Thinking I had a stomach flu, I went home. Over the next five days that “stomach flu” didn’t go away and the advice at that time was to rest and it will get better. Finally, after urging from my family, my husband drove me to Sunnybrook, thinking I likely only needed IV fluids.

That night, as my nausea was treated, I went to the bathroom and noticed blood. I called in the nurse who then called the doctor, and after checking, began to gently tell me that they could no longer find the heartbeat, and in that moment, was eight centimetres dilated.

That was an emotional rollercoaster. Within 20 minutes and with no epidural, I gave birth to my stillborn baby girl. I was heartbroken. My story doesn’t end here though, as my vitals were dropping, and I suddenly found myself being rolled into an operating room, sedated and confused. My heart stopped twice, was resuscitated twice and was on three different blood pressure medications just so I could have a pulse.

I woke up six days later, after learning I was in a medically induced coma and in the intensive care unit. Turns out, I didn’t have the stomach flu, I had necrotizing fasciitis. The condition targeted my stomach and caused toxic shock. General surgery removed my entire stomach as it was completely blackened. Dead. The only way to save the rest of my organs was to remove it and figure out the best course of action.

Three other surgeries later, within the span of six days, the decision was made to staple my esophagus and my intestines shut and do corrective surgery in the future when I become stabilized.

Since my digestive system was not intact, I had two tubes coming out of my stomach, one of which was a feeding tube. Since I was not stable, I couldn’t have the reconstruction surgery right away, and lived like this for 14 months. This timeframe was the most torturous time of my life and one that I wish no one ever endures. It was in this time that I did not eat a single thing. The feeding tube nourished me with 3,000 calories a day through a machine.

But life doesn’t stop. Thanksgiving meals don’t stop. Weddings happen. I had to continue to be a mom, and prepare meals for my family, and then sit at the dinner table watching them eat, when I could not eat. Just the smell of sautéed onions smelled so good, sometimes I had to go to the bedroom just so I wouldn’t have to smell the yummy dinner. You don’t notice how many food commercials are on TV until you can’t eat what they’re advertising. It was within this timeframe that I experienced depression and suicidal thoughts, was addicted to opioids, on a ton of medication, and was in and out of Sunnybrook’s Emergency Department for a variety of issues with the unanswered question of “why me?”

The day finally came when the team of doctors performed my reconstruction surgery. This involved attaching my small intestine to my esophagus (stomach transplants are not a thing). I experienced a huge sigh of relief when they did the ‘leak test’ to see if the connection was sealed.

Seven years later, this experience has taught me major life lessons like resilience, gratefulness, thankfulness and spirituality. I have a completely different viewpoint on life altogether. I am now a self-proclaimed foodie and enjoy eating with a different lens. I learned that the joys in life revolve around surrounding yourself with people you love and to share a meal together.

I learned that my case was a once in a lifetime “career case” for the team of surgeons, with the odds of someone getting this was one in ten million people. And the people that get this don’t survive. But I survived. I had an anesthesiologist come to my room saying “I heard a rumour you were alive and I wanted to confirm.” I was famous at Sunnybrook, anytime I went into the Emergency Department, someone was bound to say “Oh, that story was you?”

The surgery team at Sunnybrook is absolutely incredible and their skilled team gave me my life back to what it was, albeit some changes. Everyone that I and my family encountered was professional, delightful and empathetic. I want to thank all the doctor teams, nurses, porters, and administrators who provided excellent patient care. I no longer experience depression, PTSD, and my body works as it should.

I’m forever grateful. Thank you.

Note: If you or a family member have experienced a pregnancy or infant loss and live in Ontario, please consider seeking support through the Pregnancy and Infant Loss (PAIL) Network.

The post My condition happens to one in 10 million – Now I have a completely different viewpoint on life appeared first on Your Health Matters.

Trevor Levine, centre, with his children Josh, Sara, Avery and Jack

On the Friday of the Victoria Day long weekend two years ago, Trevor Levine developed a fever. Excruciating pain in his right thigh followed soon after.

By the time he went to the emergency room at his local hospital three days later, things had gone from bad to worse.

“I needed a wheelchair to get to the ER, my lips were blue as the nurse was triaging me and my oxygen level was in the low 80’s. I even lost consciousness as I was moved from the wheelchair to the examination table,” he says.

After blood tests, antibiotics, a lumbar puncture and a CT scan on his leg, he was diagnosed with necrotizing fasciitis, a rare condition commonly referred to as flesh-eating disease.

Trevor woke up in the intensive care unit (ICU) two days later to learn that a large amount of dead tissue had been surgically removed from his leg, leaving him with an opening “almost the size of a keyboard” on his inner thigh.

Nevertheless, within a few weeks Trevor seemed to be on the road to recovery, even walking around the unit and starting to go up some stairs.

But then the fever returned. Trevor went into septic shock again and was sent back to the ICU. His wife Carrie, a registered nurse at Sunnybrook, knew that the best place for Trevor was the Ross Tilley Burn Centre at Sunnybrook, and he was transferred there soon after.

“What had been missing from my care was a long-term wound management plan and being in a place with incredibly rigorous infection control practices. Sunnybrook’s Burn Centre has a lot of experience with both,” Trevor says.

Once he arrived at Sunnybrook, he knew he was in good hands. After five more surgeries and several weeks as an in-patient, Trevor’s leg was finally healing well, and he was discharged home.

He became an outpatient at Sunnybrook’s St. John’s Rehab, working on strengthening his body in twice-weekly occupational therapy and physiotherapy sessions. After spending a good chunk of the summer in the hospital, “I could hardly walk four houses down the street,” Trevor says.

Five months after his initial emergency room visit, Trevor returned to work as a risk management and process improvement consultant. He feels very fortunate to have regained full use of his leg.

“I’m lucky that the infection was caught early, and I’m grateful everything turned out the way it did, because it easily could have gone the other way,” he says.

“I think it was a lot harder on my family than it was on me, but I never felt scared because I trusted the process.”

He also can’t say enough about the “fantastic” culture in the Ross Tilley Burn Centre.

“The staff really have an ‘all hands on deck’ mentality. They take their jobs seriously, but they don’t take themselves too seriously, and that made a huge difference in my recovery,” he says.

“It really felt like I was being taken care of by family.”

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