Kate Rudder
In February 2017, I suddenly fell ill on holiday. I had traveled from Harare, Zimbabwe, to Vermont to attend my son’s school event and to accompany him to Chattanooga, Tennessee, to spend a winter break holiday together with friends and family. I’m from Chattanooga, and we were staying with my parents. At the time, I was 45 years old and my son was 13, attending a boarding school for boys who learn differently. My focus was on spending time with him.
We were doing lots of hiking, climbing, etc. I felt great. Then I noticed a bite on the upper part of my right calf. It was hard to see, but I could tell it was unusual, probably something I got while on a Valentine’s get-away weekend in the bush with my husband. I tried different things…creams, a hot bath, covering it. It wasn’t going away. I was hoping I could sort it out once I got back to Africa where they know about these things, but two days before I was supposed to fly, the skin around the bite became red and a little swollen. That night I had a fever. I took photos of the bite to send to my doctor in Zimbabwe.
The next morning I was a wreck. I made an appointment with my doctor, and I stayed off the fever reducer meds so as not to mask the symptoms. My mother drove me to the doctor. I was vomiting, extremely feverish, almost unable to walk, delirious with pain, mumbling incoherently. The doctor sent us to the emergency room. They wanted to keep me overnight, but I went home to say good-bye to my son who was about to fly alone for the first time. I was admitted to the hospital and was there for a week. I was diagnosed with cellulitis. (Sepsis and Cellulitis)
Every day the redness spread up and around my leg. There were limits to the amount of fever reducer they could give me, and that was the real source of pain. They tried all kinds of pain meds, but none of them really helped. My family was concerned that I might have the sleeping sickness or some other African disease that doctors in Chattanooga, Tennessee, wouldn’t have any experience with, and we were debating whether we should head to Atlanta, where at least they have the Center for Disease Control. But we stayed and were doubtful the entire time about the care I was receiving. All I could do was focus on every second, getting through the extreme discomfort of the moment.
The fever would sometimes ebb, and then I could communicate. I had many tests and was on several kinds of antibiotics. My sister came to stay in the hospital with me to advocate for me. I got worse every day for 5 days, also breaking out in rashes, having some difficulty breathing, and generally feeling like if I fell asleep, I might not wake up. I convinced them to open up the location of the bite to see what was inside, and they found a small finger-like cavity. Later, when I was back in Africa, my doctor diagnosed it as a sac spider bite which has a cytotoxic venom that damages tissue. I was in good health when it happened, and none of my organs seemed to be effected. On the 6th day, I started to feel better, and I was released from the hospital on the 7th day.
I spent a few days recovering at my parents house before flying back home to Harare. The nightmare of the hospital was truly horrible. I went from one day feeling fine to the next day being on death’s door. It was like having a car accident or something, and when I was finally able to leave the prison cell of the hospital, the relief that I’d survived was completely overwhelming. I was able to think things like I’ll be able to see my daughter grow into a woman. I cried a lot in the first days home. I felt very vulnerable and scared that I’d relapse. At that time, even with my recovery, it still felt like the doctors never understood what I had or what had helped me, just shooting in the dark and getting lucky. It took a month for the wound to heal and a few weeks for me to get strong again, but I’ve been OK ever since. On the anniversary of my hospitalization, I usually feel a mental check-in…that it happened, that I survived, that I’m grateful to be alive and well.
