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  5. After giving birth, I was put on life support — this is what it was like to be on a ventilator for 68 days

After giving birth, I was put on life support — this is what it was like to be on a ventilator for 68 days

Holly Frances   

After giving birth, I was put on life support — this is what it was like to be on a ventilator for 68 days
  • A few weeks after giving birth, I thought I had pinched a nerve and went to the emergency room.
  • I was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome, which can cause paralysis.

Weeks after giving birth, I went from being a healthy 26-year-old new mom to breathing on a life-support machine. I gasped for air in the hospital's intensive-care unit with a plastic tube down my throat, fearing it would be the last breath I'd take.

For 10 traumatic weeks 11 years ago, life-support machines kept me alive. I had Guillain-Barré syndrome, a rare autoimmune disorder.

It causes weakness and paralysis, and about 30% of cases end up on a ventilator. It can come on after a viral or bacterial infection — the flu and food poisoning are common triggers. It's also gained attention because it can come on after a COVID-19 infection or, in rare cases, vaccination.

I went to the emergency room with weakness in my legs and severe pain in my neck. I thought I had a pinched nerve. Seventy-two hours later, paralysis spread through my body, and I could no longer breathe without help.

I thought I was going to suffocate

I remember being hooked up to the constantly beeping ventilator in the ICU. I couldn't move or speak. A feeding tube first went through my nostril, then, later, my stomach. Medications bloated my normally 140-pound frame, making me appear well over 250 pounds.

I hallucinated often, not knowing what was real and what wasn't. I panicked over human skulls scattered around the room and strangers in the corner that were just balloons. ICU delirium is common in patients in intensive care. Nurses injected me with a lot of Ativan.

When I slept, I dreamed about living my everyday life with my daughter. When I was awake, I was in a nightmare.

Respiratory therapists suctioned mucus out of my lungs by shoving a tube down the opening in my throat that left me violently choking. When the nurses wiped clean the most private areas of my body, I cried in humiliation and shame. It's nearly impossible to go to the bathroom without medication or enemas in the ICU.

But the most challenging part was when I started to improve and had to learn to breathe on my own. I was sure I'd suffocate and die every short trial off the ventilator. I had no choice but to push through the panic and fear, and I practiced for weeks, lasting longer each time.

After 68 days, my lungs were finally strong enough. The doctors took the tube out of my neck, and I was left with a small hole that looked like someone had stubbed out a cigar on my throat. I cried, thinking I'd forever be known as the girl with the ugly scar on her neck.

I had to regain 30 pounds of muscle I'd lost. Regaining strength, like learning to breathe, felt impossible, but I remained consistent, and each task got easier. I learned how to hold cutlery, feed myself, and brush my hair and teeth. How to stand on my own. I took my first shaky step with a walker, my daughter cheering me on from the sidelines.

I left the hospital after 126 days. My 5-month-old baby was too heavy for me to pick up, but I could put her small rubber Bumbo chair on the seat of my walker, and we staggered around the house like that for weeks. Eventually I could walk with a cane, then entirely on my own.

I made a complete recovery

I'll never get the time I lost with my daughter back, but my struggles paved the way to my biggest accomplishments.

Learning to breathe and then walk again taught me I can overcome impossible things. I'm now a certified fitness trainer in the best shape of my life; the person I was before overflows with pride at how far I've come.

Every time I go for a run, I breathe the cool air through my lungs and think back to my time on the ventilator in the intensive-care unit. With tears in my eyes, I feel grateful for the simple act of breathing.

Holly Frances is a Canadian writer, speaker, illness survivor, advocate, and certified fitness trainer. She is also a mom in a blended family of five and the face behind Holly After GBS on social media, where her recovery videos have inspired millions of people around the world. She is currently at work on her memoir about turning her medical horror into a crusade of helping others.

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