The Christmas That Almost Wasn’t, After I Survived Septic Shock

There was a taste of fall in the air. The musty scent of leaves hung heavy as they crunched beneath our feet. October days were getting shorter. And the holidays were looming like shadows in the late afternoon sun. I regarded the soon-to-be festive season with an unsettling feeling of impending doom.

This was an autumn like no other. My husband Joe and I were headed to my outpatient physical therapy appointment. My legs were stick thin and I walked like a newborn fawn on wobbly, unsteady limbs. My weight had dropped to 115, and my hair was falling out. I lived an anxiety-riddled existence. Crying every day and waking up in a panic after a fitful sleep filled with horrendous nightmares.

Five months earlier, on May 22, 2021, my colon perforated from undiagnosed diverticulitis, a serious infection. I went into septic shock, my immune system’s dysfunctional way of fighting the infection, and my organs started to fail. Our world was rocked in an instant as I was flown by helicopter to shock trauma for emergency surgery in Baltimore. The doctors were doubtful I’d make it.

Surprisingly, I did. A large part of my colon was removed, and a temporary colostomy was placed by pulling a small piece of intestine through my abdominal wall to create a stoma to get rid of waste while my intestines healed. My colorectal surgeon, a brilliant physician with skillful hands, said she would reconnect everything by doing a colostomy reversal in December. The nurses marveled over my neatly stapled 10-inch incision that ran straight down my stomach and through my belly button. They said the stoma was “beautiful.” My surgeon had done amazing work, but I wasn’t sure about calling the stoma “beautiful.”

Jackie in shock trauma ICU after suffering from septic shock, 2021.

I spent over a month in the hospital and inpatient rehab. Only to be re-admitted again to drain a post-op infection shortly after I came home. I had to learn to walk again and brush my teeth. I had to adapt to the stoma. Sepsis left me drained and my muscles wasted away. I couldn’t pour a bowl of cereal and could barely sit up for more than 10 minutes at a time.

My nerves were shot. My family did everything they could to ease my mind, but they didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t even realize I was suffering from PTSD and post-sepsis syndrome, a condition that affects about 50% of survivors, but no one knows much about. We suffer in silence. My mind had been overtaken by irrational fears of just about everything. I was terrified to have bloodwork done or my vitals taken. I started to emotionally detach from life itself. I was tuning out, just like the blank screen on the TV that I would stare at for hours.

The holidays, and my next surgery, were fast approaching. I was so sure that I wouldn’t survive the reversal that I booked the surgery for December 8to be sure I didn’t miss my youngest daughter Alexis’s 21st birthday on the 5th. I wanted Alexis to enjoy that milestone, just in case I didn’t make it.

Alexis, my other daughter Elise, and my son Joey and his fiancé Colleen, assured me they would handle the holidays. Meanwhile, I had a calendar full of “must-dos.” A colonoscopy, to check if everything was okay inside for surgery. Iron infusions, tons of bloodwork, cardiology clearances, pulmonology clearances and a physical. This surgery was no walk in the park. It would take several hours and was very complex. I also have several chronic, disabling conditions, including Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos, POTS, Crohn’s disease and severe osteoporosis. I had a lot of pre-surgery boxes to check.

Come November, my husband suggested we go to a nearby lake and take walks as the afternoon sun was getting even lower in the sky. The leaves were really rustling now. The walks helped settle my mind a bit and strengthened my muscles for surgery. I continued with outpatient physical therapy. I was still very weak — and plagued by my mental demons of doom.

Thanksgiving arrived on a bright sunny November morning. Elise and Alexis helped their dad get everything ready. They made all the things — turkey, stuffing, potatoes and pie. Joey and Colleen brought more food and cookies. New memories were forming around me, just as savory as the meal. As we sat around the table, and the kids joked and laughed, I looked around intently and tried to take a mental snapshot and put the picture away in my heart. Just in case my fears came true.

Before Alexis left that weekend to go back to college, I gave her an early birthday present. A Pandora bracelet and a 21 charm, with her birthstone. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was convinced I’d never live to see her graduate, much less see her return home for Christmas break in a few weeks. I tried not to give away my fears, but I failed miserably.

Jackie and Alexis with Alexis’ 21st birthday charm bracelet, 2021

December rolled in with a crisp chill. I avoided listening to Christmas music. It was too wistful and sentimental, and it hurt my heart and a huge lump formed in my throat. Bing Crosby’s “You’re all I want for Christmas,” has always been a sore spot. My dad used to play it on the family stereo when I was little, and it makes me think of family who are no longer here. And now, I worried that it would be the last time I’d be here to hear holiday songs. Instead, I kept smooth jazz on the radio. Nice, neutral territory.

My nerves were fraught with tension and terror the morning of my surgery check-in at 5 a.m. in Baltimore at the same hospital. I almost escaped and ran out the front doors. My husband coaxed me back inside, and a registration staff member named Tatia came over and sat with me and held my hands. She gently prodded and asked what was wrong. I told her I was sure I was going to die in surgery. Tatia asked me about my kids, their careers and what had brought me there that morning. I gushed about my kids and then told her about the sepsis and my previous flirtation with death. She assured me I was very strong to have survived that, and I would survive this too. She came upstairs with us to the pre-op area and stayed until my surgeon arrived. It was like I had an angel looking out for me that morning.

When I woke up in the recovery room, the nurses gleefully announced that I had made it. I was on the other side! Just not “that” side. I was still on this planet, much to my surprise. I peeked under the covers at the small white bandage on the left side of my stomach where my stoma used to be. My surgeon said the takedown was a success, although it took a few days for everything to start working again. I spent eight days in the hospital, walking in the halls dragging my IV pole. Joe filmed my progress for Instagram. One of my nurses fashioned a makeshift sparkly pipe cleaner into a Christmas ornament and attached it to my IV pole. It was the most beautiful decoration I’d ever seen.

Jackie and her kids, Christmas 2021

The day after I came home, our son drove to Pittsburgh to bring Alexis home for break. The girls had insisted on waiting till I came home to decorate the tree. I was still frail and weak. But I was able to lie on the couch and watch them hang ornaments while playing the Christmas song guessing game with their dad. Alexis put on classic Christmas carols (the really old ones), and when the first few seconds of the song began, she’d ask her dad to name the artist. They had played this game for years.

My husband helped make a few purchases online, so we’d have something for the kids on Christmas morning. Elise had purchased a Fitbit way back in September so I could keep track of my steps as I continued my recovery. She always was more certain of my survival than I was. Joey and Colleen bought me a Wii Fit so I could workout at home on my off days from physical therapy. Alexis made the best meal, and it felt like we opened a new chapter. Waves of emotion erupted as I opened the gifts. I really didn’t need the gifts; my family was all I needed. It felt surreal. To still be alive. Like a dream. Our Christmas dream. And it was all I ever wanted that Christmas.

Resources

The Sepsis Alliance

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