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COVID-19 patient with 1% chance to live goes home after 64-days in the hospital, 31 days on a ventilator

Providence Saint Joseph Medical Center/Facebook

When 54-year-old Gregg Garfield traveled to Italy on a ski trip with friends in February, he had no idea he would become a Providence Saint Joseph Hospital's first coronavirus patient, nor that he would fight for his life there for more than two months straight.

He and the dozen friends with him on the trip ended up testing positive for the virus. Four of them had to be hospitalized, three were put on ventilators, but Garfield's case took an extreme turn. Despite his athleticism and good health, he ended up on a ventilator for 31 days. At one point, was only given a 1% chance of survival.

"He wasn't that bad when he came into the emergency room,"pulmonologist Dr. Daniel Dea told KABC-TV, "and within less than 48 hours, he wasn't breathing well. He was on maximum oxygen."

It's a good reminder that COVID-19 is unpredictable, and that for some people, a robust immune system ends up hurting more than helping. "The disease kicked off, and my immune system just ate me alive," Garfield told KCAL-TV.

Garfield's sister Stephanie offered some details of his terrifying journey on a GoFundMe page for him:

"On March 5, 2020 Gregg checked himself into St. Joseph's Providence Hospital Burbank with serious Covid-19 symptoms. He was the hospital's first Covid-19 patient, or "Patient Zero" as they call him. Two days later, under heavy sedation and paralytic drugs, the doctors intubated him- around day 10 doing a tracheostomy- and he continued to be on a ventilator for 31 days. During that time his body became septic; his kidneys failed and he was put on CRRT dialysis; his blood pressure plummeted and he needed medications to divert his blood-flow to his major organs for survival, leaving his hands and feet starving for circulation; he spiked fevers and was covered in ice; his lungs collapsed 4 times and chest tubes were inserted; and he developed secondary infections that are common in hospital environments. He had a 1% chance of surviving. The doctors and nursing staff had to always remain 3 steps ahead of any potential disasters because to enter his room took about 15 minutes for them to gear up in their hazmat attire. Gregg knocked on death's door, but said "F#$% NO! I'm not coming in!!!"

On Friday, Garfield finally got to leave the hospital and go home—to a rousing and heartwarming send-off from hospital staff:

"This is really emotional for me," Garfield told KCAL-TV. "I have a hard time receiving. I have received an outpour of unbelievable love. The only thing I really am focused on right now is telling the story about how real this is."

Garfield still has a long road ahead of him as his body learns to walk and breathe normally again. An update on the GoFundMe page describes the impact of being bedridden and ventilated for as long as he was: "The sustained lack of circulation to his extremities caused his fingers and toes to turn black, similar to a frostbite injury. This caused permanent damage and unfortunately once he is released from acute rehab, he will be looking at additional surgeries for amputation, prostheses and of course more physical/occupational therapy as he learns to navigate this new world."

However, Garfield is confident he will recover completely—which is the best gift he could give to the dedicated hospital staff who never gave up on him.

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Kids at this hospital were terrified of the machines — until they got a makeover.

When industrial designer Doug Dietz went to the hospital to see the inaugural scan of a brand-new MRI machine he designed, what should've been an exciting event quickly turned somber.

The patient coming in for a scan was a young girl. And she was petrified.

The huge, hulking machine had the girl in tears — and that was before the loud whirring noise started up (the average MRI machine is about as loud as a rock concert, and not nearly as fun).

"As [the family] got even closer to me, I notice the father leans down and just goes ‘remember we talked about this, you can be brave," he recalled to GE Health, explaining that the parents looked horrified too — feeling helpless to find a way to make their daughter feel comfortable in the giant machine.

Dietz went back to the drawing board.

He was determined to use his design know-how to make the hospital environment for kids feel more like an adventure instead of a nightmare.

All photos by GE Healthcare,  used with permission.

After interviewing kids, parents, and doctors about what might make the experience of getting a medical scan a little less scary, Dietz and his team from GE Health got to work, along with partners from the Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh.

It wasn't just the machines that got a makeover.

The whole exam room needed some love. From the sterile, beige decor, to the frank instruction placards (Dietz calls them "crime scene stickers"). Even the patter (or conversation/instructions) from doctors and nurses needed some livening up.

The team developed themes that could bring each exam room to life.

MRI rooms, for example, became space voyages. CT scans became pirate adventures.

The redesigned MRI machine and rooms turned the kids into active participants in their own fantastic adventure stories, with themed books given ahead of time to prepare them for the journey.

Inside the scanning machines, the children get special goggles that allow them to watch a DVD during their scans — which can take anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes.

When the first newly designed rooms were put into action at the Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh, they worked like a charm. Not only did they calm the kids down and keep their minds occupied, Dietz recalled hearing one child ask her parents if she could have "another scan tomorrow."

"That was probably the biggest reward I could ever have," he told the Journal Sentinel.

Dietz's designs are so popular and successful that many other hospitals have joined in on the fun.

The project, called the Adventure Series, isn't just something that makes kids smile. It allows the hospital to help more people.

According to an article in the Milwaukee-Wisconsin Journal Sentinel, the fear of machines and tests is so bad that Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh had to sedate over 80% of kids who needed an MRI or CT scan, prior to the updates.

Sedating and calming anxious patients takes extra time, elongating the length of each scan. If the kids don't need sedation, but don't hold still during the duration of the test, the whole thing has to be redone. These issues take up precious time that ultimately resulted in the hospital serving fewer patients.

After implementing the Adventure Series, the hospital only had to sedate a quarter or less of its patients, making their work far more efficient.

Making the experience less frightening for kids is a big win here — for the patients and hospitals too. There's nothing that can completely erase the anxiety that comes with needing serious medical testing or care, but just knowing there are people who care enough to try is likely a big comfort to these families.

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The Hmong people prefer shamans over doctors. So one hospital decided to provide both.

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Dignity Health 2017

When your culture doesn't believe in medicine, how can a hospital bridge that gap and provide health care when you really need it?

That was the Hmong community's dilemma when they resettled in Merced, California. Originally from the rural mountains of southeast Asia, the Hmong mainly worked as farmers before getting caught in the crossfire of the Vietnam War. With the death toll rising, the Hmong were forced to flee to countries such as Thailand, France, and the United States.

All images via Dignity Health.

When it comes to treating illnesses, the Hmong believe in the healing power of shamans — not doctors — to ward off bad spirits, which they consider to be the true source of sickness. Hmong shamans are mediators between the physical and spiritual world and are known to sacrifice animals and go into trances to retrieve wayward spirits and heal their patients.

This method, however, isn't recognized by western culture. So when many Hmong first moved to the U.S., they were understandably overwhelmed by the advancements in modern medicine that some of them were seeing for the first time. Because of that, they would avoid the hospital and only go for treatment when their condition was absolutely critical.

Mercy Medical Center decided to bridge this cultural gap and take a different approach to make their new patients comfortable. Watch how it all unfolded right here:

When cultures blend, wires can get crossed. So when Western medicine practices were getting lost in translation with Hmong traditions, this hospital was there to help.

Posted by Upworthy on Friday, February 10, 2017

There was a huge culture shock on both sides when Hmong community members first made their way to Merced.

Hospital procedures can be a scary thing, but just imagine how scary they can be if they're all new to you. The Hmong weren't aware of the science of the human body and how the body functions. Their language also doesn't directly translate many medical terms, so they often didn't understand what doctors were telling them.

Mercy Medical Center also initially wasn't aware of the practices of the Hmong shamans. For example, they didn't know that shamans tie a string around the wrist of the patient to keep bad spirits away, and, not knowing its meaning, some hospital staff would cut it off.

But as time went by, both sides came to understand that each had the patient's interest in mind, and everyone wanted to find a way to make sure that patients were getting the best treatment possible. The answer? Make shamans part of the hospital culture.

"We wanted to bring the shaman into the hospital because we understand that healing is looking at the person as a whole," says Janice Wilkerson, mission integration director at Mercy Medical Center. "It’s body, mind, and spirit."

Hmong shamans and doctors now work hand in hand to heal their patients.

The shamans are taught how a hospital functions, and in turn, the shamans expose the doctors more about their culture. "To learn more about the traditional belief, the spiritual healer, to listen to them, to see how they do it, how do they help the patient," adds Palee Moua, director of S.E.A. engagement.

Shamans are now able to go through a series of classes that help seamlessly integrate them into the hospital culture. In addition, the hospital allows nine different ceremonies that shamans are able to perform for their patients. Most of these ceremonies involve soft chanting where, according to the shamans, they are able to strengthen the patient's body or, in certain cases, retrieve their soul.

"The doctors respect me as much as a doctor," says Xia Vang, a Hmong shaman who works at Mercy Medical Center.

Other hospitals around the U.S. are following suit and embracing the cultural practices of their immigrant communities.

A 2007 survey conducted by The Joint Commission shows how hospitals around the U.S. are embracing these cultural changes and listening more to the needs of their patients. The survey not only identified the challenges that arise, but also pointed out concrete ways to address them — whether it's fixing the language barrier or employing a more diverse staff. Because of advancements like this, the relationship between health care provider and patient can only get stronger.

That's why we're seeing health care developments such as the Good Samaritan Hospital putting Korean seaweed soup on their maternity ward menu and birthing doulas being provided for Somali women in cities like Minneapolis.

When hospitals, like Mercy Medical Center, provide treatment and respect their patients' cultures, they're able to improve their quality of life in a much more impactful way.

It can be a challenging hurdle to overcome for sure, but when we open our minds and hearts to the differences that other cultures bring, amazing things can happen.

"Whatever issues we have, we should be open and go learn with our western counterparts," adds Xia Vang. "We should not stay at home, or else we won’t see the larger path ahead of us."

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Have a look at how origami is revolutionizing the medical industry.

The art of paper-folding is making surgery more efficient and less traumatic. It could even save you money.

Staying in the hospital after surgery isn't exactly cheap.

There are over 50 million in-patient surgeries in the United States each year. They're not always easy on people, and they're certainly not cheap; according to the Kaiser Foundation, a day in a U.S. hospital costs, on average, over $2,200. That's the cost of a used car! That's 7.5 weeks of minimum-wage pay! That's 9,800 Chicken McNuggets!

No matter how you look at it, $2,200 in post-op costs at the hospital is some serious coin, so anything that helps patients heal faster after surgery is a huge benefit.

What if we told you one key to a speedier and cheaper recovery looks like this?

Image from Andreas Bauer/Wikimedia Commons.

Yep. That's origami — the craft of folding paper — and it's a big source of inspiration for engineers who are working to innovate on health care tools.

Of course, hospital-grade origami isn't exactly what your third-grader is learning in arts and crafts class:

All GIFs from Bringham Young University/YouTube.

These new origami-inspired tools are being developed by researchers at Utah's Brigham Young University.The beauty and genius of the designs lie in their simplicity; instead of creating an ever-increasing number of moving parts, researchers are putting that tendency in reverse, instead relying on folds and self-contained hinges to do the same job.

It's an entirely new way to think about medicine, and it could revolutionize robotic surgery.

Here's one example of an origami-inspired tool, which turns the classic origami chompers into miniature forceps.

An enlarged version of the origami-inspired forceps prototype.

The result is a super-small tool with the ability to do more delicate work than current technology allows.

In other words, the new tools will create smaller, more precise cuts, making for less traumatic and less invasive surgery.


Smaller cuts and less invasive surgeries mean patients will be out of the hospital and back on their feet in as little time as possible. After all, a lot of what you're recovering from after undergoing surgery is the giant hole that surgeons cut in your body to get to whatever needed fixing. A less invasive surgery means fewer things your body needs to heal.

"That's really probably the most important thing," says professor Larry Howell, one of the researchers on this project. The goal, he says, is to reach the point where surgery is so minimally invasive it doesn't even leave a scar. "And we're actually starting to be able to approach that size."

If you think these new forceps look clumsy, think again. These guys make sewing a suture look like poetry in motion:

One of the coolest things, Howell says, is seeing how art can inform science.

The limits of this technique seem bound only by designers' imaginations. Scientists can discover designs in art that wouldn't have been immediately obvious with traditional engineering. That has the potential to lead to a host of amazing inventions.

One idea the BYU researchers highlighted was foldable inserts that could one day be used to replace damaged cartilage in the spine:


Image used with permission from BYU.

The team, which has previously done work for NASA developing solar arrays and other equipment, used a similar approach when coming up with the ideas like the spinal insert — taking something big, making it as small as possible in order to get it where it needs to go, then unfurling it when it's needed.

Devices like this have the potential to de-complicate incredibly complicated surgeries. Already minimally invasive techniques like the ones being developed at BYU have allowed doctors to perform certain kinds of cardiac surgery as outpatient procedures.

This is the kind of work that's inspiring, useful, and — let's be honest — really cool-looking. Elegant solutions like these will hopefully turn future surgeries from something onerous into something awesome.

Check out BYU's video on how they're using origami to transform surgery below:

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