|
|
| Home | Search | Founders | Guestbook | Survivors | Dedications | Contact Us |
| Linda L's Survivor Story |
| I keep
coming back to this web site again and again to read and understand the
pain of other NF survivors, and grieve for those who did not survive.
I am one of the lucky ones. On January 25, 2007, I was at work at a high
tech job in the Boston area, when I began to feel sick. I started getting
chills and felt feverish, and quite nauseous. I told my boss I did not
feel well, and left work to go to my apartment near work. I felt so terrible
laying in bed, vomiting, drinking water and trying to keep it down. I
noticed what I thought was a small cyst on my behind. I stayed the night
there, and in the morning forced myself to get dressed and drive the hour
and a half to my home in NH. I knew that there was no way I'd be going
to work that day or the next with this terrible "flu". I have
no idea how I made it home. I vomited in the car and shook, struggled
to stay conscious, and tried to shift my weight off my right but t cheek,
which now had a rash and was painful to sit on. I spent the next two days
on the couch, sure I had the flu, but wondering what the heck was up with
this rash. I asked my boyfriend, a retired firefighter and EMT, to take
a look at the rash. He said, Babe, you need to see a doctor! Some time
during the night, the rash started to drain, and the smell that came out
of that wound was the most horrible smell (rotted flesh!) that I have
ever smelled. I still did not know what it was wrong with me. In the morning,
I tried to get in to see my doctor, but there was only a nurse practitioner
available. They offered me an appointment on Monday morning, but thankfully
my boyfriend insisted that I go to the emergency room. The doctor, who
was the head of the emergency department in my small local hospital, did
an exploratory operation under conscious sedation and knew immediately
that I had necrotizing fasciitis. He started me on antibiotics and saline,
and made arrangements for me to be transported to a Boston hospital. As
my surgeon told me, if he had kept me over night or misdiagnosed me, I
would not have made it through the night. I am very thankful for the skill
and knowledge of that doctor!
Once I got to Boston, each doctor who saw me escalated my case to the next higher up, and each doctor expressed more concern than the last. My temperature was 103.9 and my blood pressure was so low, they could not operate. They put in a center line stent to pump in the antibiotics to prevent sepsis, and to try to raise my blood pressure. This stent runs from your jugular directly into your heart, a real life-saver for me. Finally stabilized, the surgeon was ready to perform the debridement surgery. He told me that I might not survive the operation, and if I did, that there was a good chance that I would lose my colon and my rectum. As sick as I wa s, I don't think I have ever been more scared. I don't remember the first surgery nor the second surgery the following day, but when I woke up, my wonderful doctor told me they had gotten all of the infected tissue and that I would survive. All we needed to do was take care of my wound. And yes, I still had my colon and my rectum! This was a great relief to everyone, including my Navy daughter, who had been rushed home on emergency military leave to be by my side. I was in the surgical ICU for 5 days and then in recovery, and thankfully able to go home after a week. What terrific care I had there!! Once I was home, I had a wonderful visiting nurse who took care of me for two months, coming to my home even on her days off to change my dressing. The wound needed 4.1 yards of curlex (2 ply gauze) as a wet dressing when I arrived at home. That's a lot of gauze! My boyfriend, too, had to learn to change the dressing in order for me to be at home and not stuck in a rehabilitation hospital. What a wonderful man to take such great care of me, be my patient advocate, and be so loving and kind during this whole time. It sure makes you close when someone you love is cleaning and bandaging your butt every day!! He joked that he would need treatment for traumatic stress syndrome after treating such a horrible wound. I am well on my way to recovery, my wound is nearly closed, and I am starting to feel pretty normal again. My surgeon, who calls me "shark bite", assures me that other than my scar, I will be back to normal in two years. I have not returned to work since sitting is still too painful, but I am hoping once my wound is healed, that I will be able to start back to work at least part time and resume my normal life. But I will never be the same again. I know that I will live every day to its fullest and be grateful to be alive. UPDATE JULY 9, 2007 |
Linda L vamonos55@comcast.net Exeter, NH USA April 2007 |
|
Copyright © 1997-2003 National Necrotizing Fasciitis
Foundation (NNFF)
All Rights Reserved. July 9, 2007 |