Life Support: Surviving Guillain-Barre Syndrome - A Mother's Story of Hope and Recovery

A mother visits the hospital to support a patient. The patient's wife and mother-in-law are grateful for her presence. The patient is severely paralyzed and on a ventilator, with uncertain chances of survival. The mother shares her own experience of being on life support and recovering from the same illness. She recalls waking up in the ICU, unable to breathe and feeling intense pain. Her family initially did not realize she was awake. She believed she was dying but her mother reassured her that she would be okay. The mother pleaded to be let go, but her family insisted she would get better. Despite her fear, she found strength and resilience to fight through her illness. When are you back, Mommy?" my daughter asked, tugging at the bottom of my gray cardigan as I stood at the front door of our home. Casey, a typical five-year-old, didn't like to be away from me for long. She held her favorite blankie in one hand, a pink-and-brown zebra-print blanket the size of a hand towel she affectionately named Cece. I won't be long, honey," I crouched down, and Casey wrapped her little arms around my neck, making sure not to drop her blanket. Brushing my daughter's soft brown hair out of her eyes, I kissed her goodbye. I love you, and I'll see you soon. My mom was already waiting in the hospital lobby when I arrived. Are you ready?" she asked, taking my hands in hers with a nervous smile. I took in a deep breath and nodded. I had been back to the hospital to visit my old nurses plenty of times since I was first here in 2011, but this was my first time going back into a patient room. I pressed the square button on the wall outside the intensive care unit, and the door slowly swung open. The air smelled of a strong antiseptic, exactly as I remembered. "'No flowers on the ward,' a sign in the hallway read. I remembered the sign, and how everyone had brought me cards instead, since flowers are dangerous in the ICU. They can carry bacteria, and patients are more susceptible to infections." Mom and I greeted the nurse that sat at the small desk outside each room. In the intensive care unit, it's always one nurse assigned to each patient. I glanced up at the numbers above the door and breathed a sigh of relief that the patient we were visiting wasn't in the same room I'd been in, the room which I was so certain I'd die in. Lying in the ICU bed was an older man with a tube in his mouth. A petite woman, most likely his wife, stood beside him, clutching his hand. "'You must be Holly,' the woman stood from her seat. "'I'm Esther, and this is my mother, Sunny. Thank you so much for coming.' She hugged me tight, as if we'd known each other our whole lives. Her mother muttered, "'Hello,' with tears in her eyes. She couldn't speak much English. I approached the bed, and she wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me just as tight as her daughter had. Sunny's husband, Q, was paralyzed, the paralysis so severe his eyes wouldn't close. His eyelids were partially sewn shut on the corners to protect his eye from injury and to keep them moist. Though he was asleep, he had a pained look on his face. He began to gasp for air. The ventilator beside him beeped. The sound was chilling to my ears, as I remembered the days, weeks, and months of being on a ventilator myself. On the monitor, his blood pressure and heart rate were dangerously high. "'We've never even heard of this disease,' Esther said, until he was diagnosed. Q had been completely healthy, playing golf one day, on life support, fighting for his life the next. The two didn't come out and say it, but I knew they weren't sure if he'd survive. But that's why I was there, to show them there was hope. I, too, had been on my deathbed in the very same ICU. I went from being a healthy new mom with my newborn baby at home to paralyzed on a ventilator in just a few days. I had completely recovered. I had the same illness, and I survived. Five years earlier, I woke up on life support, with a plastic tube down my throat. I was coherent enough to know where I was, but sedated enough that I thought I was in a dream. Then horrible pain in my neck resurfaced, and the flashback of the last few days brought me back to my reality. I gasped for air once, then twice, unable to take in a full breath. A machine beside me beeped in a sing-song tone. A slight pressure of air in my chest forced its way through my lungs. The breath gave me a sense of relief, but why was it a hundred degrees in my room? My skin burned in an intense tingling, half-asleep, pins and needles sort of way. I gasped for air again. More beeps followed. The room was dim, the lights above me were off, but the morning sunshine peeked through the blinds of the frost-covered window to my right. Beside my bed sat my crying husband, our newborn baby in his arms. Mom and Dad were in the corner, whispering. I tried to call out to them, but the tube in my mouth made it impossible. No one realized I was awake. Unable to catch my breath, I gasped again, wondering if it were the last breath I'd take. I can't breathe. My heart raced. I struggled for air. I'm dying. No one noticed me. I wanted to scream. Another gasp. More beeping from the machine. James stood from his seat. Mom rushed to the head of my bed. The machine beeped again, and more air was forced through my chest. I tried to say. She leaned in close to my face. I didn't make a sound, but I could move my lips, even with the tube in my mouth. Holly, you're going to be okay, she whispered, her eyes wide with worry. My gaze moved to my husband. His cheeks were soaked with tears, his green eyes bloodshot. Our baby girl stared at me, innocently unaware of the situation. My dad stayed silent. His eyes were puffy and red. How can this be happening? I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I shook my head in disbelief that I was dying so soon after the birth of my child. Tears trickled down my face. Mom, I mouthed again. She leaned in closer. Just let me go, I tried to say. My mother's eyes widened. No, you're going to get better, she insisted. James took my hand in his. The doctor said you're going to get through this, Holly. His voice cracked through tears. I shook my head. I was in the ICU on life support, unable to speak, barely able to move my own body. They were lying to me. I'm not getting out of this. They need to let me go. They need to say goodbye. I was terrified, but ready. Mom, I calmly mouthed again, closing my eyes, just let me go. I'm ready to go. In this moment of surrender, I believed it was the end. In reality, my nightmare was just beginning. I had no idea how much worse things would get, but I would soon find out that I was a fighter, and on this journey, I would find my strength.