Miracle on University campus

If you’re looking for peace and quiet in one of the busiest hospitals on the south coast of England, everyone would point you in the direction of the F1 ward.

A temporary home to elderly stroke victims, the ward never sees any drama that would make a nail-biting scene in a Channel 4 hospital documentary. The F1 ward of Queen Alexandra Hospital was boring. Elderly patients are firmly tucked into their trolley beds, stuffed into regulation gowns, and patiently wait for something to happen. A physio session, a visit from the speech therapist or a grandchild. They come and go. Some get better, some don’t. You couldn’t tell each deep-wrinkled and silvery-haired face apart.

However, in December 2019, that was all set to change.

…

Ben Desouza is a 19-year-old boy from Brighton.

He was the youngest of four, he had two older sisters who had left home and a twin brother. He worked part-time at his local McDonald’s. He’d just finished a gap year, which was spent working as a counsellor at an American summer camp. He wanted to join the army when he finished university. His favourite animal was a Goldendoodle and he had been pestering his parents for years to get one.

Every September, thousands of parents prepare to send their children off to university, giving them their first taste of adulthood. Driving your child to university with a stuffed car is a rite of passage. Arlene and Cedric Desouza were one of these parents who already had a heads up as this was their third child to fly the nest. However, losing Ben’s presence at home was like losing a limb. His quick wit, infectious smile and crazy ideas were irreplaceable.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his dad’s car, which was piled with his belongings, he started to anticipate what the next few months had in store for him. He had a thousand thoughts whizzing through his mind as he hurtled down the A27, getting closer to the University of Portsmouth. What would his flatmates be like? Would he make friends? What if he didn’t like it?

He took another glance at the Unite Students app on his phone, which detailed his accommodation. Chaucer House, Flat 419, Room C. He peered at the names of his flatmates. He winced slightly as his eyes skimmed through five girls’ names and just one boy's name, recalling the way his sisters would bicker with each other. If he could survive months across the pond, then university should be a walk in the park. Then he’d come home for Christmas with a plethora of stories that would keep him talking until the new year.

As the weeks flew past the tales of being a student accumulated. The one about meeting his flatmates for the first time, and everyone somehow clicked. The one where he tried out for the cricket society and made the team. Maybe he’d leave out the one where he and his friends had a bit too much to drink during an initiation and woke up on the beach on the Isle of Wight with no idea how they ended up there.

…

The annual Sportos Dance Off was a highly anticipated event by the students at the University. Held at Przym on November 28th, the sports societies would all perform a dance on the stage to raise money for Campaign Against Living Miserably. The dance-off was all that Ben seemed to talk about, eagerly showing his flatmates videos of the ridiculous routine executed by a dozen clumsy cricket boys. Anyone and everyone that knew Ben knew where to find him on November 28^th.

The day finally rolled around. Ben barely slept. He had electricity running through his veins, and he was ready to send his sparks flying during his performance. He couldn’t wait to be centre stage, cavorting with his friends whilst crowds roared with laughter. The evening couldn’t come soon enough.

But somehow his flatmates couldn’t come and see him perform anymore. A missed assignment, a visit home, a cold, the excuses were piling up. He brushed it off as he changed into his white rhinestone costume. He could just spend the next morning telling the story, embellishing his act over breakfast.

…

Georgia and I were sitting on the sofa, desperately trying to absorb a textbook whilst eating pizza when we heard the door bang. Georgia glanced at her phone. 8:30.

“Who’s that?” she said, looking at me quizzically. Another round of crashing erupted from the door.

“Might be next door playing games with us again?” I replied hopefully.

Making our way to the hallway, Georgia pulled the door open.

Three familiar boys stood in a row in the hallway, dressed in identical rhinestone outfits. The two on the outside were holding the middle boy, propping him up as he awkwardly stumbled, his head rolling. “We’ve brought Ben back, he’s too drunk to perform. He hasn’t even had that much but there’s no way he’s going on stage in this state,” said one of the boys as he slowly let go of Ben, trying to steady him on his feet. Before we could thank the boys, Ben flew forward into the flat, slamming the door behind him. He stumbled down the hallway, like a newborn calf that was taking its first steps. “You alright?” I asked but I got no reply. He slammed his body into his bedroom door, tripping inside and disappearing without a trace.

The next morning came. The usually pleasant view of greenery from the window was tainted with dark clouds, casting a gloomy aura over the kitchen. Breakfast time. One seat was notably missing from the island table.

“Where’s Ben?” someone asked.

“Probably still hungover and in bed,” someone replied.

Lunchtime.

“Is Ben not out of his room yet?”

“Think he’s still asleep,” someone assured.

Dinner time.

“Has anyone seen Ben today?”

Silence filled the kitchen.

I had bombarded him with texts all day, avidly waiting for a response.

“I think we should try checking on him,” said Georgia, eyeing Room C.

“I’m sure he’s just sleeping,” I replied reassuringly.

But still, we approached the door and started knocking.

“I’m fine guys. I’m just hanging so much. I just need to sleep it off,” a mumbled voice replied, muffled behind the door.

“See I told you that he was just sleeping! He'll be fine.”

…

I couldn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning for hours I was hoping I’d pass out from exhaustion. Just as I felt my eyes getting heavy, I heard it. The slight screech of an unlocking door to my left. Ben’s room. Relief. He was definitely going to the kitchen for a snack. I could go back to sleep. But I couldn’t. I had a strange impulse to put my head around the door to check he was okay. I gave in.

The first thing to hit me when I opened the door was the smell. The stench of vomit, faeces, urine filled my lungs, making my face screw with disgust. Secondly, Ben. Although the hallway was dark, I could clearly see something wasn’t right. His t-shirt was ripped, and dyed with patches of sweat. His body was damp with perspiration, trembling. His eyes were as wide as saucers, pupils unfocused.

“Oh my god,” a voice whispered behind me. It was Georgia, the door had woken her up too, and she stood frozen, staring at the stranger that was Ben.

Stumbling down the stairs, Georgia didn’t bother waiting for the lift. Skidding in her slippers, she ran towards the reception desk, dressing gown flying out behind her. “There’s a boy that’s in my flat and he’s really unwell, throwing up and everything, and we don’t know what to do, I think he needs an ambulance,” she gabbled to the receptionist. She was met with an uninterested blank face, looking disgruntled to be interrupted during his phone scrolling.

After some convincing, he agreed to come up and look for himself. When they entered the kitchen, I was attempting to give water to a delirious Ben, who was agitated on the floor. “He’s fine, I’ve been working at these halls for years, I see this all the time. He’s just a bit hungover. No need for an ambulance” said the receptionist, shaking his head like we were two naughty school children.

But he wasn’t fine. His limp body lay on the floor, eyes rolling back, mouth foaming. We had to do something. Guiltily, I picked up the phone and dialled three numbers.

As the operator asked me questions, I poked and prodded, checking heart rate, rashes, and temperature, as he heaved and spluttered, head too heavy to be supported by his neck. Paramedics burst through the door, beginning their routine checks whilst distracting us with questions, half to try and figure out why Ben wasn’t being Ben and the other half to take our mind off the situation. Then they said they were going to take him to the hospital to run tests and that we should come too, so we got downstairs, still wearing pyjamas and followed the paramedics who were wheeling Ben into the ambulance, and I glanced at the receptionist anxiously. When we get to the hospital the nurses ask us more questions and we have to help hold him down so they can get an IV in his arm, because right now he doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening, and when the doctor asks him if he’s got any conditions that they should know about he says he’s got double-jointed elbows, and the chances of us going back to the flat and laughing about the situation are slipping through my fingers. Then the machines that Ben’s hooked up to start beeping, and an alarm goes off and suddenly an army of doctors flood through the curtains, then someone grabs mine and Georgia’s arms and we’re dragged out of the room.

…

Meningitis is an infection of the membranes that surround the brain and spinal cord. It is one of the major health risks for first years at university, being the second most at-risk group for contracting the disease. However, it can often be confused with a hangover or Covid, meaning that the affected person can be told to isolate instead of seeking medical care, which could be critical.

One of the nurses had told us that if he had come into the hospital just 30 minutes later then he would’ve been dead.

Ben had suffered strokes, lost consciousness due to brain swelling, had lungs filled with fluid and dangerously low oxygen levels. In the intensive care unit (ICU), the machines that he was connected to seemed to be a constant extension of his body. The doctors told everyone to prepare for the worst. He was ‘the sickest patient in the hospital.’

Around 15% of those infected with the disease will die but for the survivors, 1 in 5 experience long term disabilities: hearing loss, amputation, brain damage. Due to the rarity and aggressiveness of the meningitis Ben was infected with, the odds were stacked against him.

After a month in the ICU, his condition stabilised, and he was finally transferred to the F1 ward where all the other patients were old enough to be his grandad.

The next few months were gruelling. He had to learn how to do everything again, simple tasks like eating, walking, talking, became impossible. He felt like the open doors to his future had all suddenly shut: travelling, joining the army, being able to live independently. He was left in a dark room, fuelled with fear about a future of dependency.

He persevered. Soon, feeding tubes turned into meals with cutlery, unsteady steps turned into confident strides, moving his head for yes and no turned into conversations he had with the floods of visitors that crammed into the ward daily.

After 76 days at Queen Alexandra Hospital, he was discharged.

This was the biggest thing that had ever happened in his life, and he couldn’t even tell his own story. His memories were blurred, tainted with a permanent fog that would never clear.

Whenever he meets up with his friends, he loves to ask questions about that night, hoping to receive new information every time so he could piece the puzzle in his head.

He advocates for the MenB vaccine to be offered to students, which only became a routine childhood vaccination in 2015. Only the MenACWY is recommended for students and if you would like to receive MenB as an adult, you must pay. This leaves thousands of students vulnerable to the strain that Ben was infected with.

Doctors called him a medical miracle. After taking a year out to fully recover, he went back to university in 2020 and despite covid restrictions, enjoyed a fulfilling year. He went back to working at McDonald’s, he planned to work at the American summer camp again, he still wants to join the army and his parents had finally caved in and bought him a Goldendoodle puppy. “Only took 20 years of asking and three months in the ICU,” said Ben.