Guess what? You don't need to use tampons to get Toxic Shock Syndrome. You don't even need to have two X chromosomes.
Anyone, male or female, can get TSS. And it ain't pretty.
According to the Mayo Clinic's website, "While the syndrome can occur in menstruating women, it can also affect men, children and postmenopausal women. Risk factors for toxic shock syndrome include skin wounds and surgery."
I'm all too aware of TSS because I survived it last November.
And it moves incredibly fast.
I went to the emergency room at about 11 p.m. By about 4 p.m. the next day, I was dying.
When the surgeon and the GI specialist informed me of my worsening condition, the exchange went something like this:
Doctor: Your body is going into septic shock.
Me (silently): Oh, $#%@. My aunt died of sepsis, so that didn't work out so well for her. Any other option here?
Doctor: Your blood pressure is dangerously low, and it hasn't improved since this morning.
Me (silently): Yeah, I knew that when I got here. Next?
Doctor: Your heart rate is very high, heading toward taccycardia.
Me (silently): $#%@. That isn't good either.
Doctor: Your kidneys are failing.
Me (silently): Seriously? I came in here with $#%@ing stomachache and now I'll need dialysis for the rest of my life? $#%@!
Doctor: It will become harder for you to breathe as your body goes into respiratory distress.
($#%@! I tried to take a deep breath and couldn't. $#%@. $#%@. $#%@.)
My head was spinning. This all sounded great (must remain sarcastic). What were my $#%@ing options again?
Let's see. They could operate. They could slice me open and see if they could locate, isolate and remove the area affected by the Group A strep. A tall order, but a plan nonetheless.
So far so good.
The surgery might not be successful.
Um, OK. Why not? Well, they might not be able to stop the infection, so I could die on the operating table.
Oh, yipee.
If they did the surgery, I'd emerge with some collateral damage (definitely life-altering, completely managable, just not a side effect I'd ever imagined at my age).
When I heard about that, I thought, "Why the $#%@ would I want a $#%@ing XYZ?"
But wait -- there's more!
I could still die after the surgery.
OK, I see where this is going. Any other options?
Why, yes. We could do nothing.
The only drawback was the very, very, very high likelihood that my bowel would perforate.
Even though I wasn't completely sure what that meant, I knew it wasn't good. I wasn't a fan of the toilet overflowing so the thought of all that crap floating around inside my body just seemed yucky.
Plus the perforation would be in addition to the impending heart, respiratory and renal failures.
Meanwhile, I was so $#%@ing thirsty I was going out of my mind. No water, no ice chips. Just this little swabby thingie that brought like a raindrop full of fluid to my mouth was allowed.
The doctors left the room so I could mull over my choices. Ice water, please! Please, please please! Not a drop.
The surgery -- no matter how risky -- made a lot of sense to me.
It was my best chance to see Cooper again. I hadn't hugged him for three days since I didn't want him to catch what I'd thought was a stomach virus.
About 20 minutes later, the doctors came back and told me a decision needed to be made NOW.
All righty. A recap of the previous conversation took place, but I was clear: Let's do this.
I turned to Marc and told him I wanted my tombstone to read, "She died craving ice water."
Then they wheeled me lickety-split into the operating room, where I insisted they let me wear my flax-seed filled eye shade. Gas mask went on, and the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and saw the hospital room.
I'd made it.
I was so, so lucky. The doctors were able to remove what they needed to during the surgery.
It was a harrowing few days afterward for my family, since it took my body a while to start functioning properly again.
Medical research has found that TSS has a mortality rate as high as 70 percent. Survivors can be faced with a slew of ongoing medical issues, particularly when kidney and liver functioning is affected. I got my party favor, as promised by the surgeon. But that was OK. I was alive.
I will be eternally grateful to Dr. Leonard Maffucci and the amazing staff at White Plains Hospital for saving my life.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
