danger, antibiotics were not improving my condition and I was in danger of organ failure. I consented to surgical and medical interventions and was taken to theatre. I was intubated while conscious. Though I knew I was dying, I felt calm.
In theatre, doctors made a 10–12 cm relief cut down my left shin. I was placed in an induced coma with organ support. The coma lasted four days. Although this coma was a difficult and traumatic time for my family and my partner Kathrine, it was the easiest time for me. Had I died, I would not have known, and I would not have had to experience the most harrowing aspects of my illness. During this time, my family was told I had less than a 5% chance of survival. Family members travelled from across Australia to say goodbye.
In the ICU, up to 15 medical professionals at a time worked simultaneously to keep me alive. Doctors later told me that I received a magnitude more noradrenaline than any previous patient in the ICU. Vasoconstrictors were administered, and doctors raised fears of their effects on my extremities, including the potential for necessary amputation. During my ICU stay, I suffered internal bleeding caused by noradrenaline and required stomach surgery two weeks after emerging from the coma.
During this time, my organs failed. I had a heart attack from the associated stress. My liver, kidneys, lungs, brain, everything had ceased to function. Doctors supported my organs with machines, they attempted to feed me with tubes but resorted to putting nutrients directly into my circulatory system. Machines breathed for me, filtered my blood, and maintained my vital signs.
Despite all this, and as a result of the brilliant medical professionals, I survived. Upon waking, I was confused and repeatedly said, ‘just razzle dazzle them.’ I recalled thoughts before or during the coma that I would tell people, ‘everything was beautiful and nothing hurt’ a quote from Kurt Vonnegut.
Delirium and Psychological Impact
Emerging from the coma was not the end of my ordeal. The days that followed were marked by intense psychological distress and confusion.
Over the next week, I experienced severe delirium, including visual and auditory hallucinations. These included imagined violence, conspiracies, and threats. These hallucinations became the basis for nightmares and trauma responses for months.
Some examples of the hallucinations I experienced include; believing that my family and friends were being harmed, that the military were attacking the hospital, that the nurses were involved in a conspiracy, and that there were other rooms with violent patients. I also consistently saw sparkles, morphing of physical objects, believed I could see through walls, and other visual disturbances. One of the most impactful hallucinations over the long term were auditory hallucinations that integrated the hospital announcement alarm, as this sound became a trigger for traumatic responses in subsequent hospital visits.
During delirium, I misdiagnosed myself with ADHD and requested a psychiatric consult. This was in part the result of my expertise in psychology interacting with my distorted beliefs resulting from delirium. The attending psychiatrist failed to recognize my delirium and instead questioned me about unrelated personal matters. She told me that she could not diagnose ADHD in critical care, and then incorrectly recorded that I was seeking drugs of dependence. She made no record of me experiencing delirium and recommended no interventions to improve this.
Support and Recovery in ICU
Despite the pain and fear, there were moments of comfort and support that helped me endure. Kathrine, my partner, was my anchor throughout this time.
My time in ICU was the most painful, distressing, and frightening period of my life. My partner, Kathrine, was a constant source of love and support. She read to me, soothed me, and put her life on hold to care for me.
Basic tasks like walking, lifting my hand, or brushing my teeth were monumental challenges. My skin peeled from my entire body, my hands cracked and bled, and my hair fell out. A nurse who also owned a sheep farm shaved my hair and beard at my request, they were full of dead skin. We sat in the bathroom, blunt clippers in hand, and slowly chunked through my long thick skin filled hair and beard. Once we were done, I was unrecognizable and my relief was immediate. I then showered for the first time in weeks, although this was a struggle, the feeling of water rinsing over me was one of pure relief.
The ICU staff at Ballarat Base were exceptional—skilled, compassionate, and emotionally supportive. They engaged me in my care and recovery. After my delirium subsided, I noticed posters about Post-ICU Syndrome and began discussing the psychological trauma of ICU with staff.
These conversations led to research collaborations. Collaborations that were formed while I was in my ICU bed and enacted after my recovery. I now have two PhD students working with Ballarat Base ICU, one looking at the psychological outcomes of the Critical Care experience and the other looking at psychological interventions to reduce post-traumatic stress in ICU survivors. Further, I have transitioned from being a psychology academic with a primary interest in psychological trauma, to medical research, focusing on sepsis, critical care, and the psychological trauma associated with experiencing these things.
Post-ICU and General Ward
Eventually, I was moved from the ICU to the general medical ward. Though I was no longer in immediate danger, the road to recovery was still long and uncertain.
After ICU, I was transferred to the general medical ward for another week. I received whole blood transfusions and antibiotics. I continued to receive blood transfusions until discharged. We chose not to allow my children to visit the ICU to protect them from trauma. However, they visited during my stay in the general ward. I was discharged on the night of my son’s birthday and was able to attend, despite my leg still dripping fluid. Kathrine had arranged a present for him and Easter gifts for the children.
Outpatient Experience and Recovery
Leaving the hospital marked the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with both gratitude and immense physical and emotional challenges.
After being discharged from the hospital, I was placed into the Hospital at Home care program. Each day at home felt like both a blessing and a complete struggle. Simple tasks, such as walking across the lounge room, felt like running a marathon.
Following the Hospital at Home program, I transitioned into outpatient care. Navigating the outpatient system proved to be extremely difficult. Appointments were scheduled without consultation, often at seemingly random times and without clear explanations. I was referred for scans, consultations with various specialists, blood tests, sessions with exercise physiologists, nerve conduction studies, and orthotic fittings—all conducted onsite at the hospital or outpatient clinic.
My exercise physiologist was the only person who provided any insight into the purpose of these appointments and the reasons behind the referrals. This confusing and fragmented process continued for over six months. It would likely have been overwhelming for someone without a flexible job, a strong understanding of the medical system, or robust social and family support.
Recovery was slow and arduous. It took six months before I could walk down the street. After that milestone, I began attending the gym and pool regularly. I also underwent another heart surgery and gradually began to regain some physical function.
However, ongoing issues with nerve damage meant that for over six months, I required support to walk. For approximately one year, I relied on specialist equipment to assist with mobility. Even two years later, I continue to experience nerve pain, numbness, and limited control of my ankles and feet.
Despite these challenges, I have made significant progress. Two years on, I have lost 100 kilograms, exercise daily, and maintain a healthy diet. All of my organs have returned to normal function. I am now engaged to Kathrine, and together we cherish our life, our children, and our new role as foster parents, helping to provide a good life for another child in need.