MY WEEK OF HELL

An experience with the Superbug that I didn't even really believe in.

by Sarah Jane Christenson

So last week was wretched. My littlest girl, Esther, came down with strep. I felt disgusting as well, with fever, chills, aches, and a wicked sore throat. Home from work early one day, i vowed to make my homemade chicken soup, always a spot of comfort on a sick autumn afternoon. The danged chicken was frozen solid, however, and warm water wasn't doing the trick fast enough. I had succeeded in dislodging the meat from its wrappings, but that nasty absorbent-paper stuff was firmly clinging to the backside.
Leverage was needed. In my feverish and impatient state, I reached for the nearest implement i could find, and my hand laid upon one extra-large, razor-sharp santoku knife. Somewhere in the back of my head a tiny voice rang out, saying "All you need is leverage, one of those heavy IKEA butterknives would do- they're blunt..."
But i've never been one to listen to that little voice.

The Christenson family had a 2-for-1 that night at nearby Mercy Hospital- Esther with an elevated fever, myself with 3 stitches in my left thumb. We took home the usual faceless discharge papers, amoxicillin for the baby, and- the height of fashion- scratchy plastic hospital bracelets.
I may have taken one home one more little gift.

I am not blaming the local hospital. I am trying not to take into account the stories I've heard about infections, lax standards of cleanliness, or disaffected staff. I am not even going to start in on their archaic no-VBAC birthing policy, which forced my sister to have 3 cesarean sections over just 4 years. Hell, I was born there, centuries ago, and I'm still alive (I think), as are many of my family members.

I was discharged from the ER at about 9pm, Wednesday, November 7th. I took my sorry stitched self off to bed eventually and slept uneasily amidst the fever and growing sore throat. Must've caught Esther's strep, I told myself, I'll make a doctor's appointment in the morning.
There were, however, no appointments to be had, not for someone who has recently re-relocated to the area and has no family doctor yet. Earliest I could get in was December, and I'd either be dead or better by then. I was advised to make a trip to the after hours walk-in clinic. Thursday I trotted off to the clinic, now adding severe abdominal pain to my list of complaints. This pain was in my appendix area, and I was starting to panic just a little. I couldn't swallow anything that day, my throat had actually swollen shut. And it was more than a sore throat, the lymph nodes were enlarged and tender.
To make a long story short, i was sent home with basically nothing wrong with me. A rapid lab test showed no strep, and the lab culture 2 days later also showed a negative. A white blood cell count lab came back normal as well, effectively nixing my appendix idea. But i was still in pain, a lot of pain. Could the doctor tell me what it might be? The doctor who saw me that night only works Thursdays, if I liked I could come back in and see Dr. so-and-so. What, and wait around again only to be sent home? No thank you. Could they give me something for the pain, then? I can barely talk. Oh, it's just pain meds you want, we'll call in a scrip. (implying that i should've gotten right to the point and had them quench my opiate addiction from the beginning?)
"These are not the pains you think you have..."

Tramadol is a painkiller that works, i suppose, rather like vicodin. It tells the central nervous system that no, you're not experiencing the pain you think you're experiencing. Kind of like a Jedi mind trick if you ask me. Well, i don't know what the heck Tramadol told my central nervous system, but on Sunday, let's just say my body rebelled and chucked it all back at me. And then some.

So after a fun weekend of vomiting, shivering, and generally being miserable, I cleaned myself up as best as I could and stumbled off to work on Monday. I was frustrated at being sick on the painkillers, i was frustrated that no one cared enough to help me get better, and to add insult to injury, I was breaking out. I have struggled with cystic acne since teenagehood, always hoping and praying that it would just go away, but it is always there, a humbling reminder of my hormonal imbalance. This time was worse than usual, though. Not only were there half a dozen of the painful blemishes, the one to the right of my right eye was hot, hard, wicked painful, and growing. This is how I normally look, more or less:By Wednesday night, i looked like this:Scary, huh? Apart from everyday ugliness, you can see the disfigurement start. It's hard to see from the crappy PhotoBooth shot, but there was a line of black running from the center of the thing, down under my skin to the sensitive eye area. This was no ordinary zit, my husband assured me. It was an infection, and it was spreading fast. I screamed inside at having to visit the ER again, twice in one week, but the pain was creeping around my head by now and overrode my social ilk.
At the ER, the first thing the nurse asked me, after looking at it, was: "Has anyone you know been diagnosed with MRSA lately?"
I just stared. You know how when you first hear a word, you mentally associate it with a spelling? I visualized merceh, for some idiot reason. Having been nerd enough to bring my laptop with me, I hopped on the Mercy wifi to look it up while I waited to be seen by a doctor.
By the time the young Phys Assist got to my room, i was pretty scared.
MRSA is a penicillin-resistant, super-nasty staph infection, basically. I really don't know where i picked it up- from the nail salon (my one beauty weakness!), the hospital, the clinic, or even my own dear grubby-fingered children. Mayo clinic says it os most often acquired from health personnel. I will always wonder, but MRSA preys on a weakened immune system and enters through broken skin. I had the weakened immune system to be sure. Of course, i know none of you, perfect people, obsessively mess with your face, but i do. I do it all the time, to be frank. I hate it, i have tried to break this habit for over seventeen years, with no result. Someday i'll find a pill or a shrink that will help, but for now i just berate myself for it. And suffer life-threatening infections. I honestly hope this will have cured it for me, but who knows.

They started me on heavy antibiotics and sent me home. By 5am Thursday the swelling was worse, but they had said to wait it out a few hours before doing anything. I wish i had a picture of myself by Thursday afternoon, but it would probably just fry your computer screen from sheer ugliness. I could only see out of my left eye because my right one had disappeared behind a swollen, unrecognizable mass of flesh. Eyelashes weren't even visible. My oldest daughter couldn't bear to look at me, i was in unbearable pain, and i was terrified. My eyes are my livelihood, having only one is not an option. With no depth perception i was dropping things and bumping into walls. Trying to carve delicate shapes in wax would be near impossible.
"Wash your hands more often." the ER nurse had told me. Nice thing to do to an already OCD person, give them one more worry. Germs have never been my preoccupation, but they're now above that 'going-to-drive-into-oncoming-traffic' phobia i have. I already wash my hands, lady, much more than most people. You see, when i work, i cannot have body oil on my hands because it affects the wax. So 20 times a day i am in the bathroom, soap and all that...

Anyhow.
Back at the ER (now my local hangout!) i recounted my miseries to the cheerful male nurse, who led me back to an exam room. The Phys Asst who had helped me the night before jumped when he saw how much worse it had become, but was quick to reassure me that they would take care of everything.
Four hours, 1 CT scan, and 2 extra courses of booster antibiotics later, i was again sent home. They did the CT scan to determine whether or not the infection had settled in behind my eye, which would be bad. I might have to wear a titanium-plated banana comb on my eyes, like Geordi. Maybe my husband would never look at me with love in his eyes again, maybe my children would be repulsed forever!

Here is how i looked yesterday, Friday the 16th. There's an eye in there somewhere!
Better or not? You be the judge. Either way it's scary. We had to sanitize everything in the house. Thank the Good Lord, i have recently acquired an LG Tromm set of washer/dryer, and it has an extra hot/very cold sanitize setting. So anything i may have touched or oozed on has been cleaned.
Today is Saturday and the swelling going down even more. My eye is now fully usuable, although seeping something icky. The skin all around the eye is red, peeling, broken, and highly irritated from being messed with in such an unstately manner. The swelling (like the doctors said it would) is sliding down my face, leaving me with one chipmunk cheek and a slightly fat lip. The abscess feels like it is filling back up, getting hot and hard again. I do NOT want to go back to the ER, but it is the weekend and i doubt as my randomly-assigned followup doc is in until Monday. My antibiotics make me sick to my stomach and cranky as all get out. My arms are bruised from the IVs and blood-drawing, and no one will even confirm my lab results over the phone. I refuse to go out in public until i look human. This is the current state of hideous:As you can see, not much better looking. I called the ER about it and a very rude nurse told me that I could come in (again!) or contact my followup doc. Click. I'll sleep on it tonight and see.
Meanwhile, a friendly reminder to wash your hands more often,
and stay away from hospitals.
They make you sick.

DEC 2,
UPDATE!!! THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE FINALLY CALLED AND KINDLY INFORMED ME THAT I ONLY HAD STREP. IN MY FRIGGIN' FACE. NO WORRIES. STILL OCCASIONALLY FATAL, BUT NOT nearly AS MUCH. NOT AS SCARY. WHAT A LETDOWN. And now if i get sick in the next year or two my system will be more drug resistant than it could have been BEFORE the extra courses of unnecessary antibiotics. Oh well. I'm alive, right? Right? back to my normal two-eyed self. Merry Christmas!!!!