In late March of 2016, I had an endometrial ablation to stop my menstrual bleeding. I had been bleeding for weeks at a time, with little relief. I bought maxi pads by the shopping cart load. It was affecting everything in my life, and I was exhausted.

The apartment complex had a little gym, so I was trying to keep up some physical activity and made time to jog on the treadmill for a half hour every day. I had quit smoking and was in good health. At the end of April, I went in for my one-month aftercare checkup. I explained that my body was still very tired, even with the no bleeding. Also, I was sore everywhere, even in my bones and teeth, for no apparent reason. I implored the doctor to explore further. She did a test, and sent me home telling me that it was fine, and I should feel better soon. I cracked open a beer at 10 am that morning. My partner at the time inquired, and I just defeatedly explained how I still did not feel right.

On May 2, 2016, I dropped my two kids at their high school, about fifteen minutes away from my apartment, and went back home. I had breakfast, vacuumed the apartment, and headed into the bathroom for a shower. Still feeling quite achy, I turned the heat on higher than I usually do. Once in the shower, I started to shiver and shake. I was freezing! I finished my shower and got out. Walking to get my phone in the living room, I was now having full body shakes so bad I could barely dial “911”.

About five minutes later the ambulance arrived, by this time I was vomiting and shaking uncontrollably. They could not even get an IV into my arm, and I got sick on the first responder as we headed into the elevator. They asked me where I’d like to go, and the choice was Southdale Hospital. I had been there before and was not impressed, so I asked them to take me to Waconia Hospital.

The ride was long and windy. I remember feeling like I should have a seatbelt on. Riding in the back of the ambulance felt like I was in the back of a truck going down a country road. We got to the hospital, and I was admitted to the ICU. They had to put in a ‘pic line’ to get fluids into me. My organs were shutting down. My blood pressure was 192, and my heartbeat was at 150. I was dying.

They did not know what was causing my body to go into septic shock. I was pumped with 12 bags of saline and gained 40 pounds overnight. They tested my blood every hour and had specialists come in to try and figure out what was going on. I was hooked up to six machines, three for each arm, and given an extraordinarily strong sedative and pain reliever.
They stabilized me, but I was still remarkably close to dying. They brought in the priest and let my kids, my ex-partner, my friends, and others visit me. All the doctors that came in said the same thing: “You are a very sick young woman.”

I kept thinking about Morris E. Goodman in the movie “The Secret.” How he just kept breathing and working on himself while in the hospital. I decided at once I was going to do the same.

What I did not know at the time they were processing me for sepsis was that my chances of living were less than 10%. Waconia Hospital just so happens to have been one of only three hospitals in the nation to specialize in sepsis! That choice in the ambulance worked in my favor!

Now, feeling more stable but still extremely sick, they pumped me full of antibiotics. My oxygen levels refused to come up to acceptable levels. The doctors were stymied but kept persisting. Having the pic line put in had created a blood clot in my left arm, so once my body started reacting to treatments, my left hand turned purple. Like Veruca Salt purple! It was scary to watch it spread across my hand from my pinky to my index finger in a span of a few hours.

I did not know how sick I was, but I was certain I was leaving that hospital. I told the doctors to do what they had to do, and I would never complain. As the doctors came in to treat me for my blood clot (DVT), I remembered to be positive and believed I was walking out of the hospital. I envisioned myself walking to the car and walking out of the hospital while they did the following to keep me alive:

1) They gave me an emergency thoracentesis because my lungs had taken on too much water while they were pumping in the saline to treat the sepsis

2) They did a CT-guided abdominal aspiration for multiple pockets of bacteria in my cervix, uterus, and abdomen.

3) Three Jackson Pratt drains were put in through my abdomen to help the pockets of infection still in my body.

4) I had blood draws every few hours.

5) I got a large needle in my stomach for the blood clot dissolving medicine.

Every time they thought I was getting better, something else would pop up. I just kept my vision clear and focused on the fact that I was walking out.

Even walking a week later from the ICU to the other side of the floor to get into the elevator was a struggle, but I persisted. They moved me to the other floor, even though I was still unable to move much, and had many machines and medicines attached to me.

I did deep breathing for my lungs, and soon my lungs started to heal and cooperate. The drains and medicines were getting the infection out of my body. I was fighting with little sleep and whatever reserves I had left, emotionally and physically.

Two weeks later, with many procedures completed, I walked out of that hospital. Just like in my vision, I got up out of the wheelchair and walked the final few feet into the awaiting vehicle. That was not the end of my health journey. It still took me two years, two more surgeries, and some other complications that occurred later before I was finally and completely healthy. Those doctors, nurses, and the staff at Waconia Hospital did an amazing job. But I credit “The Secret” with the mental ability to persevere in those dark nights.

I found out that the sepsis had been brought on by the abdominal ablation. It hit an unseen pocket of infection in my uterus and caused me to slowly become septic. It is a miracle I am here today to write about this.

Thank you for sharing his story. The Secret helped save my life, even when my chances of living did not look good to anyone else,  outside of me, that is! Thank you, thank you, thank you!