The Iron Man - Web Extra

I hold a special place in my close-knit Italian family. At 42, I’m the baby brother of three older sisters. My folks retired to Maine more than 20 years ago, and two of my sistersfollowed them. Since then, all of us get together with our families each year after Christmas Day. My wife, Donna, and I drive up and rent a big hotel suite in the coastal community of South Portland, US, where about 20 of us have dinner and usher in the New Year.

On December 31, 2004, after dinner, we were swimming in the indoor pool, just fooling around, playing hide-and-seek and having fun. At midnight, we gathered around the TV, kissed and hugged, and said goodbye to those who were leaving. Donna and I were exhausted after we got the kids to bed. Nine-year-old Michael and six-year-old Jenna had made the trip (12-year-old Kaelyn lives in Georgia with her mother). I think we fell asleep the minute we hit our pillows.But I awoke just after 2am with what seemed like a nasty case of the flu. I had an excruciating headache and terrible chills. My body was shaking so violently that I was literally bouncing on the bed. Overcome by nausea, I spent the early-morning hours dragging back and forth to and from the bathroom.

We decided to cut our holiday short and head home to Long Island. Donna called my mum and dad to let them know that we were all leaving.

Donna loaded our bags into the SUV and got in the driver’s seat while I sat next to her, knuckling down for the seven-hour trip. Michael, Jenna and our dog, Chip, a King Charles spaniel, were in the backseat. At one point, I threw up into a plastic bag. I knew it was horrifying for Donna and the kids to see me so sick and weak. I was an avid runner and athlete who prided himself in being strong and physically fit.

By the time we made it home, at around five that evening, I was barely able to drag myself upstairs to bed. It never occurred to us to go to a hospital, because we were so sure this was only the flu.

Rush to hospital

At about 2am 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 wife heaped my 90kg 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 emergency department 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 4am 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 operating theatre.

Last-ditch effort

A haematologist 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 learnt 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 staff member asked Donna, as my healthcare 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.

Scrambling for help

Donna mobilised the group in the waiting room to contact different hospitals. But after learning of my vi­tals, none would accept me. My sister Teresa calls the waiting room scenario my "big fat Italian hospital scene." My sisters are very emotional, and they were all crying. Adding to the confusion, everyone had a different opinion about what to do next. Donna remained calm and steady, making one last call for advice to a doctor we knew, who suggested Stony Brook University Medical Centre. The hospital sent an ambulance and rushed me to the emergency department. Donna was told she couldn’t go with me. What if I died in the ambulance, she worried, and she couldn’t be with me at the end, holding my hand? By that time, Donna had been awake for more than 20 hours straight. When she arrived at the emergency department at 10.30 that night, she was totally exhausted and finally broke down crying.