"Late that night, I learned that I would need to be intubated, or placed on a ventilator. This terrified me."

"A few days earlier, after my admission to the hospital, my physician father had warned me: 'You better not get put on a ventilator. People don’t come back from that.'... I have hazy memories of the intubation. My anesthesiologist was a woman with a slight Caribbean accent and an authoritative, reassuring demeanor. In my overwhelmed state, it seemed that a dozen people were in the room, when, in reality, it was probably just a handful. Aided by anesthesia, I soon fell asleep. I spent the next six days basically asleep, under sedation, the ventilator serving as my lungs. I remember nothing from this period.... Eventually, my doctors faced a choice: take me off the ventilator and see if I could breathe on my own, or give me a tracheostomy, which would have required an incision into my neck to insert a breathing tube directly into my windpipe. After conducting tests to assess my ability to breathe on my own, the doctors decided to take me off the ventilator.... In New York City, where I was hospitalized, 80 percent or more of coronavirus patients who end up on ventilators have died.... Many patients who come off ventilators suffer lasting physical, mental and emotional issues, including cognitive deficits, lost jobs and psychological issues, such as depression and post-traumatic stress disorder.... I am incredibly grateful to be alive. And for that, I have the ventilator to thank."

Writes David Lat (in WaPo).