This story was written by Joel Davidson, Ollie’s Father.
On the 22nd day of April 2024, we sent our three sons, Kai (7), Ollie (5), and Harry (3), off to school and daycare like every normal day. The kids had a standard day; however, at around 5 p.m., Ollie developed a mild temp and complained of a sore tummy. After some Nurofen and a little rest, his temp went and never returned. However, he had a vomit after his dinner, so we figured Ollie had something viral. No other alarm bells went off in terms of his condition, so we all went off to bed.
Ollie slept through and woke up a bit tired but nothing out of the usual. We decided to keep him home from school as we are those parents that aren’t fans of sending sick kids to school. To be honest though, Ollie seemed to have recovered and was just a bit tired. A few hours went by, and I noticed Ollie having some nightmares. He was sleeping next to me and was having what some would describe as “fever dreams.” The part that was missing was the fever. No temp at all. Ollie was drinking and holding fluids down. But I started to get some suspicion with the nightmares. Ollie wasn’t that kid that had nightmares. This was my first parent sense that went off.
Shortly after the nightmares, I noticed his breathing was changing. He went from normal breaths to short, rapid breaths. Something deep down in my fatherly instincts clicked, and I began getting my things together and was about to start our drive to ED. The universe has a way of putting people right where they need to be. As I was walking out, my wife dropped home on her morning tea break, which isn’t normal. I must have had it written all over my face because as soon as she saw me, I could see her shock. I told her we are going to ED now and explained why.
Off we went to ED. In the space of 20 minutes, Ollie went from having a nightmare to rapid breathing. I knew it was bad but was thinking appendix, bad virus… was never thinking that he was going through septic shock and his organs were shutting down. As soon as I walked Ollie into ED, the nurses took one look at him, asked to see his tummy, and I could see purple blotches forming. This is when my heart sunk. That’s not normal, and the nurses’ urgency got me worried. Those unbelievable nurses knew, and they started the recovery of Ollie. I don’t know your names, but I will be forever grateful to you.
We then got rushed into the resus bay where we were met by trauma doctors and paeds. Things progressed very fast, and the chaos commenced. I work as a police officer and have commanded many sieges. The initial phase of gaining control of a dangerous situation is the most dangerous and the most critical. It’s the chaos phase. I could see the doctors and nurses working the chaos phase. They were absolute professionals, and I will always be in awe of them.
After a short time, Ollie was intubated to gain control of the infection, his breathing, and his organs. I stood with Ollie and held his hand during this phase. It is something that I hold extremely close to my heart. I was the last person he looked at before he was placed into a medical coma. He trusted me, and the meaning of being a dad made sense to me in that moment.
Once Ollie was intubated and things began to slow down, the real hero introduced herself to me – Dr Anna from PICU at the Townsville Base Hospital. She is our hero for many reasons, one being the person she is calm, collected, professional, and empathetic.
Dr Anna told me the condition of Ollie and advised he was suffering from septic shock, his blood was infected, and his organs were shutting down. Ollie was critically unstable, and his condition was life-threatening. Every minute counted. Every hour counted. And this is where “minute by minute, hour by hour” was created a saying I repeated to Ollie hourly during the next four weeks in hospital.
Ollie was transferred up to PICU after some scans. My wife collected our two other sons and returned to ED. This is where we learnt for the first time what sepsis was, how dangerous it is, and how it silently creeps in and takes over the human body, causing fatal damage.
Ollie was later stabilised after 48 hours of touch-and-go care. How he managed to survive blows my mind. But I have narrowed it down to two things:
1 – Ollie’s unwavering desire to survive for his family by his bed, and
2 – Dr Anna and the amazing nurses and doctors in the Townsville PICU. Again, our heroes.
Over these two days, my wife and I had some serious discussions with Dr Anna. Discussions I never imagined I’d ever have. But here we were. Dr Anna asked us about what sort of kid Ollie was. I won’t repeat exactly what I said because there was some “choice language” used to describe him. But I told Dr Anna he was a kid that would fight with everything he had, he won’t quit, and he will fight for his life for the simple fact that he wouldn’t want to let his mum, dad, or brothers down. I told Dr Anna to burn the ships- we are all in – and that if she holds hope and continues to treat, Ollie will continue to fight with her. I guess they were a team.
Ollie proved his point and fought like an absolute warrior. He managed to recover enough where there was a small window of stability. Dr Anna rolled the dice and advised we have a chance to transfer to a hospital with a few more resources. It was a no-brainer. We had to take a risk to get where we needed to be. Ollie and I were then transferred to Queensland Children’s Hospital by the RFDS.
We arrived late at night. In complete shock and with no sleep or nutrition in two days, I crashed on this flight. I’ll keep the details between myself and the RFDS/doctors on the plane, but I’m pretty sure I had someone do me a solid on making sure I could make it on that plane. I didn’t really give much of a choice, but they had my back.
The next four weeks in PICU at Brisbane Children’s Hospital were a rollercoaster. Periods of recovery and improvement, then periods of decline. Periods where death was knocking on the door.
Ollie suffered a kidney infection which then turned septic. As a result, his liver, kidneys, and lungs failed. But in walked Dr Nic. Another hero that I owe everything to. This man replicated every trait I saw in Dr Anna. I later found out they worked together for a long time. I wasn’t surprised, as it was very evident they rubbed off on each other.
We had some very direct, black-and-white chats. I told Dr Nic that I didn’t want fluff. Put it straight and send it. He kept his word.
Ollie was a fighter. The team in PICU could see it. As Ollie was recovering, things were improving – he woke up momentarily. His lungs were recovering, his liver showing great signs. Then guess who decided to show their face again… Sepsis. Ollie developed an infection on one of his lines, which again took over his body. This time he didn’t have room to take a step back. His little body was already beaten; this was not what he needed.
Ollie’s organs took another massive blow; this time it was irreparable. Ollie needed a liver transplant to survive; however, his condition was too unstable to survive the procedure.
Eventually, Ollie succumbed to his illness. Making the decision to cease treatment isn’t something we took lightly. But Ollie was a warrior, lived his life with spirit and enthusiasm. He was a spirited kid with a big heart and a desire to set the world on fire. It was my turn to take on his strength and make the decision – something I still have to manage to this day.
Ollie died peacefully in his mum and dad’s arms. We helped him pass on in comfort and love, surrounded by the best possible medical team. Doctors came in on days off to see Ollie out. True heroes who set the standard of good humans… exceptional humans.
Ollie’s spirit lives on. Myself and his mum – who is the strongest woman I know – will continue to share his story, share our experiences, and what we have learnt through an absolute tragedy and horrific nightmare.
Ollie, keep looking down buddy, this is all for you. We will do you proud, my boy.