It was the summer of 2024, I was at work, and everything seemed normal that day. A few hours in, I took a break and headed to my car for some rest. After sitting for a while, I got out of the car, but as soon as I did, I heard a loud pop in my hip. Walking became increasingly difficult, with each step more painful than the last. I had no choice but to leave work early.
When I got home, the situation worsened. I could barely make it up the stairs. My mom rushed down to meet me halfway, and I had to crawl the rest of the way up. Sleeping was a nightmare; every time I moved, the pain jolted me awake, leaving me exhausted and in desperate pain. I sought help and after seeing a nurse practitioner, I was misdiagnosed with a pulled muscle. There was no X-ray or thorough examination—they didn’t even check my hip. Despite the awful pain I was in the nurse practitioner assured me that I would be fine to leave for an upcoming trip to New York City.
But I wasn’t. On that Tuesday, I made the trip, despite needing crutches just to move a little. I ended up being pushed through the airport in a wheelchair. When we arrived in NYC, I met up with my friend, still hopeful that I might feel better the next day. But the pain persisted, so I went to a doctor in New York. They took an X-ray and referred me to an orthopedic specialist, but I decided to wait until I got home to see my doctors.
While in New York, we rented a wheelchair so I could get around, and my friends pushed me through the city streets. When I got back home, I scheduled an MRI for that Friday. After the scan, we were told the MRI had been lost. Thankfully, it was found, and I was told I had arthritis in my hip. They scheduled a procedure for the following Monday to drain the fluid from my hip and test it for infection.
That Monday, they performed the procedure, and later that evening, we got a call. The fluid was infected which caused sepsis and I needed to return to the hospital immediately. I had emergency surgery the next day, where they discovered my bones were rubbing together, tearing through the cartilage. I had septic arthritis. I was in septic shock. My chances of survival were terrifyingly slim-a mere 4%. I stayed in the hospital for five days on IV antibiotics and went home with a PICC line for additional IV treatments. Some doctors told me I’d be okay in two weeks, others said six months, and some warned me it could take a year before I was myself again.
It was my senior year of college, a time I’d looked forward to. Although it was summer at the time, I quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to return for the fall semester on time. I was forced to Zoom into classes, every day was a struggle. My college didn’t have virtual accommodations, but I worked with them to make it happen.
A home health nurse visited once a week to take blood samples and monitor my infection. Three times a week, a physical therapist came to the house, working with me on exercises that pushed my body to the brink. and I had physical therapy three times a week to get back on my feet as quickly as possible.I eventually returned to school on September 30th, though I still needed a walker and crutches. Despite a brief evacuation due to Hurricane Helene, I am now officially back for my senior year, down to using just one crutch.
That’s my journey through septic arthritis. I share my journey not to dwell on the suffering, but to honor those who stood by me, who fought for me-when I couldn’t fight for myself and remind others of the deadly reality of sepsis. It’s a silent killer, one that almost stole my life. I am grateful, humbled, and forever changed, with a new understanding of just how precious life truly is.
