Mary Rutherford

Mary B. Rutherford was my mom.

In February of 2009, she suddenly developed symptoms that led to a diagnosis of primary brain cancer. That diagnosis was found after a whirlwind of doctor visits, tests, biopsies, and decisions. It was a fast-paced, emotional rollercoaster not only for Mom, but for me and my sister as well.

Then we were blindsided.

Once we received her cancer diagnosis, she was released from the hospital to a long-term healthcare rehabilitation center near where I worked. After spending a few days helping her adjust to her new routine, I returned to work. I was running late to meet her for lunch that day so I met her in the lunchroom. After lunch, as she used her walker to walk me to the elevator, I noticed she was favoring her left leg. She tried to fluff it off, but finally said there was a small red spot near her ankle that was a little tender. She didn’t want to bother showing me, but promised to tell the nurse. By the time I got to my car to head back to work, I realized I didn’t trust that she would so I headed back inside to let the nurse know.

Couple of hours later, they called to see if I would come by to take her to the hospital to have a doppler ultrasound. They let me know she had an infection and had started her on antibiotics. (Sepsis and Cancer)

By the time we returned from the hospital, it was late so they brought a dinner tray to her room. After she finished eating, I had such a strong hesitation to leave but knew I needed to get home. I turned back to glance at Mom. She looked like a child as she sat on her bed with both pajama legs rolled up to her knees as if she had been playing outside and now had to get ready for bed. That gentle smile was still there. I pulled the covers up for her and made sure the nurse’s call button was next to her. “I love you, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was 5:42 AM that Wednesday morning when I got the call. The woman apologized for calling me so early. I couldn’t clearly pick up on what I was hearing “non-responsive” and “approval to transport.”

As I rushed to the hospital, I knew this had nothing to do with the cancer.

They walked me back to see her. The doctor seemed very concerned. He gently pulled back the sheet to let me see her leg. It did not look good—so much worse than it had looked the night before. Her platelet count was at around 14,000. I knew from donating blood that normal platelet counts were typically at least 200,000! The doctor also stated that when Mom arrived in the ER, her potassium and sugar levels had bottomed out. He was truly in awe that she was still alive.

It was sepsis. Her body was unable to fight it, and the infection was now running rampant through her body.

Mom was already on IV fluids, potassium, and antibiotics. To give her the best fight, the doctor decided to add dopamine intravenously. If this didn’t work, there was no plan B. We needed her blood pressure to increase and her heart rate to decrease.

As they moved her to ICU, it became a waiting game. My sister and I were there for the long haul. Angela stood close to Mom as I fired up my laptop to do some research — cellulitis, sepsis, dopamine. The infection on her leg potentially started as cellulitis, which probably began as a small crack in her skin near her ankle. This was most likely due to the swelling caused by the steroids she was taking to offset the impact of one of the tumors. Cellulitis led to sepsis. The odds of survival were harsh depending on the circumstances…..which became quite clear as the day became the night. (Sepsis and Cellulitis)

The rules of the game hadn’t changed, the game had changed. Her cancer was not even a thought at this point. Sepsis had stepped in quietly and had taken center stage.

At 8:50 pm on April 8, 2009, Mom silently slipped away at the age of 75.

Not only was she born in the month of September, but September is also Sepsis Awareness Month. I thought I should finally share Mom’s story.

Source: Lisa Anne Duda, daughter