In 2008, at the age of 20, my life changed forever. What started as a complication from a surgery turned into a battle for survival—one that I was not prepared for but somehow endured.
The first signs of trouble were subtle at first. I felt unwell, feverish, weak and in and out of consciousness. Within hours, my body was failing me. I had sepsis, a life-threatening response to infection that rapidly spread poison throughout my body. My organs began to shut down, and I was placed into an induced coma and my family were given the terrible news I was only going to survive overnight and were told to say their goodbyes.
I somehow beat those odds but was never out of the woods of danger yet, While I was in the coma, the medical team worked tirelessly to save me. They performed multiple surgeries to address the damage caused by the rampant infection. The poison had now also entered my lungs, leading to a severe condition that required drastic measures. Surgeons were forced to remove portions of my ribs to access and drain my lungs. They inserted tubes to keep the infection at bay and allow me to breathe.
During this time, a tracheotomy was performed to secure an airway for my survival. The breathing tube became both my lifeline and a constant reminder of how fragile my existence had become. The infection had ravaged my body so extensively that my muscles and organs were weakened. When I finally woke up, I was unable to talk, and my body no longer moved as it once had. I had to learn everything again, from walking to forming words.
Rehabilitation was a long and painful journey. Physical therapy sessions were gruelling as I fought to regain the strength in my limbs. Speech therapy became a daily practice to reclaim my voice. Each small victory—a faltering step, a whispered word—was a triumph over despair. There were moments of doubt and unbearable frustration, but my determination to return to the life I had once known kept me moving forward.
The surgeries on my lungs left lasting scars, both physical and emotional. The trauma of having my ribs removed and drains inserted was an experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone, yet it was the price I had to pay to stay alive. My body bore the marks of my fight, and every scar told a story of resilience and survival.
Looking back now, it feels surreal that I lived through such an ordeal. At 20 years old, I had to confront my mortality in a way most people can only imagine. But I also discovered a depth of strength and resilience within myself that I never knew existed. Surviving sepsis wasn’t just about beating an infection; it was about reclaiming my life, one hard-fought step at a time.
Today, I carry the lessons of that time with me. I cherish every breath, every movement, and every word. I am a survivor, and while the scars remain, they are symbols of my journey—a journey of survival, courage, and hope
Trigger warning: below are confronting images, taken on a phone in 2008 during Carlie’s hospitalisation.
