My story....

Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve written on here. I’d like to say it’s because I was on a wonderful vacation in an exotic land. But I wasn’t. I’d like to say it’s because I was busy learning to scuba dive, or very involved in a photography course. But I wasn’t.

I’ve been sick.

Really, really sick.

I-am-lucky-to-be-alive kind of sick.

I had necrotizing faciitis (flesh eating disease) and I was also in septic shock (blood infection where major organs start shutting down).

Here’s my story.

Monday, March 30:

Not entirely sure if this is where the story begins….

I ate a quarter of an avocado.

Big deal, right?

Oh yeah, I’m allergic to avocadoes.

I wasn’t sure I was allergic until Monday. I suspected, but I wasn’t sure. After eating it on Monday, I was sure. I had a tummy ache, my face was red and I had to lay down because I felt so ill.

But that doesn’t explain anything really. If the avocado is to blame it may be because I didn’t wash it prior to cutting and peeling it. I also didn’t wash my hands before slicing it and putting it on my sandwich. Perhaps there was a bacteria on the skin. You have to be careful with cantaloupes, maybe the same is true for avocadoes. I don’t know.

All I know is that I began to feel unwell after eating the avocado. The tummy ache lasted until Sunday and became worse every time I ate. As a result of this I began eating less and drinking less. The less I was aggravating my stomach with food the better I felt.

Wednesday, April 1
I write on my Facebook status that the stomach pain is bothering me and if it doesn’t get better than I am going to go to the hospital.

Friday, April 3
I awake in the morning with mild body aches. I take two Ibuprofen and the body aches are gone for the day.

Saturday, April 4
I awake again with mild body aches. Two Ibuprofen takes care of it. I spend the day with the girls at dance competition. I don’t eat or drink much…we each have a hot dog, share some veggies and a pop.

Sunday, April 5
I awake, the morning of another full day of competition, with a pain in my right arm; midway between the elbow and the armpit. I take two Ibuprofen (my goodness, this is more medication than I’ve ever taken) but the pain does not subside. I try to figure out what’s causing the pain and I conclude that I must have pulled a muscle while carrying the girls’ dance costumes in the garment bag. Ugh, what a wimp!!

By the days’ end I am feeling a little under the weather. We arrive home from competition, do a few things and then I get into a nice hot bath to warm myself up. After two hours of trying to make the bath hot enough I can’t seem to get warm. My arm is really aching so I ask Hubby to help me out of the tub and to help me get dressed. I start to shake violently. I’ve never shaken like this before; tears are literally flying from my eyes rather than landing on my cheeks because of the shaking. A thought crosses my mind that this seems like shock, but I can’t understand why I’d be in shock so I let the thought drift away. I get dressed in warm jammies, get into bed and prepare myself for the flu onslaught. I wake up in the middle of the night, toasty warm and feeling well. I even go to Zee in the night when he cries because his eyes are hurting.

Monday, April 6
Yep, I’ve got the flu. I greet the day with diarrhea and vomiting. I’m very tired and thirsty too. Can’t seem to slake my thirst, but granted, am not drinking a lot. My stomach’s not too bad considering…this doesn’t totally feel like a regular flu. No body aches, no stomach ache. Hmm…this isn’t so bad. I’m just realllllly tired.

I sleep all day. I sleep all night.

Tuesday, April 7
I wake up feeling pretty good. Hubby and I decide that he should stay home for another day because I’m not 100% and the pain in my arm is excrutiating. We hope another day in bed will do the trick.

‘Kay’ calls my house to tell me to drink some Gatorade. She is sick also and her doctor thinks she might have the Norwalk virus and he tells her to drink some Gatorade to stay hydrated. Makes sense to me. I suspect I’m becoming dehydrated because I’m so lethargic and sleepy. Hubby mixes some up for me and I sit up to drink it. It is at this moment that ‘Kay’s’ advice may have saved my life. As I sit up I become aware that my heart is racing. Normally a 50-55 BPM person, my heart is beating at about 170 BPM. Something’s wrong. I think that it’s probably due to dehydration so Hubby and I drive to the hospital instead of calling 911. I make two quick phone calls to try to find someone to care for Zee after Kindergarten, get out of bed, get in the car for the 10-15 minute drive to the hospital and it is during that 20 minutes that I start to feel really bad. My hands start to go numb, I can’t keep my eyes open, I am conscious but barely. Weirdly enough I am still completely lucid and instruct Hubby to put me into a wheelchair when we arrive at the ER so that I can get seen quicker. By the time we arrive, my lips, chin and nose are numb.


The triage nurse sees us within about 5 minutes. It is one of the longest waits of my life. I am aware now that I need help. I’m barely conscious enough to talk but I am concerned that if I don’t answer their questions that there will be a delay in my receiving help. I tell them my name, explain some of my symptoms and then I shut down. Hubby hands the nurse my arm and she takes my blood pressure. The cuff squeezes so tightly that it makes my arm and hand go even more numb. The cuff squeezes for a second time. I wince in pain and pull my arm away. The nurse yells at me not to move. Suddenly the blood pressure cuff is ripped off my arm and my arm is dropped. It falls like a de-boned fish to the counter top. I have no strength. We are instructed to wait by the ER room door.

The door is opened, I am quickly wheeled in, my clothes are ripped off, a gown is placed on me, I somehow end up laying down on a table and there is a flurry of activity around me. It feels like there are people everywhere. I mainly remember the oxygen tubes going into my nose (had my eyes closed so never saw it coming) and the nurse looking at my veins to start an IV and exclaiming, “Oh, you’ve got beautiful veins. We love people like you!” and then, “I missed it! How’d I do that? It’s like driving into a tunnel and hitting the side.” I don’t remember much else. After a few minutes I start to feel better, I can open my eyes and I have the energy to talk. The IV is working. I am glad and I think that I was just really dehydrated and I’ll be able to go home soon.

So wrong!

I have so much pain in my arm, armpit, and down the right side of my body. Hubby constantly cautions the health professionals to be careful of my arm whenever they touch me. They gloss over this a number of times and then suddenly become interested in the area. The doctor slowly lifts my arm (although it wasn’t slowly enough for my liking) and sees a slightly reddened area. He calls a colleague or two to confirm. It’s not blazing red; it’s not looking angry or painful as is typically the case for skin infections, but it’s enough. They determine that I have cellulitis. A skin infection. The doc later tells me that he thinks it was necrotizing faciitis but that we caught it before it did any damage. I’m a lucky girl; the mortality rate for this is 70-80%. I dodged a bullet.

A strange face pops up in front of mine. It is a surgeon. A surgeon?! What? He’s there to do a consult to see if there’s anything he can, “CUT” as he tells us emphatically and mimics holding a scalpel with his hands. I got it, I didn’t need the visual. He does a full head to toe exam (every orifice…ugh!) and sends me off for an ultrasound. He provides a few moments of comic relief during the exam. First, he finds out I have an avocado allergy and then runs out into the ER and hollers, “No one is to touch this patient wearing latex gloves, she has an avocado allergy!” The looks on the faces of the staff is priceless……avocadoes and latex? Huh? Well, apparently there’s a connection…people allergic to avocadoes are also allergic to latex. He then yells that he wants a full bolus running on me, two bags wide open and he wants them HEATED! The nurse tells him they just finished a bolus and he tells them to do another, right now! Classic!

The blood work comes back and the diagnosis is even worse. I’m septic….in septic shock actually. The infection has spread to my blood and my organs are shutting down. My kidneys are in the worst shape right now but as the week progresses my liver, heart and lungs also are affected. More about the heart later.

I have my first visitor. It’s Michelle, she works in X-ray and happened to be reading ‘the board’ when she notices my name. I’m in the trauma bay. She comes to see what on earth happened. I’m shocked to know that I am in trauma; this is where they take the sickest patients. There are crash carts, IV poles, everything you can imagine that is needed to save a life. I can’t imagine why on earth I am in here. This is just all overdone…I don’t really feel that bad. Honest, all I need is a little hydration and I’ll be out of here.

But apparently I’m going to have to stay. Where I wonder? Medical floor? Nope, surprise…I’m going to the ICU! Still can’t really understand why. Isn’t that for really sick people? I get up to the floor at midnight. The doctor comes and puts in a central line. This IV line goes under my clavicle, through a vein in my chest and directly into the superior vena cava of my heart. I am so scared that I’m going to die during this procedure. I pray the entire time; I repeat over and over, ‘Please Heavenly Father, don’t let me die. Please let me raise my kids.” God answers my prayers. I ask someone after a while; ‘Am I in critical condition?’ I don’t receive an answer.

I fall asleep. In the week to come I am grateful for my central line. The lab technicians who come up 3-4 times a day for blood don’t have to poke me each time, they draw it from my line. All my medication is administered through it. It’s a blessing.

Wednesday, April 8

Bishop M. and his companion come to see me first thing in the morning. My dad has called from 3 provinces away to ask him to give me a blessing. He gives me a wonderful, positive blessing and I am comforted.

Hubby comes to visit me and he looks so worn out. I worry about him. He promises he will call his parents to come help him. My parents are on their way but will take a number of days to get here. Hubby’s emotions are running high. I am so worried.

My heart rate is still high, but each time Hubby comes into the room it comes down. He has a calming effect on me that we never knew about. Still waiting for my blood pressure to get out of the toilet.

My nurse teases me that I came up to the ICU as red as a berry. I had an allergic reaction to the morphine the day before in the ER and then to the Benadryl. It’s the first time I’ve ever had morphine. It barely dulls the pain. She giggles and tells me I look much better. I think I look like someone from a concentration camp; I don’t even recognize my own eyes.

I swear the beds in the hospital were made by bored Nazi war criminals. I can’t reach the controls. They are at elbow level. My right arm is immobile due to pain; my left arm is also immobile due to the blood pressure cuff that lives there full time for the remainder of my stay.

I have a catheter…didn’t like it going in but am grateful that I don’t have to get up to pee all the time (because as you’ll read, I was very busy with the other end). I had so much fluid pumped into me that when I came home 5 days later I was 10 pounds heavier. The doctor is glad to see that my kidneys are starting to come around.

I do have to get out of bed constantly due to the diarrhea caused by the antibiotics. I am unable to take care of my hygiene. The nurse wipes my bum. Can I be any more humbled? Apparently so. The diarrhea is so bad that I just get off the commode, climb back into bed, get all hooked up to my monitors and lay down, when all of a sudden there’s a rumble and a grumble. Gotta go again. Hubby offers to clean me. I refuse. I will not let him do that. I call the nurse. She’s understanding and says it’s no problem but I can tell that she’s not that eager to do this all day. My stomach grumbles again, I sit on the commode, and….I can’t call her again, it’s only been 2 minutes. I succumb to Hubby’s offer…he wipes my bum. I am humbled, degraded, humiliated…I have no dignity left. He’s a very thorough wiper and it hurts. I develop a ‘Diarrhea Rap’, it goes something like this: Gurgle, Gurgle, Pththt, Pththt (that’s me pooping), Ow, Ow, Ow (that’s Hubby wiping. Again, he’s very thorough!)

I’m tired by the days end. I don’t really sleep well. There’s too much barfing and moaning and groaning. This is a terrible place to try to get better.


Thursday, April 9

Loads of visitors today. I’m so happy to see everyone. I can’t believe how much people care. I’m touched beyond words.

My last visitor leaves at 9:30pm.

I’m tired but don’t remember anything about how I slept.

Friday, April 10

I’m tired today.

A doctor and a nurse come in to see me (I never learn why though) and when they ask me to stand up they looked shocked, mention something about me turning blue and disappear. I learn later that I was as blue as a Smurf from the waist down. They order an ultrasound, convinced of a blood clot. The ultrasound shows no clot but it does show that I have two Bakers cysts at the back of my knee. Hmm…who knew?

I think this is the day that my arm started to get better. When Hubby left in the evening I still couldn’t move it, but a couple of hours later I could! Amazing…this is the first sign that I am getting better.

Ready for a good sleep. I have a new nurse tonight, Vicki, she’s the most amazing nurse I have ever known. She sets the commode on the side of my bed, moves my catheter bag to the same side and makes it possible for me to do my business without bothering everyone. She is the first to offer me the chance to clean up. I jump at the chance to wash my very stinky body. A bowl of warm water with some soapy stuff is presented…I ask about rinsing and am told that this is special stuff and you don’t need to rinse it off. I am about half way into it when I notice that I am getting a rash. It’s all over me. Vicki quickly brings me fresh water and I rinse off the ‘hypoallergenic’ soap. This is the beginning of an evening of rashes. I need a good nights sleep but Vicki and I decide that I’d better not try a sleeping pill because I’ll likely react to it. She gives me a little bit of Gravol and that sends me off to La-La land. I wake up a while later itching and scratching. I call Vicki but she is busy, another nurse comes. I ask her to let Vicki know that I am in terrible agony and will soon draw my own blood for scratching so hard. Vicki comes in and I tell her that I think I’m allergic to my antibiotics. She and another nurse agree but have no orders from the doctor for an antihistamine. She brings me a cool cloth which I wrap around my entire face and leave just a little hole for my nose and she brings me a shot of hydrocortisone with a little kick; she shoots me up with 50 mg of Gravol and sends me into a bliss like I’ve never known. I literally leave my body and go out wandering; over the mountains, into the warm sun. I can feel the sun on my face…literally. It’s so weird. I close my eyes and I go exploring around my eyeball; I see all kinds of strange images and graphics. I understand now why the ‘creative people’ like musicicans and artists do drugs on a regular basis; it’s for the inspiration. You just don’t see those kind of images when you are straight. I’m not condoning it; I’m just saying that I understand.


Saturday, April 11

I am stoned for the rest of the day. Hubby laughs at me ‘cause I’m so high. I have a hard time separating reality from my dreams. Freaky!

I’m getting better. My arm’s still improving; my kidneys are making lots of pee; my heart rate has come down and my blood pressure has finally gone up (back in the 100’s/80’s instead of 70’s/40’s).

Things are looking up.

Sunday, April 12

I get to go home!

I have to have IV antibiotics for 2 weeks.

My central line is removed, my catheter is taken out, I get to take off all the sticky tape that the monitors attach to. I’m practically free.

The nurse puts a saline lock IV into my wrist. I don’t like it but I know it’s needed for the IV therapy. Incidentally, it’s the first of eleven IV sites that I will have to have over the course of the next two weeks. One attempt at an IV is so painful that it rates a 10 on my pain scale; the pain is so bad (hit a nerve we think) that I immediately break a sweat, have tears rolling down my face and pooling into my collarbone and leaves me shaking and gasping for breath for about 5 minutes. And guess what? I feel sorry for the nurse. I think how hard it must be to cause someone such pain. She was trying to help me. She apologized for hurting me and I just wanted her to know it was alright, that I understood, but it was almost too hard to talk.

My antibiotic is so strong that it blows vein after vein after vein. Typically my IV site lasts 1.5 sessions; most people have theirs for 6-10 days. I’m jealous.

Anyway, I get to go home! I basically get home in time to head back to the hospital for my IV therapy. It takes almost 3 hours; I arrive in my jammies, my housecoat and my slippers. The Benadryl knocks me out and I fall asleep sitting up. I normally am not capable of doing that.

I sleep in my own bed for the first time in 5 days…it feels glorious. My hubby sighs in relief that I am home and he holds me as we fall asleep. Ahhhh….
Monday, April 13
I’m home but barely, I’m back and forth to the hospital for 6 hours of the day for IV antibiotics. It’s tough getting up in the morning. I’m glad to be able to hear the kids’ voices. My parents are here now and are keeping the house even and calm and keeping the flow going. Thank goodness.

Tuesday, April 14

I don’t feel well at all this morning. I am having a hard time breathing. It feels like a 25 pound weight is on my chest. I am conscious of every breath I take; it never becomes automatic. I try to eat breakfast but I can’t. Too hard to breathe. My heart isn’t racing but it hurts. There’s a sharp pain in my heart, much like a stitch that I get in my side when I over-exercise.

As we head to the hospital for my IV antibiotics I ask my hubby to take me to Emergency instead. I am concerned. It’s probably nothing, just me over reacting, but I want to be sure. We get to triage and the nurse starts asking questions, we explain my situation and my recent stay in the ICU, she takes my blood pressure, I burst into tears. She thinks it’s because I’m afraid of needles, I tell her that I just can’t do this again. Hubby calms me. He has a way with me.

I am taken into ER after a 10 minute wait. My nurse from ICU is there, she’s working the ER today. We are on a first name basis now. I ask her about her kids; she asks about mine. I explain my symptoms to the ER doc. He orders blood work and goes to review my file. He comes in several times trying to figure out how I got sick in the first place; he asks if maybe I forgot to tell them about a pet tarantula that bit me. Cute. We smile. Blood work comes back. We stop smiling. ER Doc. tells me I’m having a heart attack. I can quite fathom the enormity of what he’s telling me; this is life changing…if I even get to have a life. It’s funny how your perspective changes, when I was sick I wanted to be healthy because I didn’t want to raise my kids as a ‘sick’ mom, but when I thought that I might die because I was having a heart attack then I just wanted to be a living mom, sick or not, I didn’t care…I just wanted to be here to raise our kids.

So, after the heart attack news, I look into Hubby’s red, tear filled eyes and I burst into tears. My heart rate sky rockets, Hubby sucks up his tears and gets to work calming me down. I just calm when I look up to see a whole slew of medical personnel all around me. There’s the male nurse with the nitro patch and the aspirin; there’s the female nurse with the shot of heparin into my stomach to thin my blood, there’s the ER Doc and there’s a new lady…a cardiologist. We’ve had plenty of cardiologists in our family…none have ever been for me. I look up at her and tell her that she’s going to have to come at me real slow because I’m really freaked out. She admonishes me that I’m in the best place possible and that they are going to take care of me. She then berates me with questions and assumes the I-know-everything role of doctor and we assume the oops-I’m-sorry-I’m-just-a-stupid-layperson role. She marches over to my arm and begins to examine it. Now, by this time, I’m no stupido, I know that doctors=pain and I know she’s going to poke and prod at my arm and hurt the heck out of me so I warn her. I tell her to go slow and then I tell her not to hurt me, she just looks at me, I warn her again and this time I add, “If you hurt me, then I’m going to hurt you back!” She looks at me, bursts out laughing (as does the rest of the room) and in that instant our relationship changes. She treats me better, like a person, with feelings and with a brain. I like her so much better.

She wants to rule out a blood clot so she sends me for a CAT scan. I think this is the kind where you have to go in head first. I’m terrified but am trying to remain calm. I think they slipped an adavan under my tongue at some point so this is probably helping to calm me too. I am scared and I ask Hubby to pray. We are interrupted by someone ready to take me in for the procedure. Hubby can’t come…I have to do this alone. Ugh.

It’s not so bad. I’m not surrounded, it’s just like a doughnut. I can see out the other side. Everything goes well and the test reveals no blood clot but does reveal water on the lungs. Chalk another organ up to Septic shock.

Well then, if it’s not a blood clot then it must be a heart attack. All the signs point to it: chest pain, difficulty breathing, numbness in my lips and most convincing of all, triponin in my blood. A nurse told me this is dead heart tissue. Ick…my heart.

Miracle of miracles, Royal Columbian is able to fit me in for an emergency angiogram. I am ambulanced to the hospital and prepped for the procedure. The doc. tells Hubby that if he finds anything that he will fix it right away…angioplasty, bypass, shunts …but he’s pretty confident, given my history, that he’s not going to find anything. So, in to the angiogram I go. The nurses are great, the doc’s cool (he even played the Rolling Stones’ Under My Thumb during the procedure) and they give me some sedation. As the dye hits my body I feel warm all over, not a burning but a rather pleasant warmth. Not totally uncomfortable. I get to see my heart on the screen; all the vessels look fat and happy. The Doc. finishes the procedure and I can tell he is happy. My heart is FINE!!! BEAUTIFUL!! There was no heart attack! It’s just another organ falling prey to that old enemy called, yep, you guessed it…Mr. Septic Shock. My arteries are as smooth as a baby’s bum he tells me and he even says I can eat McDonalds every day for the next month and still be happy. The nurses slap him on the shoulder for saying that. He rushes out to tell Hubby the good news. We are all elated. The ambulance ride back to our hospital is much less somber than the one earlier in the day.

I am tired. Guess where I get to spend the night? Not at home. Nope…back to the ICU. Hooked up to monitors again, eating gross hospital food, cold, lonely but I’m so tired that I fall fast asleep.

Wednesday, April 15
My Internist comes to see me and he’s shocked by the whole ‘heart attack’ scare. He’s paranoid to let me go home again because he teases me that if I have to come back for a third time that it’ll ruin his medical career. He finally concedes to my puppy dog eyes and lets me go home! Yeah!!!


I’m home again…and I’m staying!



Tuesday, April 28, 2009

My IV therapy has been done for a week now. My hands and arms hurt from all the swollen veins. I have developed another rash, apparently I am allergic to my oral antibiotics. It’s becoming easier to ask what I’m NOT allergic to rather than what I am allergic too. My face is starting to look like me again. Gone are the vacant and glassy sunken eyes and the sallow complexion. Every day I am stronger and getting better. My parents are going to try to get home soon, my mom needs medical attention for her leg and her pain. I thank God for their help…I don’t know what we would have done without them.

I am truly blessed. My husband, my parents, my kids, my family, my friends….have all been amazing. There has been such an outpouring of love, of helping, of service…everything we need has been taken care of. I am so fortunate to have had the opportunity to relax when I needed to, to cry when I couldn’t handle things anymore and to be held by those that I love and that love me. I have heard the laughter of my son as he played with my parents, I have watched my mom literally sacrifice her own well being to keep my home on an even keel so that my kids would be unaffected by my illness and so that I could have the rest I needed to heal. I have watched my dad run my kids to all their activities, I have heard him work with my hubby in the morning to get the kids dressed and off to school. I have watched my hubby work all day and then come home to make lunches, to put allergy drops in Zee’s eyes, to take Kiki to the doctor for her cough, to comfort Mo during a migraine. I have heard him sigh with relief as he has held me at night. I have seen my friends bring food, meals, gifts, flowers, babysit my children, offer anything and everything they could to ease my family's situation. I have heard and seen more love in the last three weeks than most people have seen in a lifetime.

I had a friend ask me what I learned from this experience and, among other things, I would say that I learned about love. I learned that love is a sacrifice, that love is kind, that love is good, that love is giving and that love is all around me. I learned that people have an enormous capacity to love. I learned that we need to share that love with others at every opportunity and not to wait until someone is sick to do so. We need to reach out and touch those around us now while we still can and while they are alive to know of and feel our love.

I learned that love can save a life.

I learned about love…

...and I already thought I knew it all.