SEPSIS
Beauty marks Muriel O’Connor n the morning of April 27, 1996, Kevin, our 2 year old son Conor, and I went shopping. Everything was fine. That afternoon, however, Conor did not take his nap as usual and was quite restless. Later that day he began to vomit, and, because I worry about our health, I took him to see our family doctor, where I asked if Conor had meningitis, a disease that I was very aware of because of all the media coverage it was receiving around that time. Our doctor reassured me that everything was fine, telling me that Conor had a tummy bug and to keep an eye on him. By that evening, though, his condition seemed to have deteriorated—his heartbeat was quite fast and he was vomiting bile. I phoned our doctor, who explained that Conor’s symptoms were commensurate with a tummy bug. At about 2230 h, however, I decided to call the doctor out, because I always worry more at night. Before I called, I checked Conor’s temperature Conor in Herbert Park, Dublin, shortly after his recovery in the summer again, and it had risen to 38ºC. I also noticed a of 1996 single tiny red dot on his chest, which had not been For the next 5 weeks, Kevin and I lived in a room in there 15 minutes earlier. Stripping him off, I noticed a red the hospital. We took it in turns to sit with Conor, never blotch on the side of his knee; he couldn’t have banged leaving him alone, and always believed he could hear us. himself because he’d been lying down all afternoon. When We never allowed ourselves to get upset in front of him, the doctor arrived 10 minutes later, he took one look at but rather spoke encouragingly and lovingly to him, Conor and drove us straight to hospital—there was no singing quietly, and willing him to live. time to call an ambulance. On the way, he asked if Conor Over the next few weeks, we were told that Conor was was getting colder, and I knew his condition was serious. dying from various complications, every one of which By the time we reached the hospital, Conor was almost was being treated systematically by the intensive care covered in red lesions, which seemed to multiply in front team. The days were endless, but we never gave up of our eyes. He had meningitis. We later learned that if we hope, hanging on to the tiny thread of life in him. We had left the house 5 minutes later than we did, he would grew used to the daily traumatic procedures that Conor have been dead on arrival. was forced to endure. That night and the next day, the staff at Harcourt The first time the doctors tried to wean Conor off the Street Hospital, Dublin, fought to stabilise Conor’s ventilator, we watched him turn blue as he tried to take condition, which nonetheless became steadily worse. a breath. Eventually though, the amount of morphine The same afternoon we met one of the haematologists. being given to Conor was reduced and, as he slowly She was the first medic to look us in the eye since Conor came round, we waited anxiously to see whether or not had been admitted to hospital, and the first person who, he would sustain any brain damage, as the doctors had by this gesture alone, gave us a glimmer of hope about said he might. Even though his hands were tied down our baby’s future. She calmly explained about an for fear of him pulling out his breathing tube, when I experimental treatment called Protein C, and asked our bent to kiss my little boy he reached for my nose—a permission to use it. Of course, we consented gesture he had made since he was a baby. At that point I immediately. knew he was going to be okay. Later that day, Conor was transferred to the intensive We are eternally grateful to all the medical staff care unit of Temple Street Children’s Hospital, where the who looked after Conor, who is now an extremely battle to save his life continued. The wait to see him was healthy 7-year-old full of fun and mischief. The only the longest of our lives, and during that time I felt him physical reminder of his illness are two small lesions, slipping away. When we were finally allowed to see him which we like to refer to as beauty marks. Conor later that evening, he was being kept alive by dozens of consciously remembers nothing of his time in hospital, tubes connected to dozens of machines. Every bodily but we have told him about his illness. We often hear function was being controlled by a machine, including him tell his friends about the time that he had Conor’s breathing. In a matter of hours our lively little meningococcal septicaemia and about the doctors who boy’s body had been completely taken over by machines, saved his life. and he lay comatose before us.
Kevin Thornton
O
Muriel O’Connor is married to Kevin Thornton, and they live in Dublin with their two sons. 63 Moyne Road, Ranelagh, Dublin 6, Ireland (M O’Connor)
[email protected]
The Lancet Supplement | 358 | December | 2001
S62
For personal use. Only reproduce with permission from The Lancet Publishing Group.