The Iron Man: A Meningitis Miracle (page 2 of 5)

Last-Ditch Effort

At about 2 a.m. on January 2, I woke up and headed for the bathroom. Donna must have been sleeping with one eye open. When I returned to bed, she turned a light on and was shocked to see deep purple blotches that looked like broken blood vessels all over my face. She quickly threw on some clothes and phoned her older brother to ask if he could stay with the kids. Soon I wasn't able to stand on my own, so my strong-willed five-foot-four wife heaped my 200-pound body on her back with strength even she didn't know she possessed and, like a firefighter, got me downstairs and into the car. We sped off to a local hospital.

Soon after we arrived, the ER staff tried hooking me up to IVs, but my veins kept collapsing and the staff couldn't insert the needles. My heartbeat and respiration were extremely rapid. A specialist was called to put in a central IV for antibiotics and fluids. The doctors didn't know what was wrong, but they wondered if I'd developed a pulmonary embolism as a result of the long car trip.

More specialists were called in around 4 a.m. as Donna and several nurses circled around, trying to make me more comfortable. Later that morning, I had a CAT scan, to look for an embolism, and a VQ scan, which shows whether blood is circulating freely through the lungs. The results of both were negative, but an echocardiogram showed some weakening of my heart. Suddenly I went into severe septic shock with multiple organ failure: My liver, kidneys and other organs were shutting down. Donna followed as I was wheeled into the ICU. A hematologist was brought in to consult. He told Donna that I had disseminated intravascular coagulation, or DIC, a condition that causes blood to coagulate irregularly, leading to bleeding throughout the body. Over the next week, Donna watched helplessly as my nose, arms and limbs all turned from purple to black. We later learned that this was my body's way of preserving the really important stuff, like my heart and brain, by decreasing the blood flow to my extremities. A staffer asked Donna, as my health care proxy, for permission to place me under heavy sedation and hook me up to a respirator to help me breathe more easily. She had no choice but to agree to what sounded like a last-ditch effort.

The rest of the LaForgia clan arrived from Maine by one that afternoon. Each person was allowed in my room for a few minutes before I was placed on the respirator. At four, the medical staff told Donna she had to leave while they got me ready. She kissed my cheek and whispered that she would be back soon. Most of my memories from then on are based on Donna's retelling of the story. One of the doctors told Donna there was nothing else they could do—and that I probably wouldn't make it through the night. Still, there was no definitive diagnosis of what had made a young, healthy man so sick in such a short time.

The only hope was to have me transferred to another hospital, though the staff felt strongly that I wouldn't survive the trip. They were willing to release me, but Donna had to be the one to find a hospital that would take someone so critically ill.

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Co-workers sympathized as my mother complained that her back was really sore from moving furniture. "Why don't you wait till your husband gets home?" someone asked. "I could," my mother told the group, "but the couch is easier to move if he's not on it."

-- Tammy Richardson, Lusby, Md.