Kim Schulz

In January of 2022, the pandemic was nearly past us. I was looking forward to working at the local nursing home without wearing a mask. We had begun cautiously lowering our masks for weekly staff meetings. Our nursing home was like many in the US; we had COVID-19 patients alongside others who came to us with severe bacterial infections, including chronic MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus) infections.

I was disappointed (but not surprised) to see the “plus sign” indicating I had COVID. Others on my team had already been sent home recently for having contracted the virus, but not before passing it to me. Had it not been for testing, I would have thought I only had a bad cold. I stayed home for the required 5 days of quarantine. I recovered quickly.

On the Tuesday after I completed quarantine, I was working again and felt healthy except for having a nagging “bruised “feeling on my left thigh. I brushed it off as possibly resulting from an injury sustained moving furniture over the weekend. The pain brought me to urgent care the next day. I was given the diagnosis of “bruising” but given an antibiotic in case this was an early infection.
The doctor said the area – no larger than the palm of my hand – didn’t look right.

I hesitated but began taking the antibiotic. By the next day, my leg was slightly swollen below the reddish bruise, but I went to work. I had missed too much time already. At the end of the day, the swelling had markedly increased. I could barely walk just 2 days after first noticing the pain. The next day was Friday. I couldn’t work and my leg was dramatically swollen. My wife was able to get another antibiotic in the hope that this would help manage my symptoms. I felt terrible and just wanted to go to bed. I didn’t have a fever, so I assumed I’d be okay.

Things were blurry after I lay down. Apparently, my wife decided to check my blood pressure to see if it was normal. After the machine read the numbers on the machine, she told me I was in clinical shock and that my blood pressure was just 70/30. She said she was going to call an ambulance. I vaguely remember being in the emergency department but don’t remember being resuscitated for profound shock. I was immediately admitted to the ICU. Because of COVID precautions, I couldn’t have family members to support me while in the hospital. I felt incredibly scared and vulnerable facing what became a life-threatening illness by myself.

I distinctly remember meeting the surgeon before the first of several surgeries I needed to clean out the flesh-eating infection in my thigh and lower leg. He asked me to sign a paper agreeing to surgery after which I could wake up without my left leg. I signed a paper saying that yes, they could remove my leg to save my life.

During the next three weeks in the ICU, I endured multiple rounds of antibiotics, several surgeries, painful wound vacuum procedures, severe antibiotic allergies, and many needle pokes. I clearly remember the needles because I am desperately afraid of them. I apparently had delirium in the ICU, which explains the playful rats I frequently saw roaming the room.

I learned later that I had an aggressive form of MRSA, likely contracted from my place of employment. (Sepsis and MRSA)
I barely survived my sepsis, kept all my limbs, and learned to walk unassisted after weeks of rehabilitation at home. I enjoy hiking but needed to overcome a new fear of having a tiny scratch in the woods becoming a lethal injury.
I have since learned that MRSA and similar bacteria are sneaky. Small areas of redness and warmth can quickly lead to overwhelming infections if left untreated.

It is hard for me to come to grips with the fact that my decision to “sleep it off” would likely have led to lethal results but I am happy to share my story so that others can avoid making the same mistake.