Surviving a Week in the ICU: Lessons, Support Tips, and Our Real Experience

A Week in the ICU: What We Faced, What We Learned, and the People Who Carried Us Through

Why the ICU: Stabilizing What We Couldn’t See Yet

From the moment we arrived, the team put me on a continuous norepinephrine drip — a powerful medication that increases blood pressure and has to be monitored constantly. My body was also going through something severe, and we didn’t yet know the scope of the injury. Because of that, my first few days involved careful, mini PT sessions to test muscle strength, sensation, mobility, areas of weakness and numbness.

They couldn’t push me too hard, not with the medication and not without clear imaging. Up until day four, we were living in limbo — waiting for the MRIs to finally catch the injury at the right angle. I also had to be monitored for blood clotting, stroke risk, and sudden shifts in blood pressure. I couldn’t stand, walk, or do anything independently. The simplest things required assistance: turning, shifting, sitting, and the worst, going to the potty (THE SHAME!). Also, welcome to constipation land!

The Nurses: They Saved More Than My Body

ICU rooms have strict limits on what you can bring in. No flowers, decorations, soft blankets from home, etc. are allowed (except a couple small approved items). And only a small number of visitors can come at any time. These restrictions are important safeguards, but when someone is scared, hurting, and unsure if they’ll ever move the same way again, that clinical environment hits differently. It can feel stark and lonely. And yet, somehow, the nurses still made it feel human. Every nurse on the floor knew my story, and genuinely cared about it. These nurses didn’t just provide medical care. They provided soul care.

They: decorated my walker, made me little pieces of empowering jewelry, sat with me when I cried, talked with me when anxiety spiked, and advocated fiercely for me. They treated me like family, and seriously I want to adopt several of them. They saw a scared, hurting woman who kept cracking jokes and over apologizing when she needed something, and they showed up for me in ways we’ll never forget. Nurses are the heart. Full stop. We need to take better care of them as a society. (I’ll hold the rant… for now.) If you’re ever in a hospital and you receive good care, please thank them. They carry more than most people will ever understand.

The Tests: MRI After MRI After MRI

The first few days were intense, with so many tests and MRI after MRI after MRI, all in an effort to capture the injury clearly. It turns out what happened to me is fairly rare, so there isn’t a big catalog of treatment paths or statistics to reference. Because of that, the ICU team and rehab doctors were relentless in gathering data, reading research, consulting colleagues, and making sure they crafted the safest possible plan. I appreciated this care so much, because I knew that most on the ICU floor were dealing with life or death diagnoses and not just loss of mobility. I knew that the medical teams were dealing with all of that as well as me.

The final decision was: 7 full days on norepinephrine and then immediate transition into intensive inpatient PT/OT. It was aggressive, but it was the best chance at healing. We are endlessly grateful for the doctors who didn’t take shortcuts.

How We Survived the Week: Our Hard-Earned Lessons

1. Set up shifts. Seriously. Kellie, my daughter, slept with me in the ICU room the first few nights. She would have stayed the entire week without complaint…but that's not sustainable and I needed her to get good rest. My husband Dave was at my side every day. We created a schedule so everyone got proper sleep and nobody got too burnt out. If you have a support system, use them. If you don’t, that’s something we want to help people address in the future.

2. Bring comfort items I was lucky enough to have someone bring my pillow. My own socks, and a few other familiar items. It creates safety when everything else feels foreign.

3. Hack the TV. Do not ask permission. One of my favorite “oops we already did it” moments: Kellie brought her laptop, plugged it into the room’s monitor with an HDMI cable, and suddenly… Great British Baking Show marathons.The nurses loved it. I needed calm, happy, low-stress TV, and it made the room feel like home, not a battlefield. All you need is a laptop or streaming device, and lovely people like my sister, sister-in-law, or nieces to watch with you.

4. Bring a list of medications & doses.TThis saves time, reduces confusion, and ensures consistency when pain spikes. They will ask about all of it and give you the meds through the hospital pharmacy, so it's easier to have a list on you. 

5. Get good socks with grip. Hospital socks? Ugly and thin :-), and they only had gray ones, which is the color of sock sadness. Do your loved one a favor and find some cute, warm socks that have grips on the bottom. Not gray. My favorite are the Bulinlulu Fuzzy Socks. They are warm, cozy, and have fabulous colors.  

6. Leave the heavy emotions outside the room. This one is difficult. There’s plenty to be angry about, to fight for, and to hurt over. But the healing room needs to be calm. Your loved one needs peace, not the weight of your fear. Cry in the hallway, or vent in the car, and fight the battles outside. It's not fair but it helps healing more than we know.

7. Speak up. Don’t wait.  I am the worst at this but am learning in real time how to advocate much better for myself. Don’t “tough it out,” don’t wait to pee, and don’t wait to ask for pain meds. I am guilty of doing all of these, and I did indeed suffer for it. Don’t downplay symptoms. Don’t assume they’re “too busy.” Be firm and honest. Self-advocacy saves people. I had a nurse tell me that I was just as important as any other patient, so I should stop doing all of the above.

8. Let people help you. If help actually helps, then take it. You can’t pour from an empty body, empty heart, or empty sleep tank. My family, neighbors, and friends all wanted to help, and even though it’s so hard to ask for or accept help, they want to, so let them.

9. Bring chapstick and lotion. Unscented lotion and chapstick saved my life. I don't know if it was just dry in my room but I needed to reapply every few hours. My mouth was so dry, I loved having something to keep it moisturized. I couldn't have gotten by without my Aquaphor Lip Repair and Eucerin Advanced Hand Cream. 

10. Make friends with your medical staff. his should be a given but I'll say it out loud. The more you get along with your nurses, orderly's, and doctors, the nicer your stay and better your treatment will go. There are always circumstances that prevent this but being kind to those who are truly giving it their best always goes a long way. And these people are for the most part very easy to love. I can’t even express how grateful I am for those in caring occupations. If I was a bajilionaire, I would give them all the monies.