My 2026 Sickle Cell Crisis Part 1 – I Will Survive

Ever since the day after my birthday on December 25th, 2025, I have been extremely sick. I came down with a sickle cell crisis, and it got worse every single day until I gave in and went to Luton & Dunstable Hospital on the 28th of December 2025. This was the beginning of the worst sickle cell crisis of my life.

I somehow caught a chest infection, which triggered my sickle cell crisis. To be more specific, the infection was around my lungs. This caused me to have serious breathing issues, in addition to the sickle cell pain.

My A&E visit (ER in the US) was swift and smooth this time around. They followed the protocol left by my haematologist, which states I must be cannulated (given an IV) and given morphine, fluids and antibiotics as soon as possible. Thankfully, I was also given a bed to lie on, which isn’t always a standard in A&E.

I was eventually admitted and transferred to Ward 5, which was a very stressful ward to be on while suffering from a crisis. My usual ward is Ward 19A Haematology, where they’re trained to deal with sickle cell. But as there were no beds available on 19A, I was forced to stay on Ward 5 until one became available.

Ward 5 was terrible. It was packed wall-to-wall with patients, and there was little space on either side of my bed for visitors. The patient next to me was confused and kept trying to escape. He was a bulk of a man, and he was combative with the nurses when they tried to make him sit in his chair so he can receive his medicine. One night, he went as far as punching a nurse. Security was called and a big fight ensued as the security tackled him to the ground to stop him assaulting the nurses further.

Also on this ward, there were young men looking more like they were in prison than hospital. They would walk around mean-mugging other males—including me—as if they were in a rival gang. I got stared at like I was someone’s op while experiencing some of the worst sickle pain of my life.

Ward 5 was a stressful ward to be on while suffering from a sickle cell crisis and lung infection.

Things improved once I was finally transferred to Ward 19A, the haematology ward. I was transferred on New Years Eve 2025. I remember this vividly because I heard the fireworks through the open window that night. It was a new year, and I was lying in a hospital bed.

I can’t lie, during this time, I thought I was going to die. My breathing was bad, and I was reliant on oxygen. Plus, one doctor in particular came to see me and asked about my condition. Once I was done explaining it to her, she said the words “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.” — I doubt this was a haematology doctor, because when my usual haematology doctors showed up, they showed much more optimism regarding my condition. But that doctor’s words stuck with me for a long time. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

I was accepting my fate, waiting for what I thought was inevitable, until one particular day when my mother received a phone call from Jamaica. My cousin Maureen in Jamaica had suffered some kind of stroke after reading a text message from her son in America. From my understanding, it was a message that disturbed her. Her father and husband attended to her immediately, getting her to a hospital. The staff at the hospital said that it was a bloodclot in her brain.

Later that day, while my mum was at my own hospital bedside, she received the news that Maureen had passed away. The news was devastating. Another death, so close to losing one of our close family friends in October 2025.

But that was the moment I told myself to fight. I had to survive my crisis because I couldn’t give my mother and my family any further stress and mourning. From that moment on, my mindset shifted from giving in and allowing the inevitable to happen to actively trying to recover.

Scans showed infection and fluid around my lungs, along with some collapse. A specialist was sent to my ward, and after some warnings, they asked for my consent to stick a needle under my lung to extract some of the fluid resting there; with the risk being them accidentally puncturing my lung.

I gave them my consent to proceed, despite being scared out of my mind. Thankfully, they numbed the area first, so I didn’t feel the big needle going in. They extracted a great deal of fluid. They showed it to me. It looked like some kind of golden liquid. It was like I had Harry Potter’s Felix Felicis luck potion in my lungs, but it didn’t lead me to good luck.

After they extracted that fluid, my condition seemed to improve. It was as if they removed most of the fluid, leaving only a little on my right side, which was harder to get to. With the help of IV fluids, antibiotics and painkillers, I continued to feel better day by day until I was discharged on January 8th, 2026.

But this sickle cell crisis did not end there. We’ll get to the worst part of my crisis in part two.