Anna C.

My story, like many sepsis survivors’, didn’t end when the infection was treated. In a way, that was only the beginning. What happened to me unfolded over years, shaping my life in ways I never could have imagined, and leaving marks — physical and emotional — that I’m still learning to navigate.

It began at the start of my junior year of high school, when I got COVID. I’d had it before, but this time something felt fundamentally wrong. My body wasn’t reacting the way it had in the past. I could barely eat or drink. Standing was impossible. Even the smallest movement sent sharp, electric pain through my legs, the kind that made me gasp and freeze. I needed help just to sit up, to shift positions, to get to the bathroom. For two weeks I stayed in bed, growing weaker, more dehydrated, and more scared.

When I was prescribed Paxlovid, I hoped it would finally turn things around. Instead, everything spiraled. I started vomiting constantly. I was sweating through my clothes. My dehydration worsened to the point where I could barely lift my head. At the ER they gave me IV fluids, told me I’d feel better soon, and sent me home. But a few days later, the spot where the IV had been placed turned red, hot, and swollen. A hard lump formed under the skin. I went back to the ER several times, but each visit felt like a dead end — no answers, no real concern, no progress.

Meanwhile, the pain in my legs kept intensifying. I developed fevers that came and went unpredictably. Eventually I was admitted and diagnosed with bacteremia. The bacteria they found included organisms normally found on the skin, but also bacteria typically found in the gut. Instead of considering everything my body had been through — my history of GI inflammation, the weeks of being unable to eat or drink, the extreme weakness — the assumption was that I had caused the infection myself. Hearing those accusations while I was already struggling physically and emotionally was devastating. I had worked so hard on my mental health, and suddenly it felt like all of that progress was being dismissed, replaced by judgment and suspicion.

I spent two weeks in the hospital on IV antibiotics. They drained the abscess on my arm. An MRI showed inflammation in my legs from COVID, but the pain was brushed aside as something that didn’t need further attention. When I was discharged, I still felt awful. The fevers continued. The pain never went away. I kept trying to push through, telling myself recovery just takes time, but deep down I knew something wasn’t right.

A few weeks later, everything crashed. I became extremely lethargic — not tired, but barely conscious. At the ER they called a code cardiac. My heart rate was in the 180s, and my blood pressure had dropped dangerously low. I was admitted again, this time with sepsis and severe malnutrition. I weighed 91 pounds. I had lost more than 20 pounds in just a few weeks. They placed an NG tube to help replenish my nutrients. At one point, a rapid response was called because my blood pressure kept falling. And again, despite everything happening to my body, the pain in my legs was dismissed. (Sepsis and COVID, Sepsis and Invasive Devices)

I stayed for three weeks. When I was finally discharged, I hoped things would settle, but instead I kept having random fevers and the same severe, unrelenting leg pain. It felt like my body was trying to tell me something no one else could hear.

Finally, in February 2025, I had another MRI. That night we got a call telling us to come to the hospital immediately.

I was diagnosed with chronic polymicrobial osteomyelitis in both femurs.

All those months, both of my thigh bones had been infected. The bacteria from the IV site had traveled into the inflamed tissue and bone, settled there, and eventually re‑entered my bloodstream, causing sepsis again. The pain I had been reporting for months wasn’t “just inflammation.” It was a deep, spreading bone infection.

I spent a month in the hospital on IV antibiotics and underwent two surgeries. But the complications didn’t stop there. I needed multiple blood infusions. I had central lines placed and replaced. I spent time in the ICU. I was intubated due to respiratory failure. Because of my Ehlers‑Danlos syndrome, my wounds reopened. My femurs fractured. My hardware failed. The infection relapsed multiple times, each relapse bringing more hospital stays, more procedures, more fear.

My most recent relapse kept me in the hospital for 47 days.

Nine surgeries later, I’m still facing setbacks. I live with severe chronic pain. Walking is difficult. My life looks nothing like it did before all of this began. And all of it — every complication, every relapse, every surgery — traces back to an infection that was missed, dismissed, and misunderstood.

This is my story — not just of surviving sepsis, but of surviving everything that came after. It’s a story about pain, resilience, and the long, complicated road of recovery. It’s about the moments when I felt invisible, and the moments when I fought to be heard. It’s about the parts of illness that don’t end when the infection clears, the parts that linger in the body and the mind.

I’m still here. I’m still healing. And I’m still telling my story, because stories like mine matter — and because no one should have to fight this hard just to be believed.