Bianca A.

In August of last year, I began to experience the typical symptoms of a urinary tract infection. As a physician assistant by trade, I felt I should do my due diligence to nip this in the bud. I went to my PCP as soon as I could for a urine sample (which was abnormal), culture, and first-line antibiotic. Two days later, my symptoms had gotten worse, and I felt a bit “off” and feverish. I did not have a true fever, so I called the office. They sent in a broader antibiotic and warned me to go to the ER if I spiked a fever or had any other concerning symptoms. (Sepsis and Urinary Tract Infections)

My parents were moving my brother into college and were going to pick up the medication within a few hours when it was ready. I wasn’t feeling great and thought nothing of waiting a few hours, but I texted friends in case. Before I even got to pick up the medication or find someone who could during weekday work hours, I began to feel unsettled, nauseous, shaky, and my heart felt like it was racing. I thought I had just been anxious, but I went to check my temperature, and I developed a 101.3 fever. I called my neighbor, who was also in medicine, to check on me and drive me to the hospital or pharmacy– I knew it’d probably be the former.

I went upstairs to use the restroom but felt very dizzy, so I went to lay on the floor. Suddenly, I couldn’t get up; I felt lightheaded, and I could tell I was breathing pretty fast. My neighbor rushed me to the ER, and in triage, my blood pressure was low, my heart rate was in the high 150s, and I had vomited multiple times. I suddenly became pretty “popular” in that emergency department. I was taken back quickly and had tons of imaging and tests done to rule out sources other than the known UTI. My lactate and C-reactive protein were high, my kidney function had decreased, and my CT scan showed cystitis (bladder infection) and colitis (colon infection). I received multiple IV antibiotics, fluid boluses, and medications to calm me down, as I have never feared for my life like I did that night, knowing what I knew and that my fears were true— I was septic.

The “S” word — that “S” word hit me when the internal medicine doctor came down to admit me and explain my diagnosis, even though I suspected that’s what was happening. He said it likely originated from the UTI, but he planned to obtain further tests to discern why I had colitis as well and get me on broader antibiotics. I was admitted to the IMC (intermediate care unit), where patients who are septic but do not meet the criteria for ICU care go. Thankfully, I was not in septic shock, but with how quickly I became pretty ill within hours, it hit me that I could’ve gotten much worse very fast, and I was “lucky” in the sense that it didn’t get that far. However, it made me come to terms with the fragility of my own life and gave me an entirely new perspective on the other side of the hospital bed. I made a vow to myself to never take my good health for granted again. I was in the hospital for 3 days. I was grateful for so many people: the ER doctor who quickly recognized and treated this as sepsis, the hospitalist team who got me better in a few days before I luckily was able to be discharged home, the amazing IMC nurses who comforted me while I was terrified and tearful most of the time, and my parents who dropped everything that weekend to take shifts staying with me. I remember getting home and just crying and asking, “What just happened?”

For months, I was incredibly anxious about having another UTI, going into sepsis from another cause, or getting sick in general. I had even been dismissed by other providers about why I was so shaken up, which was gutting to me. I felt like I was crazy. Eventually, that subsided a bit, and physically, I am lucky to be doing well, but mentally, I still deal with quite a bit of anxiety about my health. When I sit with how my situation could have ended up, I get rattled, but at the same time, I feel lucky to be here. I wanted to share my story to spread awareness because, unfortunately, not everyone is as lucky, whether it’s suffering from long-term consequences, losing limbs, or losing their lives. Sepsis takes at least 350,000 American lives each year, and I hope one day that, with greater recognition, those numbers eventually approach zero.

Now, months later, I am working as a physician assistant in a pediatric hospital. I moved to the city and am enjoying my new home and my hobbies: reading, watercolor painting, writing, cooking, and hanging out with my friends. I am so grateful to be alive and well, and practicing my calling. My experience as a patient has driven home to me how my interactions with patients and their families, no matter how small, may stick with them for the rest of their lives. Mine did— I still think about my medical team, and I always keep in mind the weight of my words when disclosing diagnoses that may be the worst news of anyone’s day, especially because I have now experienced that myself. I am eternally grateful to my medical team, family, and friends for their support.