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Jeffrey Gerson recalls little about the four weeks he spent on life support in the intensive care unit (ICU) after he fell critically ill with COVID-19. But he made sure his army of care providers knew how grateful he was for saving him. Here, he recounts his story.

First Signs of COVID-19

I came down with a 103-degree fever and chills on March 13, 2020, the same day the president declared the novel coronavirus disease outbreak a national emergency. Five days later, I became short of breath and developed a nasty cough. My internist, Edward S. Barnes, MD, sent me to the Ronald O. Perelman Center for Emergency Services at �ٺ���Ƶ Health. A chest X-ray revealed that I had pneumonia, and my COVID-19 test was positive. I was placed on high-flow oxygen and admitted to the ICU.

The next evening, with my blood oxygen levels dropping to dangerously low levels, a critical care nurse said, “We need to intubate you—is that OK?” I couldn’t believe it. I was 44 and in perfect health. I biked the Central Park loop four times a week. “Are you sure you want to use a ventilator on me?” I asked. “Why don’t you make sure everybody else who really needs one gets it.”

Waking Up After ECMO

The next thing I remember is waking up four weeks later, on April 17. A bedside nurse’s face lit up when I opened my eyes. She asked if I knew where I was (I did) and what I’d been through (I didn’t). During the next week, as I recovered, I found out: When my condition stagnated, I was placed on extracorporeal membrane oxygenation, or ECMO, and given a percutaneous tracheostomy, a surgically created opening in the windpipe that helps reduce the level of sedation required. Few hospitals at the time were implementing either of these aggressive therapies for patients with COVID-19. Later, I developed a bacterial infection and was treated with antibiotics. Finally, after 21 days, my lungs had recovered sufficiently to safely disconnect me from the life support circuit.

I lost 25 pounds during the ordeal, but physical therapists and occupational therapists at Rusk Rehabilitation helped me regain my strength, first in the ICU and then at �ٺ���Ƶ Orthopedic Hospital. I returned to my Upper East Side apartment on May 2 and resumed my career as an investor in startup companies. By June, I was completing 12-mile bike rides.

Following Up with His Care Team

At follow-up appointments with pulmonologist Rany Condos, MD, who directs �ٺ���Ƶ’s Post-COVID Care Program, I was thrilled to learn that I had negligible lung scarring. Above all, I was grateful to the doctors, nurses, therapists, and others who had taken care of me—most of whom I’d never met. I wanted to thank each of them. So I got busy, reaching out to nurse manager Maureen Lohan-Mullens, NP, to gather staff names. I searched my and scoured insurance statements for additional providers. Finally, I composed a 3-page letter to 165 clinicians.

“Not only have I come to learn the sheer size of my care team,” I wrote, “but that the care I received was tremendously innovative and cutting-edge.… I remember researching ECMO from my bed in the ICU and learning that the Food and Drug Administration had not officially approved it for COVID-19 treatment until two weeks after I was placed on it.” I added, “My life is as full and complete as my recovery, and I have each of you to thank for that.”

I don’t believe in the kinds of miracles where people walk on water, but I do believe in the confluence of small events leading to amazing outcomes. I am also convinced of this: The fact that I ended up at �ٺ���Ƶ is miraculous.