The Devil, Dr Skinner’s Asthma Clinic and Paying it forward.

Welcome to another installment from Steve’s playlist of delusionary tales experienced in the hospital setting during a severe asthma exacerbation. While this most recent bout of delirium wasn’t the most terrifying or graphic, it was definitely the most surreal, layered, and emotionally complex.

Taken entirely from memory and as accurate as I can be, I wrote this post to give people a glimpse into what a severe asthma exacerbation, mechanical life support, hospital confinement, and potent drugs can do—not only to one’s body, but to one’s brain.

Doctors suspect my delirium was a form of toxic encephalopathy, likely triggered by a combination of steroids and sedatives used while I was on the ventilator. Up to 80% of critically ill patients—especially those who are older, have urinary infections, or spend extended time in the ICU—develop hospital delirium. In my case, it lasted four days post-extubation, and the impact lingered long after.

I’ve been seeing a counselor for illness-related PTSD for over a year now. I’m not 100% better, but talking helps. Learning tools to manage the mental aftermath has been crucial.

The Lead-Up
My asthma had been relatively stable from August until early November, when a slow-moving flare landed me in the hospital for 12 days. I spent five of those days sedated on a ventilator and four more in the bizarre world of post-extubation delirium. I didn’t fully return to rational thought until the day before discharge.

While I don’t remember much after the breathing tube went in, I recall everything that happened once it came out. The memories are vivid, though not based in reality. They were hallucinations, dreams, delusions—whatever you want to call them. But to the person experiencing them, they feel absolutely real.

Delusion #1: The Devil
This was the most disturbing. I don’t know how I met him—whether I was kidnapped or coerced—but he was a well-groomed, dark-haired man in his 40s who could charm the pants off anyone. I knew just by looking into his eyes that he planned to kill me.

He had followers coming and going in the background, preparing for my sacrificial demise in a Hollywood-style satanic temple—complete with altar and murdering slab. I remember being kept as a prisoner there, asking him repeatedly, “Why are you doing this?” His reply:

“Because I care about you.” WTF? That’s a twisted way to show it.

As I neared my execution date, I’d wake up in my hospital bed—relieved by the familiarity of my surroundings. But I couldn’t hold on to that reality for more than a few minutes before drifting back into the nightmare. It was awful. Like waking from a horror movie, only to be pulled back into the same scene.

Delusion #2: Dr. Skinner’s Asthma Rehab Clinic
Not quite as terrifying as meeting the Devil, but still rooted in imprisonment. Most of my delusions seem to involve being trapped.

In this one, I was forced to attend Dr. Skinner’s rehab clinic as a condition for receiving future hospital care. The building was located in the city’s skid row, and the first step was detox: I was locked in a padded cell and made to drink twelve liter-sized bottles of herbal concoctions—each more vile than the last.

After finishing each bottle, it was pinned to a clothesline that ran the length of the room. By the end of the three-day detox, twelve bottles hung like grim trophies. I was supposed to be released into the waiting room and assigned one of Dr. Skinner’s associates, who would examine me and issue a certificate of completion.

But they didn’t keep their end of the bargain. They refused to unlock the door, fearing I’d escape. (They were right.) Just as my anxiety peaked, I’d wake up in my ICU bed—relieved, only to drift back again.

Delusion #3: Paying It Forward
This was an extension of the rehab clinic delusion. I met a clerk who controlled access to the waiting room. I wanted to help her escape that life—and offered her $20K from my savings. I asked, “What would you do if I gave you $20K, no questions asked?” She accepted, saying she’d invest in an eco-friendly business.

I gave her my banking info and told her to take the money at her convenience. But each time I returned to this delusion, the waiting room had transformed into a party zone—DJs, food, bars, dance floors, and multiple ATMs. She was spending my money, but how much?

Eventually, after everyone at the party was drunk and passed out, I managed to break out of my cell and ran for the exit. As I sprinted down the street trying to flag a cop, I woke up—for good. The delusions were gone. My three-day nightmare was finally over.

Back to Reality

Even after waking, I was convinced my bank account had been drained. I kept asking Douglas to check and re-check my balances. It took a full day before I realized none of it had happened. The Devil didn’t kill me. Dr. Skinner’s clinic wasn’t real. My money was safe.

Still shaken, I asked to speak with a hospital chaplain. She suggested a mantra to ward off evil:

“My body and spirit are covered by a thick golden shell that your evilness cannot penetrate. Go away and don’t bother me anymore.”

I never had to use it—but if I meet the Devil again, I’ll be ready.

The ICU Car Purchase
Oh, and here’s the kicker: I actually bought a new car while still in the ICU. Yes, really. Still loopy, still recovering, still hooked up to monitors—I custom-ordered and purchased a brand-new car online from my hospital bed.

It wasn’t a delusion. It actually happened. And it wasn’t impulsive either; I’d been seriously considering it for months before I got sick. But after surviving yet another bad attack—and feeling oddly flush with “delusion money” I hadn’t actually spent—I decided to go for it.

Because I live on a tight budget, I’d been on the fence about forking out a lot of dough on a new car when I could’ve bought a used one. But I needed reliable transportation to get me to and from my medical appointments, and frankly, I needed something to cheer me up.

Though I admit, the next time I’m hospitalized, it might be better for me to leave my phone and wallet at home. They seem to get me in trouble.

Recovery
Recovery was slow, with setbacks and even a re-flare requiring another round of prednisone. Two months later, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.

(BTW…..The new car was delivered to a local dealership on November 29th, 2021, just 10 days after I got out of the hospital. This is actually amazing considering the worldwide shortage of new cars. It’s a cool little car with quite story behind it.)

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Epilogue: No Silver Linings
I wish I could say something good came out of these episodes—some insight, some growth—but the truth is, they left me feeling embarrassed, shaken, and depressed.

Delirium doesn’t just distort reality; it stains it. Even weeks later, I find myself questioning what was real, what I said, what people saw. The shame lingers long after the hallucinations fade.

I’m grateful to be alive, yes. But surviving isn’t the same as healing. And healing from this kind of mental chaos is slow, uneven, and often invisible.

If you’ve been through something similar, I hope you know you’re not alone. And if you haven’t—just know that behind the strange stories and surreal details, there’s a person still trying to make sense of it all.