Sepsis is life threatening…if concerned, seek advice immediately and ask #coulditbesepsis?
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On the 9th of January 2024, I delivered our beautiful healthy baby boy. Similarly to my previous births of my daughters 2 and 3 years prior it was a smooth one. Epidural, 6 hour labour and when it came to pushing he was out within two minutes. We were elated in our newborn bubble and were to stay in the hospital for the next four nights.
On the morning of the 13th of January, I had a shower and I was shivering and couldn’t get warm. I mentioned it to the nurses who said ‘it’ll most likely be your milk coming in’. I didn’t think too much about it and felt okay so didn’t worry. That afternoon my girls came to visit and we all gave their brother a bath together. Upon getting back to the room, the shivers started again. We called for a nurse who immediately was worried, checking my vitals and informing me that I most likely had an infection and I’d need antibiotics. An hour later I had a cannula in and was being administered with antibiotics. After that I felt well again, had some dinner and went to sleep. At 11pm I woke up again shaking, unable to control my breathing and had blood pressure that wasn’t right. It was then that I was told that I would be transferred to ICU and that I most likely had sepsis. My baby was taken to special care and I to ICU. My husband going backwards and forwards checking on us both.
In ICU I was put on antibiotics and unable to see my baby. I was too sick to breastfeed and didn’t really understand at the time how serious my condition really was. After lots of poking and prodding and testing, the following day I was informed that I had a strep A infection. I was isolated with nurses coming in, in blue plastic and my husband no longer able to visit. My only grace was they allowed me to keep my baby with me. Looking back now, it was hard to care for him as I was still recovering but I also did not want to be apart from my precious boy. I was so incredibly lucky that the ICU staff were so great. One nurse coming in for over an hour to give my baby cuddles when I couldn’t. Another midwife similarly coming down for a check in visit and helping me with the things I needed as a mum of a newborn.
Those nights were hard, me recovering, cannula’s in my way of breastfeeding and nappy changes and my milk not coming in as quickly as it should have. After 24 hours I was out of isolation but due to my temperature still spiking on and off I needed to stay in there another night. The next three days after that consisted of IV antibiotics in hospital and another week of oral antibiotics at home. My 4 day hospital stay turned into a week long one. My husband, 2 girls and newborn baby also had to have antibiotics as a preventative measure.
Prior to this I had never realised maternal sepsis was a thing to look out for. I had no idea I had Strep A nor where I contracted it from. The point of me sharing is awareness. If I had gone home the day after giving birth there is no way that I would have had as positive of an outcome. I would have brushed off the fever until it got worse and definitely wouldn’t have received the much needed medical attention that I did as quickly as I did. To this day, I consider myself so lucky that it was treated so quickly!
This story was written by Joel Davidson, Ollie’s Father.
On the 22nd day of April 2024, we sent our three sons, Kai (7), Ollie (5), and Harry (3), off to school and daycare like every normal day. The kids had a standard day; however, at around 5 p.m., Ollie developed a mild temp and complained of a sore tummy. After some Nurofen and a little rest, his temp went and never returned. However, he had a vomit after his dinner, so we figured Ollie had something viral. No other alarm bells went off in terms of his condition, so we all went off to bed.
Ollie slept through and woke up a bit tired but nothing out of the usual. We decided to keep him home from school as we are those parents that aren’t fans of sending sick kids to school. To be honest though, Ollie seemed to have recovered and was just a bit tired. A few hours went by, and I noticed Ollie having some nightmares. He was sleeping next to me and was having what some would describe as “fever dreams.” The part that was missing was the fever. No temp at all. Ollie was drinking and holding fluids down. But I started to get some suspicion with the nightmares. Ollie wasn’t that kid that had nightmares. This was my first parent sense that went off.
Shortly after the nightmares, I noticed his breathing was changing. He went from normal breaths to short, rapid breaths. Something deep down in my fatherly instincts clicked, and I began getting my things together and was about to start our drive to ED. The universe has a way of putting people right where they need to be. As I was walking out, my wife dropped home on her morning tea break, which isn’t normal. I must have had it written all over my face because as soon as she saw me, I could see her shock. I told her we are going to ED now and explained why.
Off we went to ED. In the space of 20 minutes, Ollie went from having a nightmare to rapid breathing. I knew it was bad but was thinking appendix, bad virus… was never thinking that he was going through septic shock and his organs were shutting down. As soon as I walked Ollie into ED, the nurses took one look at him, asked to see his tummy, and I could see purple blotches forming. This is when my heart sunk. That’s not normal, and the nurses’ urgency got me worried. Those unbelievable nurses knew, and they started the recovery of Ollie. I don’t know your names, but I will be forever grateful to you.
We then got rushed into the resus bay where we were met by trauma doctors and paeds. Things progressed very fast, and the chaos commenced. I work as a police officer and have commanded many sieges. The initial phase of gaining control of a dangerous situation is the most dangerous and the most critical. It’s the chaos phase. I could see the doctors and nurses working the chaos phase. They were absolute professionals, and I will always be in awe of them.
After a short time, Ollie was intubated to gain control of the infection, his breathing, and his organs. I stood with Ollie and held his hand during this phase. It is something that I hold extremely close to my heart. I was the last person he looked at before he was placed into a medical coma. He trusted me, and the meaning of being a dad made sense to me in that moment.
Once Ollie was intubated and things began to slow down, the real hero introduced herself to me – Dr Anna from PICU at the Townsville Base Hospital. She is our hero for many reasons, one being the person she is calm, collected, professional, and empathetic.
Dr Anna told me the condition of Ollie and advised he was suffering from septic shock, his blood was infected, and his organs were shutting down. Ollie was critically unstable, and his condition was life-threatening. Every minute counted. Every hour counted. And this is where “minute by minute, hour by hour” was created a saying I repeated to Ollie hourly during the next four weeks in hospital.
Ollie was transferred up to PICU after some scans. My wife collected our two other sons and returned to ED. This is where we learnt for the first time what sepsis was, how dangerous it is, and how it silently creeps in and takes over the human body, causing fatal damage.
Ollie was later stabilised after 48 hours of touch-and-go care. How he managed to survive blows my mind. But I have narrowed it down to two things:
1 – Ollie’s unwavering desire to survive for his family by his bed, and
2 – Dr Anna and the amazing nurses and doctors in the Townsville PICU. Again, our heroes.
Over these two days, my wife and I had some serious discussions with Dr Anna. Discussions I never imagined I’d ever have. But here we were. Dr Anna asked us about what sort of kid Ollie was. I won’t repeat exactly what I said because there was some “choice language” used to describe him. But I told Dr Anna he was a kid that would fight with everything he had, he won’t quit, and he will fight for his life for the simple fact that he wouldn’t want to let his mum, dad, or brothers down. I told Dr Anna to burn the ships- we are all in – and that if she holds hope and continues to treat, Ollie will continue to fight with her. I guess they were a team.
Ollie proved his point and fought like an absolute warrior. He managed to recover enough where there was a small window of stability. Dr Anna rolled the dice and advised we have a chance to transfer to a hospital with a few more resources. It was a no-brainer. We had to take a risk to get where we needed to be. Ollie and I were then transferred to Queensland Children’s Hospital by the RFDS.
We arrived late at night. In complete shock and with no sleep or nutrition in two days, I crashed on this flight. I’ll keep the details between myself and the RFDS/doctors on the plane, but I’m pretty sure I had someone do me a solid on making sure I could make it on that plane. I didn’t really give much of a choice, but they had my back.
The next four weeks in PICU at Brisbane Children’s Hospital were a rollercoaster. Periods of recovery and improvement, then periods of decline. Periods where death was knocking on the door.
Ollie suffered a kidney infection which then turned septic. As a result, his liver, kidneys, and lungs failed. But in walked Dr Nic. Another hero that I owe everything to. This man replicated every trait I saw in Dr Anna. I later found out they worked together for a long time. I wasn’t surprised, as it was very evident they rubbed off on each other.
We had some very direct, black-and-white chats. I told Dr Nic that I didn’t want fluff. Put it straight and send it. He kept his word.
Ollie was a fighter. The team in PICU could see it. As Ollie was recovering, things were improving – he woke up momentarily. His lungs were recovering, his liver showing great signs. Then guess who decided to show their face again… Sepsis. Ollie developed an infection on one of his lines, which again took over his body. This time he didn’t have room to take a step back. His little body was already beaten; this was not what he needed.
Ollie’s organs took another massive blow; this time it was irreparable. Ollie needed a liver transplant to survive; however, his condition was too unstable to survive the procedure.
Eventually, Ollie succumbed to his illness. Making the decision to cease treatment isn’t something we took lightly. But Ollie was a warrior, lived his life with spirit and enthusiasm. He was a spirited kid with a big heart and a desire to set the world on fire. It was my turn to take on his strength and make the decision – something I still have to manage to this day.
Ollie died peacefully in his mum and dad’s arms. We helped him pass on in comfort and love, surrounded by the best possible medical team. Doctors came in on days off to see Ollie out. True heroes who set the standard of good humans… exceptional humans.
Ollie’s spirit lives on. Myself and his mum – who is the strongest woman I know – will continue to share his story, share our experiences, and what we have learnt through an absolute tragedy and horrific nightmare.
Ollie, keep looking down buddy, this is all for you. We will do you proud, my boy.
In early 2023, I was recovering from a cold virus when our new 12-week-old puppy, Harriet the Harrier, accidentally scratched my left shin, leaving a 1 cm wound. Initially, I thought little of it. Within 48 hours, I began experiencing flu-like symptoms and gastrointestinal upset. I assumed it was a recurrence of the cold virus. I emailed work to say I was feeling unwell.
That same day, my condition deteriorated rapidly. As I had previously experienced severe infections, and what I would later come to realise was sepsis, I was aware of the feeling of deterioration associated with this. I became cognitively impaired, struggled to stay awake, lost control of my bowels, and found it difficult to breathe. I waited for my partner, who was undergoing cancer treatment, to finish her oncology appointment before heading to the hospital.
By the time we arrived at the emergency department, I was barely conscious, my legs were tingling and numb, and I could barely walk. The 300–400 metre walk from the car to triage required multiple rest stops. Upon arrival, I was immediately triaged and placed on the sepsis pathway. The leg scratch was identified as the likely source of infection.
The emergency department quickly identified the seriousness of my condition, and I was transferred to the ICU at Ballarat Base Hospital. What unfolded over the next few days was a battle for survival.
I was transferred to the ICU at Ballarat Base Hospital within hours of admission through the emergency department. Over the next 24 hours, my vital signs crashed. Despite antibiotic treatment for my Group A Streptococcus (GAS) infection, there was no improvement. My partner and ex-wife were informed of my deteriorating condition.
I have little recollection of the 24 hours between triage and surgery. My mental state was impaired, and I was not making clear decisions. Doctors told me my life was in danger, antibiotics were not improving my condition and I was in danger of organ failure. I consented to surgical and medical interventions and was taken to theatre. I was intubated while conscious. Though I knew I was dying, I felt calm.
In theatre, doctors made a 10–12 cm relief cut down my left shin. I was placed in an induced coma with organ support. The coma lasted four days. Although this coma was a difficult and traumatic time for my family and my partner Kathrine, it was the easiest time for me. Had I died, I would not have known, and I would not have had to experience the most harrowing aspects of my illness. During this time, my family was told I had less than a 5% chance of survival. Family members travelled from across Australia to say goodbye.
In the ICU, up to 15 medical professionals at a time worked simultaneously to keep me alive. Doctors later told me that I received a magnitude more noradrenaline than any previous patient in the ICU. Vasoconstrictors were administered, and doctors raised fears of their effects on my extremities, including the potential for necessary amputation. During my ICU stay, I suffered internal bleeding caused by noradrenaline and required stomach surgery two weeks after emerging from the coma.
During this time, my organs failed. I had a heart attack from the associated stress. My liver, kidneys, lungs, brain, everything had ceased to function. Doctors supported my organs with machines, they attempted to feed me with tubes but resorted to putting nutrients directly into my circulatory system. Machines breathed for me, filtered my blood, and maintained my vital signs.
Despite all this, and as a result of the brilliant medical professionals, I survived. Upon waking, I was confused and repeatedly said, ‘just razzle dazzle them.’ I recalled thoughts before or during the coma that I would tell people, ‘everything was beautiful and nothing hurt’ a quote from Kurt Vonnegut.
Emerging from the coma was not the end of my ordeal. The days that followed were marked by intense psychological distress and confusion.
Over the next week, I experienced severe delirium, including visual and auditory hallucinations. These included imagined violence, conspiracies, and threats. These hallucinations became the basis for nightmares and trauma responses for months.
Some examples of the hallucinations I experienced include; believing that my family and friends were being harmed, that the military were attacking the hospital, that the nurses were involved in a conspiracy, and that there were other rooms with violent patients. I also consistently saw sparkles, morphing of physical objects, believed I could see through walls, and other visual disturbances. One of the most impactful hallucinations over the long term were auditory hallucinations that integrated the hospital announcement alarm, as this sound became a trigger for traumatic responses in subsequent hospital visits.
During delirium, I misdiagnosed myself with ADHD and requested a psychiatric consult. This was in part the result of my expertise in psychology interacting with my distorted beliefs resulting from delirium. The attending psychiatrist failed to recognize my delirium and instead questioned me about unrelated personal matters. She told me that she could not diagnose ADHD in critical care, and then incorrectly recorded that I was seeking drugs of dependence. She made no record of me experiencing delirium and recommended no interventions to improve this.
Despite the pain and fear, there were moments of comfort and support that helped me endure. Kathrine, my partner, was my anchor throughout this time.
My time in ICU was the most painful, distressing, and frightening period of my life. My partner, Kathrine, was a constant source of love and support. She read to me, soothed me, and put her life on hold to care for me.
Basic tasks like walking, lifting my hand, or brushing my teeth were monumental challenges. My skin peeled from my entire body, my hands cracked and bled, and my hair fell out. A nurse who also owned a sheep farm shaved my hair and beard at my request, they were full of dead skin. We sat in the bathroom, blunt clippers in hand, and slowly chunked through my long thick skin filled hair and beard. Once we were done, I was unrecognizable and my relief was immediate. I then showered for the first time in weeks, although this was a struggle, the feeling of water rinsing over me was one of pure relief.
The ICU staff at Ballarat Base were exceptional—skilled, compassionate, and emotionally supportive. They engaged me in my care and recovery. After my delirium subsided, I noticed posters about Post-ICU Syndrome and began discussing the psychological trauma of ICU with staff.
These conversations led to research collaborations. Collaborations that were formed while I was in my ICU bed and enacted after my recovery. I now have two PhD students working with Ballarat Base ICU, one looking at the psychological outcomes of the Critical Care experience and the other looking at psychological interventions to reduce post-traumatic stress in ICU survivors. Further, I have transitioned from being a psychology academic with a primary interest in psychological trauma, to medical research, focusing on sepsis, critical care, and the psychological trauma associated with experiencing these things.
Eventually, I was moved from the ICU to the general medical ward. Though I was no longer in immediate danger, the road to recovery was still long and uncertain.
After ICU, I was transferred to the general medical ward for another week. I received whole blood transfusions and antibiotics. I continued to receive blood transfusions until discharged. We chose not to allow my children to visit the ICU to protect them from trauma. However, they visited during my stay in the general ward. I was discharged on the night of my son’s birthday and was able to attend, despite my leg still dripping fluid. Kathrine had arranged a present for him and Easter gifts for the children.
Leaving the hospital marked the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with both gratitude and immense physical and emotional challenges.
After being discharged from the hospital, I was placed into the Hospital at Home care program. Each day at home felt like both a blessing and a complete struggle. Simple tasks, such as walking across the lounge room, felt like running a marathon.
Following the Hospital at Home program, I transitioned into outpatient care. Navigating the outpatient system proved to be extremely difficult. Appointments were scheduled without consultation, often at seemingly random times and without clear explanations. I was referred for scans, consultations with various specialists, blood tests, sessions with exercise physiologists, nerve conduction studies, and orthotic fittings—all conducted onsite at the hospital or outpatient clinic.
My exercise physiologist was the only person who provided any insight into the purpose of these appointments and the reasons behind the referrals. This confusing and fragmented process continued for over six months. It would likely have been overwhelming for someone without a flexible job, a strong understanding of the medical system, or robust social and family support.
Recovery was slow and arduous. It took six months before I could walk down the street. After that milestone, I began attending the gym and pool regularly. I also underwent another heart surgery and gradually began to regain some physical function.
However, ongoing issues with nerve damage meant that for over six months, I required support to walk. For approximately one year, I relied on specialist equipment to assist with mobility. Even two years later, I continue to experience nerve pain, numbness, and limited control of my ankles and feet.
Despite these challenges, I have made significant progress. Two years on, I have lost 100 kilograms, exercise daily, and maintain a healthy diet. All of my organs have returned to normal function. I am now engaged to Kathrine, and together we cherish our life, our children, and our new role as foster parents, helping to provide a good life for another child in need.
I had sepsis in March this year. I contracted a UTI while on a cruise ship. The only symptoms I experienced were hot and cold shivers, a loss of appetite, and weight loss. Stupidly, I left it untreated for 10 days. By the time I was rushed to Logan Hospital, my organs had already started to shut down.
I’m also diabetic, so that added another layer of complication. The infection spread from my bladder to my left kidney and then into my bloodstream. I was severely anaemic and required two blood transfusions. I was given lots of antibiotics and spent 10 days in hospital. I lost 12kg, felt constantly fatigued, dizzy, and completely exhausted.
Three months on, I’m doing better. My sense of taste has changed — things I used to enjoy now taste different or are no longer appealing. I haven’t regained any of the weight I lost and I’m eating less. Walking long distances is still a challenge; it feels like I’m being dragged backwards. I’ve lost a lot of muscle mass, so I’ve started aqua aerobics to build up strength again. My doctor told me I need a high-protein diet.
My GP saved my life. He took one look at me and immediately called an ambulance. Because I didn’t have the usual UTI symptoms, I had no idea how sick I really was. The infectious diseases team at Logan Hospital also saved my life — I can’t thank them enough.
My advice to anyone: if you’re feeling even slightly off, go and see your doctor. Even if it seems minor. And ask…’Could it be Sepsis?’
I am a mother of two to Flynn and Sophie and wife to Malcolm. At 34 years of age in early December 2023 my life took a drastic turn. After seeing a doctor a week earlier form suffering from a very sore throat and lost voice with no other symptoms, I was told I just had a virus. At this point it didn’t cross my mind to push further to ask for a throat swab to confirm if it was viral or bacterial. I rested and my voice did start returning to normal a few days later, so I thought I must be getting better. I woke up on the Friday morning 8th Dec with severe neck pain which was not like anything I had experience before. I took some paracetamol and ibuprofen and carried on with my day working, thinking I must have slept funny and I will be fine, but that evening I started feeling confused, dizzy, nauseous and started vomiting. I knew something was seriously wrong, so my husband raced me to hospital.
The next 24 hours were a bit of a blur. None of the medical staff could understand why I was going downhill so fast. It didn’t cross my mind to ask ‘could it be Sepsis?’ but they knew as I was admitted straight away upon arrival at emergency as I was vomiting, lethargic, had diarrhea and my heart rate was all over the place. After having a CT scan they could see there was something going on in my neck, but would need to operate to know exactly what was going on. I was transferred from Casey to Dandenong hospital the next morning where the plastics team were making plans to operate. After seeing the ENT team, we were told it could be necrotizing fasciitis. A deadly flesh-eating disease, as in the 6 hours between the first and second CT scan they could see it spreading in my neck. The pain in my neck was getting worse and I had never felt so hot, thirsty and dizzy in my life. As I was being admitted to ICU I went into septic shock. Nearly going into cardiac arrest twice. I was losing consciousness and fighting to keep breathing and keep my eyes open. I was pumped with the highest dose of adrenalin to keep my heart beating. They were able to stabilize me for surgery that evening. I told my family I love them, I had never felt more scared but was keen to move quickly with surgery as I was struggling. I went into surgery around 10pm and it lasted 4 hours. I was placed in an induced coma on a ventilator. The medical team told my family that it didn’t look like necrotizing fasciitis, and they removed two dead lymph nodes and drained turbid fluid that was pooling in my neck and also removed some soft tissues to send off for testing. My family were told they didn’t know what the next 24 hours would hold and that at that time, they had done everything they could for me, so just had to wait out the night on the highest doses of everything and even 8 different antibiotics.
The lab results came back which showed the throat infection I had was actually an invasive Group A Strep bacteria (iGAS) a serious Streptococcus bacteria. A very rare thing had happened, as it somehow spread through soft tissue from my throat to tissue in my neck to my lymph nodes. Timing was so critical between life and death and being in ICU at the right time my life really was saved possibly just by hours or minutes. Slowly I started responding to the treatment and they knew exactly which antibiotic would fight this infection. Each day my family came in I was hooked up to one less thing. My body become so swollen with fluid over those three days in a coma and on the ventilator. After 3 days I was woken and taken off the ventilator. It is still hard for me to remember everything that happened as I was so groggy coming out of the coma, but it took a few days to learn how to swallow again, due to a side affect of the ventilator. My lung collapsed as well, another side affect to the ventilator. I had a blood clot and fluid around my heart. I spent the next two weeks in hospital trying to regain my energy to learn how to walk and eat. The infection took a long time to fight, remaining on the antibiotics drip every 4 hours for 2 weeks. The incision in my neck cut through many nerves, which meant I lost the ability in my right arm to move my arm higher than shoulder height and had no strength in it to even lift a cup of water to have a drink. I had the next 6 weeks off work trying to regain my energy, build up my immune system and practice swallowing eating and drinking. It did take months to get my energy back to my original levels. I spent the next 5-6 months in rehab regaining the movement and strength in my right arm and head movement turning and looking up and down.
My family played a huge role supporting me, encouraging me to eat and feeding me, showering me, reassuring me, working on my breathing and coughing to help my lungs and my physio exercises for my arm and neck. Whilst the scar remains and I still having no feeling under my chin, right side of my jaw and neck down to my collarbone, I can happily share that I have no long-lasting side effects or health concerns due to the ICU team responding when they did. I am a survivor and want others to be aware that something as simple as a sore throat normally will just be that. We will never know if a course of antibiotics initially would have prevented this happening, but a simple throat swab upon visiting the doctor in the first instance would have shown a bacterial infection and could have been treated. Know your body well and advocate for yourself. Just because a throat doesn’t show any signs of pus doesn’t mean it’s not bacterial. Don’t wait if you do see the signs of sepsis – muscle pain, confusion, nausea, rapid breathing, fever, rapid heart rate. Timing is critical and always ask could it be Sepsis?
Warning: Sensitive Content
My sepsis journey was the culmination of COVID isolation, missed opportunities, and a lack of awareness of early infection symptoms. As I write this in 2025, I reflect on my experience as one of survival—and a lifelong lesson in gratitude.
My story begins on New Year’s Eve, 2022. A small group of close friends and I gathered to celebrate the year that was, choosing a quiet evening over larger events due to a festive COVID spike on the Apple Isle. Unfortunately, that evening of shared margaritas also meant sharing COVID-19. Within days, we were all testing positive and entering isolation.
Living alone at the time, I felt confident that I’d spend the isolation period enjoying my garden and tackling small projects around the house (there was banana bread to be made, after all!). I experienced a wonderful sense of camaraderie among my friends—we checked in daily, shared symptoms, and supported each other through recovery.
In Tasmania, self-isolation at the time lasted at least seven days and until symptoms eased. While my friends began to recover and re-enter the world, I wasn’t improving. Frustrated, I chalked it up to a slower recovery and blamed my body for not bouncing back. But my symptoms worsened: persistent high fever, extreme lethargy, and an inability to keep food or water down. A telehealth appointment attributed these symptoms to COVID-19.
It wasn’t until I began experiencing intense rigours, nausea and confusion that my doctor urged me to call an ambulance. I was deteriorating rapidly due to a UTI that had progressed to a kidney infection.
That first night in a private hospital, my symptoms went undiagnosed. I began hallucinating, and the fear of being isolated in hospital grew overwhelming. At nearly 30 years old, all I wanted was my parents by my side and some reassurance.
Thankfully, I was transferred to the Royal Hobart Hospital and placed under the care of the infectious diseases unit. Over the next few days, my condition worsened. I wasn’t responding to antibiotics, and my case became increasingly severe.
Due to COVID restrictions, I wasn’t allowed visitors. Medical staff entered my room in full PPE. I was deeply frightened. My thoughts turned to the possibility of not being able to say goodbye to my loved ones.
When I had the ability, I began writing messages to family and friends. They started as full paragraphs, then dwindled to a few words, and finally: “I love you.” I’m so grateful those messages were never received.
It’s hard to describe what came next. As I was falling in and out of consciousness, I felt like I was on the edge—aware that I had fight in me, but no strength to act. I was on my third antibiotic treatment, clinging to belief that my body might respond. Just after my family was told to prepare for the worst, the medical team began to see small signs of improvement.
Thanks to the skill and dedication of the medical professionals who cared for me, I recovered. I know not everyone with sepsis is so fortunate, and I carry that awareness with deep gratitude.
I will continue to advocate for the vital work of Sepsis Australia. Because if just one person had asked earlier, “Could it be sepsis?”—my story might have unfolded differently. And oh!, I wouldn’t have missed one of my best friend’s weddings.
Life after Sepsis has been challenging, managing medical PTSD, cognitive challenges and a slow return to ‘normal’ life. However, there is a path to recovery, one that offers a renewed perspective, appreciation, and, of course, gratitude for all those working in and for the medical field.
To my nearest and dearest: thank you. You showed up for me in ways I didn’t even know I needed, and your support continues to carry me through the ongoing recovery of body and mind.
My experience with sepsis involves infertility and IVF. For anyone reading this who may be experiencing either of those, please understand that this story might be triggering but it does end well. For context, during this period of my life I had a three-year-old daughter, a husband and was generally healthy.
Between March 2022 and February 2023, I had lost three pregnancies. Those eleven months of my life were very traumatic and devastating for myself and my husband. After experiencing so many losses in such a short period of time we decided to try IVF. I had two cycles in total. Both failed. The first cycle led to no embryos being viable, and the second led to only one frozen embryo that might not be viable. This sepsis story involves my second, and final, round of IVF.
May, 2023: My second IVF cycle
After several days of hormone injections and scans, I was ready to have my eggs collected in the hope that we could make some embryos. I went in to outpatient surgery for egg collection (or harvesting), which is considered a low-risk and minimally invasive procedure, after saying goodbye to my husband and daughter. I knew exactly what to expect. In and out in a couple of hours. I was just hoping the surgeon would get more mature eggs the second time around. I got my wish! We got about 14 mature eggs and most were easily fertilised! Three embryos made it to day 8, which is the stage where we can test them genetically. Unfortunately, all embryos were genetically abnormal. Another failed IVF round. However, it was more than just a failed IVF round, it was a deadly one.
I remember leaving the IVF clinic after the harvest and wishing the woman next to me good luck. Little did I know that I’d need all the luck I could get over the next week. During the egg harvest I had contracted a group A streptococcus (group A strep or GAS) infection, which led to sepsis. Not only did our second IVF round fail, I also nearly died.
I was so extremely sick after the egg harvest. It was like I had the worst gastro ever. My specialist thought I might have ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS), which can happen during IVF, and told me that if pain and antinausea medication weren’t working and I got worse to call an ambulance. After 48 hours of agony, it was time to call it. I needed to get to the hospital. I remember telling my husband that I was feeling like I was going to die. Bizarrely, I was right. He called me an ambulance. However, I was considered low priority. An uber took me to hospital instead.
I was rushed to the resuscitation unit soon after reaching the hospital as my heart rate was extremely high and blood pressure was extremely low. I was put on life support straight away. Despite the doctors and nurses giving me all the medication they could, nothing was working. My inflammatory markers were extremely high, so the primary diagnosis of OHSS was wrong. They needed to operate to look for the source of infection. I needed an abdominal washout to clear the infection from my abdomen and confirm the source (they weren’t sure if my colon was damaged during the harvest, which might have led to an infection). They said I could die without the operation as their treatments weren’t working. I was scared. I didn’t want an operation, especially not one that could lead to a colostomy bag if my colon was the source of infection. But then I thought of my daughter and what was best for her. She needed her mother to be alive, with or without a colostomy bag. Once I started putting her needs first the decision was easy. I was to have the operation. I was operated on at 1am the next morning as an emergency case.
I remember telling the surgeon before I went under that he was not to perform a laparotomy unless he absolutely needed to. After rehabbing people after laparotomies in the hospital as a physio, I knew it was a hard road to travel. Eventually I woke up after the surgery and the first thing I asked was whether I had a laparotomy. No, I did not need a laparotomy, and I did not need a colostomy bag. I just needed a washout to get some serious bacteria out of my abdomen, which was done laparoscopically. I was one of the lucky ones.
After the surgery I had a wound drain and urinary catheter for almost a week as I stayed in the hospital, away from my family on Mother’s Day. When my daughter came to visit me on that day, I realised that I had been focusing so much on trying to have another child that I had forgot to appreciate what I had right in front of me. I almost died trying to have another child while not appreciating the one I already had. That was it. From then on, I was going to focus on what I have and I stopped being so focused on trying to achieve more.
Time in hospital was eye opening. As someone who used to work in one, it’s fascinating seeing it from the patient’s perspective. There is a lot of waiting around to learn what was to happen next. There’s a lot of moving from one part of the hospital to another, especially when I was first admitted. I remember being in the emergency department, then resus, then ICU, then surgery, then back to ICU, then off to the ward (as well as all the travel for tests in between). The ward was quiet despite the noise. It was like every patient there existed in their own little silo. We all had our own problems with the primary goal to get out of there. I wanted to get back to my family, hobbies and my own bed! I used my physio skills to begin my rehab. I walked a lap of the ward the day I arrived there from ICU and almost collapsed when I got back. It was like I had lost all of my conditioning over the few days I had been in hospital. My body was exhausted. Every day I walked a little more, did some steps, even went to the café and outdoors so I knew I’d be physically ready to leave once I was medically discharged. I also had to do it for my family who visited me every day as seeing me moving gave them confidence that I was recovering.
After over a week of being in hospital, I was discharged home. I was glad to be at home but I soon realised that, as a mum, home is not a place to relax and recover. The day-to-day tasks of simply keeping a home, even walking down the street to fill my prescription, was exhausting. However, I was very lucky. Many people who survive sepsis do not return to their former selves physically and/or mentally. I returned home with physical and psychological scars, but I did not lose limbs or any physical function that could not be rehabilitated. I realise how lucky I am and I truly think this outcome is due to me getting to the hospital in time and my hospital treating me in time for sepsis. Not everyone gets the treatment they need in the time it is needed and they suffer permanently for it.
I continued to see infectious diseases and cardiac specialists for several months post-discharge. Post-sepsis syndrome is real. I had brain fog, fatigue and could not physically function the way I previously had due to those things. I had nights where I couldn’t get to sleep because thoughts about my experience with sepsis came flooding back whenever the world would go silent. My heart took a beating (no pun intended) from sepsis, so it took some time for my cardiovascular fitness to return. My kidneys also took a while to return to full function. However, despite the ongoing difficulties I experienced, I fell pregnant naturally two months later.
Experiencing post-sepsis syndrome during pregnancy was interesting as many of the signs and symptoms overlap. Pregnancy can be physically taxing on the body, and my body was already exhausted after winning a fight against sepsis. Pregnancy can lead to brain fog, fatigue and can have negative impacts on mental health, which post-sepsis syndrome can too. So, it was very difficult for my specialists to distinguish between the two as the cause of my symptoms. Regardless, I continued to improve slowly with close monitoring. Our son was born healthy and happy on March 24, 2024, at the same hospital that saved my life.
I am a 63 year old nurse practitioner, wife to Bruce, mother to Sarah, Katie, Sean and Scott, Nanny to Will, Mila and Winnie. I have a large family, my parents are still alive, they immigrated from Scotland when I was a toddler. I have 4 sisters and a brother, lots of nieces and nephews. We are a very close family.I did my nursing training over 40 years ago in Perth and have a wonderful career, with experience in ED, ICU, as a clinical teacher, clinical nurse specialist and now as a Nurse Practitioner in primary health for the last 10 years. Despite this I was still not aware that I had sepsis. I had never been a patient in my life (apart from childbirth).
My sepsis journey began 20 months ago in the beginning of June 2023. I had a backache which came on suddenly and by the next day was having difficulty walking and experiencing pain like I had never before. I told my husband to call an ambulance, which surprised him greatly as I always said ED is for emergencies and very sick people.
I was taken to ED and over the day given strong pain relief, bloods were done, a pelvis Xray and ultrasound showed inflammation in my groin and lower back muscles. I was discharged on crutches, barely able to get into our car. I felt there obviously was nothing seriously wrong as I had been assessed by the medical staff. How wrong I was.
I became worse over the next 4-5 days, starting to hallucinate and become confused, difficulty getting to the toilet and up and down from it, and my bed. Pain like I never imagined. When I had some numbness around my perineal area, what is called ‘saddle paraesthesia’ I knew this was bad.
Bruce called another ambulance and was taken to another ED. Then began the fight for my life. I had an MRI which showed a spinal abcess from T7 – L2. I was commenced on antibiotics for staph Aureus (likely skin source), which caused a delayed reaction called DRESS (drug reaction with eosinophilia and systemic symptoms). I had a rash all over and my kidneys started to fail, so I needed dialysis.
I dont remember a lot of the next few weeks, I was delirious and hallucinating. I had 10 teams involved in my care. I had pneumonia, COVID, and lung collapse. The Infections Diseases and Acute Medical team were working hard to help me. My family was constantly by my side, and advocated for me constantly. There was a lot of confusion around my wishes and if I would survive or possibly be paralysed. UI was too sick for surgery and the neurosurgeons said I would not survive. During all this my children put down everything to be there and advocate for me. Bruce was I think he would agree in complete shock and unable to understand how I could become so sick, as were my children. My sister Lisa and her wife Ton were also a bedrock to me.
I had multiple Code Blues and my family were told to prepare themselves for the worst. At this time they questioned why I was not going to a higher acuity area such as ICU, they were told I was getting the care I needed . An ICU doctor was ‘keeping an eye’ on me after hours. My medical team were also advocating for me, they were outstanding in their diligent care of me, as were the nurses, I was ‘hard work’ as one of them told me later.
I turned the corner jsut after my son’s thirtieth birthday on 26th June and the infection began to respond to the new antibiotics.
I was discharged at the end of July, frail, mildly cognitively impaired, but happy and so grateful to be alive. I chose to go home as I was waiting for a rehab bed for a week and I had not slept properly for the whole hospital stay, apart from constant treatment and care, I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up. I struggled with fatigue, mobility, and balance, I had flashbacks to my hospital room, I was in pain all over, even in my hands. I had no post discharge care apart from the Infectious disease clinic for six weeks as I was still on antibiotics and having bloods (there is a slight risk of recurrence of the abcess).
I pushed myself a bit more each week and got back to the pool for some therapy, I then started swimming, as much as my frozen shoulder would allow. SLowly slowly I got stronger. I had psychotherapy and a technique called REMD (rapid eye movement desensitisation) which cured my flashback. I was surrounded by love and support from my family through my whole journey, and I know this plus excellent medical and nursing care (and grit as my ID consultant said) got me through. A lovely nurse told me – you must have something left to do as we all thought you would not make it, so she went home and prayed for me. The kindness of medical, nursing and all staff was something that stood out to me and as a nurse I had always known how important it was, but had never been on the other side.
It took me over a year to recover physically and psychologically. I now swim up to a kilometer 3-4 times a week, I work part time and find joy in every day (well most – I am human). I value above all my family, friends, the land I live in and love, kindness and human connection, and I am determined to live my life the best way I can. Every day is another one to be lived and thankful for.
On 10 August 2003, my life was shattered. My son, Preston, died at the Mater Children’s PICU. He was two and a half years old. Preston had been suffering from pneumonia, which caused acute lung injury. This allowed a secondary bacterium to invade his body, causing overwhelming sepsis. Preston was promptly put on life support but died a few short hours later.
The cause of death on his certificate reads: Pulmonary oedema, septic shock, disseminated intravascular coagulation secondary to sepsis.
Three weeks earlier, he was diagnosed with pneumonia. I wasn’t stressed the day I took him to the emergency room. He was active and happy, but I could tell by his cough it was pneumonia, and we had to address it immediately. He had suffered pneumonia previously and had a history of hospital admissions but always bounced back.
His paediatrician and respiratory specialist told me he would eventually grow out of it. He was robust and healthy in every other way. When we were seen in the Emergency Department, I told the attending doctor that Preston had pneumonia. The doctor checked his whole body, unconvinced that it was pneumonia because he couldn’t detect it using the stethoscope. Finally, a chest x-ray and blood sample confirmed pneumonia. The decision was made not to admit him, so we were sent home with antibiotics.
Over the next two weeks, Preston had good and bad days. On Saturday, he became more uncomfortable, crying, feverish, and refusing to eat. I called the respiratory specialist, and the locum opened the clinic to see Preston. I felt something was terribly wrong. After listening to his chest, checking his blood oxygen level, and taking another blood sample, the locum prescribed different antibiotics and sent us home. He said to call if I was worried, but reassured me that the new antibiotics needed time to work. A few hours later, Preston’s lung collapsed, and we were back in the emergency room. No one seemed to know what was happening to my son until he was in the PICU. I had been told that his body was shutting down. I didn’t hear the word sepsis as a cause of his death until almost ten years later.
In the months and initial years after his death, I was told that what happened to Preston was uncommon—it was just really bad luck. His death was due to complications from pneumonia, which is rare for a normally healthy child. I agonised over my son’s death for years, questioning my actions in taking care of him and seeking help.
Over the past eight years, I have come to know more and more families who have lost their precious children to “complications” from illnesses like Preston’s. And that these “complications” all share the same name: sepsis. And these complications are preventable. This makes the loss of my son even harder to understand.
Children get fevers, infections, and viruses—but they also get sepsis, and it is not rare. The challenge is that kids can’t articulate or even show how sick they are—they really fight being sick as they want to run, learn, explore, laugh, and play. This creates an enormous challenge to diagnose sepsis in children in time for life-saving treatment. That is precisely why identifying and treating pediatric sepsis needs more research, resources, and diagnostic training.
We are a privileged society, and a child who can be saved should never die—they are our future. My son would be a young man today, and not a day goes by that I don’t imagine what a smart, compassionate, hard-working, and kind young man he would have become—a real asset to this world. I really can’t bear the thought of losing more children like Preston when more can be done.
On the 28th of September 2022, at the age of 59, my life in Brisbane QLD took a drastic turn for the worse. I had a throat virus a few days before and wasn’t feeling great, but I didn’t think it was serious. Each day, I felt worse, experiencing diarrhea and fluctuating temperatures. On the 27th of September, I went to a local GP, who said it was a virus and gave me a pathology form for swabs. Feeling quite sick, I decided to rest and get the swabs done the next day. My knowledge of Sepsis was limited, and the question “could it be Sepsis?” never occurred to me.
The next morning, I woke up struggling to breathe and told my husband to call an ambulance. He saw my lips turning blue and called immediately. Thankfully, the ambulance arrived within fifteen minutes, followed by two critical paramedics who recognized my sepsis symptoms. They started an antibiotic drip right away, which the ICU doctors later told me probably saved my life.
I was taken to emergency at the Princess Alexandra Hospital in Brisbane. Still fully conscious, I tried convincing myself it wasn’t serious. However, after being assessed, I was sent to ICU and put in an induced coma for two and a half weeks. My family was told that I had sepsis and that all my organs were shutting down. My daughter, living in London, rushed back home, and my youngest sister came immediately from Mackay.
During the two and a half weeks I was in a coma, my husband, son, daughter, two sisters, extended family, and friends experienced unimaginable trauma, uncertain if I would recover and what my life would be like if I did. My organs were failing due to the infection, and the ICU doctors prescribed many medications, including trial drugs. My husband received phone calls during the night from doctors asking him to make serious decisions regarding my treatment. I required dialysis because my kidneys weren’t functioning due to sepsis.
I had gone from leading a perfectly active life with a loving family, including three beautiful grandsons, my own bookkeeping business, lots of travel, and a very social network of friends, to being extremely weak, unable to talk, and struggling to move. Each family member played a vital role in my recovery, talking and encouraging me while I was in a coma. This illness showed me that the love and support of family and friends is the most important thing, and I couldn’t have survived without it. It also taught me the importance of asking the question, “could it be sepsis?”
The next ten months in the hospital were a major challenge, involving regaining my strength and recovering from sepsis to return to my life. The major issue was an ankle injury I had before developing sepsis, which succumbed to infection. While in a coma, I had three operations on my ankle to cut away the infection, and another one after coming out of the coma. Bedbound due to the wound and too weak to stand, I required dialysis for my kidneys.
The care I received from the ICU doctors and nurses at the PA Hospital was absolutely amazing. I spent nearly four weeks in ICU before being transferred to the renal ward for dialysis and rehabilitation. The staff at the PA Hospital did everything they could to help me, and I was moved to Canossa Hospital in Oxley for four months of rehabilitation, including Christmas 2022. The doctors, nurses, and physio staff were great, making my life in hospital as comfortable as possible. I was able to leave the hospital for a few hours on Christmas Day to celebrate with my family, lifting my spirits and making me more determined to get better.
During the ten months in the hospital, my family and friends continued to visit and support me in my rehabilitation, which meant the world to me. Visits from my three grandsons were special, and in May 2023, while I was still in the hospital, my granddaughter was born, bringing me great joy and strength to continue my rehabilitation.
In February 2023, I faced a new challenge. After four months of treatment, the plastic surgeons explained that my ankle wound wasn’t healing as expected and would require several operations, involving twelve months in the hospital with uncertain results. The other option was to amputate my left lower leg and aim for a prosthetic leg, taking five to six months in the hospital. With my family’s support, I chose the amputation option. Once the operation was completed, I felt stronger and healthier as my body no longer had to fight the infection in my ankle.
The next five months in Bunya Ward, an amputee rehabilitation center at the PA Hospital, were challenging. I started losing some hair from the effects of the operations but was determined to build my strength to use a prosthetic leg. The staff, including doctors, nurses, physios, occupational therapists, and prosthetists, motivated me and helped me achieve this goal. My experience in the ward was very positive, resulting in me getting a prosthetic leg in June 2023. Two wonderful amputee specialist physios provided care, encouragement, and humour, building my physical and emotional strength and helping me return to the life I enjoyed before sepsis.
On the 21st of July 2023, I left the hospital, a joyous day. Life after sepsis is different, with a new appreciation for being alive and spending time with my family and friends. I try not to sweat the small stuff and enjoy creating new memories, especially with my grandchildren who see life simply and make me laugh a lot. The love and support from my family have made me feel extremely loved and given me a positive attitude. This experience has made me determined to spread the message that sepsis is a deadly condition and needs more awareness. That is why I am telling my story.
