Polly Dines

October 15, 2015, is a date I will always remember. I thought I had a very bad case of the flu, so I called my doctor and was routed to the head nurse, Kristen. During our conversation, she said that I was “not modulating” normally. When I asked her what she meant she said that I seemed very confused. She then said she would call 911 to send an ambulance. Bless you, forever Kristen, I would have died if we hadn’t spoken because calling 911 never occurred to me.

The EMTs whisked me away to Swedish Edmonds where I was admitted to the ICU. Turns out a break in the skin on my stomach had become so infected that I had developed necrotizing fasciitis and toxic shock syndrome. (Sepsis and Necrotizing Fasciitis, Sepsis and Toxic Shock Syndrome)  My entire body was shutting down. Emergency surgery was performed to remove the dead tissue; I have a 13” scar on my stomach. A tracheotomy was performed, and I was put on a respirator. Just like Liz Taylor (RIP) I have a battle scar on my neck where the respirator was inserted. The doctors pumped massive amount of fluids and antibiotics into my system through many tubes.

I was in a coma at Swedish Edmonds for three weeks, was transferred to Kindred Hospital, and then finally transferred to Genesis Healthcare for rehab. That part of the “journey” lasted 7 months (the journey continues) and included dialysis (my kidneys had shut down, but are fine now), I coded twice (which required the paddles), had to learn to walk and transfer to chairs, and endured some really horrible meals at rehab.

I am so blessed because there were many people whose expertise kept me alive and helped my recovery. Doctors, occupational and physical Therapists, nurses, aides, friends and family [thank you cousin Lynn for your help; you are awesome]. And to my sister, Tracy, a huge shout out for being my front line advocate! I am one of the lucky ones – no amputations, no cognitive damage. I am in wheelchair at the moment and working to get out of it. I lost the sense of smell – too many tubes down the nose I think. And I am fighting PTSD, which is common for survivors. (Sepsis and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)

Of course, this is the very condensed version of what happened as it is hard to log every experience I had during those 7 months. There were a lot of tears, but also a lot of laughs. I could go on forever, but won’t, with this one exception. I met a woman in rehab named Louise, who was in the final stage of bowel cancer. She and I became very close and I never would have made it through rehab without her. Louise – thank you for all the laughs, for listening to me complain, for hanging out on the “beach” with me (which was a sidewalk outside the rehab building) in our wheelchairs and trying to get a tan, for all the teasing with Maurice and for sharing those special Philipino dishes you cajoled Manny into bringing for you. My heart broke the day you died – a month after I got home. I hope you knew I’d come to see you a few days before. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your funeral – I was so filled with the emotion of being home after 7 months and then losing you, I just couldn’t do it. I cried for weeks. I feel you around me now but wish you were still here. Love ya girl. Our time together was short and intense. The Universe gave me a gift when our paths crossed. Thank you!