Bed 42

[whitewriter]

Its 2013.

One of my favourite patients I won't forget was in bed 42 in my first general ICU at MICH.

He was an obese man, possibly to the point where he could barely walk. He lived in council housing. Somehow, through inadequately caring for himself, he had necrotizing fasciitis deep in in his abdomen apron. He was septic. He was ventilated.

But he was so alert and awake.

He'd motion with his hands that he wanted to die.

He'd ask us to kill him.

We'd tell him he will get better one day, and that it was okay to feel like that but that he should still be hopeful.

He was there for months.

I think he even scored a tracheostomy at one point.

He lost weight -- probably down to something like 120kg (he was on a feeding tube the whole time).

I remember the day he left ICU to go to the ward.

He was so grateful, and he was promising to us he would never put the weight back on. And we told him never to come back again.

He was still a big guy but he looked a lot better than when he first came in.

As per the usual in ICU, we transfer them to the ward and never see them again.

I wonder where he is now. I wonder if he got to walking again, and if he's doing something nice with his life.

I remember his last name was Steele.

I remember his face.

That's all I remember.