Olivia Kissner

In late 2005, my mother died of septic shock brought on by a hospital induced MRSA infection. (Sepsis and MRSA) At the time I had no idea what sepsis was and the doctors at the hospital were pretty blasé about it. It seemed that MRSA infections happened a great deal at this “top 10 in the U.S.” hospital and they did very little to try to save her life. I watched as all of my mother’s organs shut down and eventually made the decision to take her off life support. I watched her take her last breath. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

On May 4, 2015 I was rushed to my local hospital. I was incoherent, in pain and so weak that I could not get myself out of the chair. A week earlier I had noticed a boil on the inside of my upper thigh. I had one several years prior that eventually burst and then healed, so I didn’t really think it was anything serious. Over the next few days I continued to have more and more pain and finally called my brother to my house. When he saw what condition I was in, he called the ambulance.

I remember the EMTs taking my vitals and relating them to the hospital. My heart was racing, my blood pressure was dangerously low and I had a fever. I vaguely remember getting to the ER and being taken to a room. I don’t recall much of anything else about the ER except for one of the ER doctors saying they wanted to transfer me to a larger hospital in their network and my brother tried to convince them to keep me. From what my brother tells me, a surgeon just happened to be walking through the ER and was called in to consult. Evidently things happened very fast after that. The last thing I remember is a calm voice saying, “You have necrotizing fasciitis and I am going to operate. I’m dumping about $18,000 worth of antibiotics into you right now.” (Sepsis and Necrotizing Fasciitis)

I was in a coma for eight days and in and out of consciousness for at least four more days. While I was out, the surgeon took me to the OR for debridement six times and did two more small debridements in the ICU. I woke up with a 23″x7″ wound from my hip, through my groin, in between my legs to my buttock. I had a wound vac sucking the toxins from the wound, a Foley catheter, and a central line in my jugular for the IV antibiotics. I was intubated for several days and had an NG tube as well. I was also now an insulin dependent diabetic – my blood sugar level when I came into the hospital was off the charts. I don’t remember very much about my time in ICU – except for the debridements and the surgeon telling me that my infection was Staphylococcus Aureus. Through the haze of the meds and the affects of the coma I somehow realized I had the same infection that killed my mother.

I was in ICU for 11 days and then transferred to a step down unit. I kept asking for my cell phone, but when my brother finally gave it to me I was so weak I couldn’t pick it up. My fine motor control was non-existent. I could not hold a pen correctly to write out a thank you card. I also had searing pain in all of my limbs. At first I did not have the strength to move my legs, so the nurses would reposition my legs every couple of hours and that was excruciating. The every other day wound vac sponge changes were so painful that they gave me IV Dilaudid and Ativan to get through them. I just kept wondering when all this would end.

On my fifteenth day in the hospital, still groggy from the coma and the pain, my primary care physician came in and told me “We are going to move you out of the hospital tonight or tomorrow. A case worker will be in with a list of facilities to choose from.” An hour later a woman presented me with 30 pages of skilled nursing centers, LTACs, etc. I asked her for assistance and was told that only the patient can make choices on their continued care. I was in no condition to make decisions about my health and my brother was out of the state for a week. I had no idea what to do and I just started to cry. I had heard horror stories about certain nursing facilities and I was scared. My surgeon came in that evening to check on me and noticed I was upset. I told him my PCP said I had to go to either a SNF or LTAC tomorrow and I didn’t know which one to go to. I asked him if he knew of a good facility with wound care and rehab. He just told me to try to get some sleep and that he would see me tomorrow.

The next morning the PCP had somehow changed his tune and advised me that I would not be leaving the hospital “until we are sure the infection is under control and that your wound is healing. Your well being is my primary concern.” I was relieved but very puzzled by how he could have totally reversed his opinion. I found out later that the surgeon changed the PCP’s mind for him and refused to sign off on my discharge. I will never be able to thank him enough for acting as my advocate. He saved my life – for the second time.

I was in the hospital for 30 days and then transferred to a skilled nursing facility with wound care and rehabilitation. When I got to the SNF, I was still so weak I could not get out of bed or stand without major assistance. I still had the wound vac, the Foley and a PICC line for continued IV antibiotics. I had daily physical and occupational therapy sessions and within 2 weeks I was walking a few steps with a walker. I would tire very easily but was making progress – until my WBC counts were normal and the antibiotics were discontinued. Three days later I got C. Diff….a different kind of hell. The Flagyl prescribed did work, but getting C. Diff set back rehab about 2 weeks.

Through my month long stay in the hospital and two months in the SNF, the fact that I had been in septic shock was never mentioned to me. I guess I should have realized that on my own, but my main concerns were learning to walk again, regaining my strength and making sure my wound did not get infected. One day a therapist left my chart open on the table we were working on. I read the original diagnosis as “Acute Renal Failure, Acute Pulmonary Failure, Encephalopathy, Septic Shock” and other issues that I was not familiar with. I got sick to my stomach. I knew I had been in a coma, but had no idea how close I had been to death.

In the middle of July I had a skin graft to close my wound. It was a success – about 90% of the graft took. I left the SNF about two weeks after the graft surgery and have been recovering at home. I am still working on my strength, stamina and balance and learning to deal with my diabetes. I have problems sleeping and have horrible nightmares about dying or being in ICU or necrotizing fasciitis. I sometimes have trouble focusing and think back to when I was in the hospital. I am seeing a psychologist for a type of PTSD. Talking about my ordeal helps, but the nightmares continue. My wound is not completely healed, but it is making progress. The surgeon sees it every two weeks and curettes off the hyper-granulation. Hopefully it will be closed soon. I plan to go back to work in the next few weeks. I think that will help me heal. After reading some of the stories on this page, I realize my outcome could have been much worse.