Stephen Thomas Slight
On Monday June 20, 2016, our seemingly healthy and active 24-year-old son, Stephen, called to tell us he was coming home early from work that day because he had a case of what he thought might be food poisoning. He had been vomiting all night and, though he thought he might try going to work, was thinking he’d better go back home. He and his fiancée lived on their own nearby and he would usually check in with us daily.
We had celebrated Father’s Day the day before by going to the Padres game, which involved plenty of rich food and a couple of beers, and since Stephen had always had a bit of a sensitive stomach, I was not surprised he wasn’t feeling well. I thought a day of rest and some bland food would set him to rights, so I told him we loved him, to go home and rest, and let us know if he needed anything. However, when he was still vomiting on Tuesday, I told him he needed to check himself into the ER. I told him he was probably dehydrated and should see a doctor. Unfortunately, when his fiancée took him to the ER, the wait time was several hours and they did not consider his case to be an emergency. He eventually got frustrated with waiting in an over-crowded waiting room and decided to go home. But Wednesday morning, he called exhausted, frustrated, and in pain. This time, I took him myself to the Primary Care Clinic to be seen. They did run some basic blood work, but guessed that he must have flu symptoms, and so they gave him several units of IV fluids and some anti-nausea medication to relieve his symptoms. They suggested only clear fluids for the next few days and rest and sent him home. That was early afternoon Wednesday.
At 6pm, when I was headed to the airport to pick up Stephen’s uncle, he called to say he was feeling heaviness in his chest and having some difficulty breathing. He insisted that it was not bad enough to call 911, but I was nervous. I dropped my brother off and immediately headed to take Stephen back to the ER, taking my husband with me to help. By the time we arrived at the ER, Stephen was in too much pain and distress to walk in or even sit up, so it took both of us to maneuver him into a wheelchair and get him to the triage nurse. His heart was racing (tachycardic) and he was running a low grade fever, but they treated him as though he was a low priority.
We finally got him into an ER bay and they started to run tests (EKG, blood panel, sonogram, x-ray, etc.) and determined that his white blood count was very high as well as lactase. They drew blood cultures (to check for sepsis), started him on fluids, IV antibiotics, pain meds, and admitted him to the hospital (though it would be another 10 hours before he would finally get a room). Unfortunately, none of this was enough fast enough.
Since the time I brought him in on Wednesday, I watched as they pumped unit after unit of fluids into him while he inflated like a balloon and his resting heart rate rose from the 120s, to the 130s, to the 140s. And finally, on Friday afternoon, his heart gave out and stopped. He coded in my arms and I stood there helpless and watched as a team of the finest doctors, nurses, and cardiologists in the hospital tried desperately for an hour to revive him. At 5:31pm on June 24th, 2016, I lost my only son at the age of 24 due to “probable myopericarditis, right ventricular failure, sepsis”.
Stephen was in his prime, was engaged to be married, had a promising career, and his whole future ahead of him. He was bright, intelligent, witty, sensitive, and generous. He had radiant blue eyes, a smile that could light up a room, and an infectious laugh. He loved music, sports, being outdoors, good food and craft beer, good friends and family. He was our resident mechanic, engineer, computer technician, and carpenter all rolled into one. He is dearly missed by his mom and dad, his sister and brother-in-law, his fiancée, his soon-to-be in-laws, and all those who knew him. Though our lives are forever changed by the loss of him and words cannot express the emptiness that we feel, we will forever be grateful for the privilege of having him in our lives.
We cannot change what happened to Stephen, but if by sharing his story and raising awareness of sepsis, we can save someone else’s life, then we can give purpose to our future without him.
Source: Kamala Slight (Stephen's mother)
