An unexplained event from my ICU stay still leaves me wondering
The case of a mysterious night nurse and a 'Paw Patrol' Band-Aid
The slow, steady beat of heart monitors echoed through the dim halls. I could hear the occasional whisper of nurses and the sound of my blood pressure cuff clicking on and inflating at regular intervals. Was it Tuesday? Friday? Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, all with little change. Was I slowly losing my mind? Apparently ICU delirium is a real thing.
When I recall the following story, it sounds crazy, like the rantings of someone who’s sick, exhausted, dehydrated, delirious, and dying. In the fall of 2020, I was all of those things — but I had physical proof that something happened.
In September 2020, I was admitted to the intensive care unit. Unbeknownst to me, I was in multiorgan failure from a rare disease called atypical hemolytic uremic syndrome (aHUS). It took five weeks to get diagnosed. During that time, my medical team kept me alive, if barely, while they ran test after test.
My lifesaving measures dictated a particular schedule:
4 a.m.: A phlebotomist woke me up, turned on all the lights, and drew my blood. I nodded back off.
4:30 a.m.: A nurse brought in a rolling scale to weigh me. I fell back asleep.
5:15 a.m.: A doctor came by to go over my lab work and treatment for the day.
5:45 a.m.: A nurse brought me medication. I went back to sleep.
6:15 a.m.: A transport nurse rolled me to dialysis, and the day continued from there.
Weeks of broken sleep, blood draws, dialysis, plasmapheresis, immunizations, blood transfusions, doctors, and chemotherapy drove me crazy. That’s where ICU delirium comes in.
A mysterious visitor
According to Johns Hopkins Medicine, about 80% of ICU patients experience some form of delirium, which can involve hallucinations, confusion, inattentiveness, mood changes, and more. I understand that my medical team was saving my life, but the sleep disturbances I experienced in the hospital could feel like a cruel sleep-deprivation experiment.
One night a little after 2 a.m., I was on my phone; most of the ward was quiet. Just before I drifted off, I heard the lightest knock on the door. An older man with a smooth, shaved head entered the room in scrubs.
“Hi, sorry, I know it’s late, but I’m here for some blood,” he said in a hushed tone.
“Technically you’re early! Normally the phlebotomist comes at 4 a.m. But good luck — apparently I’m a hard stick,” I said with a weak smile.
Because of my hemolytic anemia, I needed blood transfusions daily. Between dehydration and the low amount of blood in my body, it was difficult to draw enough blood. I’d become a human pincushion; my arms, hands, and even feet were littered with huge purple bruises.
“I’m Donovan, and don’t you worry. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive,” he said as he snapped on his gloves. I laughed a little as he gathered his tools and examined the vein in my wrist. I warned him that several others had tried to draw from there, but the vein rolls, so blood draws there were difficult and painful. I looked away in anticipation.
“No worries,” he said. “I even have a fun Band-Aid for you.” He waved a “Paw Patrol” Band-Aid in the air, and we both laughed. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’m allergic to most bandages, so I figured I’d take it off when he left.
He started to hum a song I hadn’t heard in years. I couldn’t put my finger on its title. My thoughts were cloudy, and I couldn’t focus. I was falling asleep, though it felt more like I was blacking out.
I remember saying “I don’t feel good” before my eyes closed. I woke up two hours later when the phlebotomist arrived. I sleepily told her that someone had already come at 2 a.m. She looked confused and checked with my nurse.
“The older guy, Donovan, came to get blood. He was able to use my wrist! Remember how hard that’s been? I didn’t feel anything, and I fell asleep before he finished.” My nurse looked even more confused.
“Who’s Donovan?”
I described him and our conversation, and finally realized what song he’d been humming. It was the musical score from one of my favorite obscure, underrated movies: “Eve’s Bayou.”
The nurse was checking my chart while I talked.
“There were no lab requests, no lab work, no doctor’s orders, and no one working in our building named Donovan,” she said. I lifted my right arm from under my blanket and saw the “Paw Patrol” Band-Aid.
“See? Here’s the Band-Aid he put on me.” I’d forgotten it until that moment, but there it was, plain as day. I’d been in the ICU for three weeks at that point and had no access to bandages.
To this day, I have no idea who drew my blood. The hospital checked the hallway cameras, and no one had entered my room until 4 a.m. But I’ve seen several similar stories online, all from other young kidney patients. So I pose the question: ICU delirium or ghost nurse?
Note: aHUS News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of aHUS News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to aHUS.
About the Author
Comments