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Down came a spider...

It started as a bite from a creepy crawly, but it got worse. Much worse...


Published by: Jemma Gillard and Marissa Charles
Published on: 7 February 2013

The doctor inspected the bruised lump on my left knee one last time before typing out a prescription.
‘It's a bite from a house spider,' he told me. ‘These antibiotics should clear up the infection. There's nothing to worry about.'
‘Really?' I gasped. ‘Blimey, I didn't even realise they could bite. I'd better go home and have a spring clean!'
It was funny, because I'd gone in thinking it must just be a sports injury. Just a couple of hours later, I'd given the entire flat a spring clean. ‘I'm going to get rid of you little critters if it's the last thing I do,' I muttered as the hoover sucked up a few stray cobwebs. ‘You won't be nipping me again any time soon!'
I wasn't scared of spiders, but I didn't want to have to go back to the doctors. So
I made sure I checked every corner of the flat, under my bed and inside all the cupboards. If there were any more creepy crawlies in this house, they weren't going to get past me!
A few days on though, my swollen knee hadn't gone down. In fact, the wound seemed to be growing, so I went back to the doctors. ‘I'm afraid we're going to need to operate and cut away the dead skin,' he told me. ‘The infection is spreading.'
‘Surgery?' I gasped. ‘From a spider bite?!'
It seemed a bit extreme, but he knew best.
Thankfully, the two-hour op went well and I was allowed to go home a couple of days later. After two weeks of bed rest, I was on the mend.
Hobbling into the shower one night, I reached round for the shampoo, but somehow accidentally tapped my knee on the side. ‘Oh my god!'
I screeched, as the blood squirted out. As it mixed with the water, I felt woozy. There was so much blood! Heart thumping, I stumbled out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my knee.
‘Please stop bleeding,' I panicked, wincing at the roughness of the towel on my raw flesh. But within seconds, everything was red! Reaching for my phone, blood trickled down onto the floor.
It was like a scene from a horror movie!
After calling Reagan, one of my neighbours, she drove me to the hospital.
‘That looks awful,' she gasped, her face pale.
Once there, the surgeons decided I needed a skin graft. They said they'd need to take it from my right thigh.
‘I thought this was all sorted,' I groaned.
But if I thought that was bad, I was in for a shock. In fact, it was only after three skin grafts that I was allowed back home.
‘I've got so much to catch up on,' I grumbled to Reagan one day. She'd popped round to cook me a chicken stir-fry for dinner.
‘I was in the middle of my nursing exams when all this happened...' I complained.
‘You poor thing,' Reagan soothed. ‘On the plus side, you're getting some real-life medical experience!' I had to giggle.
Next, I had a check-up with the plastic surgeon the following day, and I was hoping he'd be pleased with how well my knee was looking.
Except, when I went in, he seemed more interested in a tiny red dot on my other shin.
‘I think this might be another spider bite,' he said, peering close.
I felt the wind go out of me.
‘You've got to be kidding,' I said, shaking my head. ‘But how could I be so unlucky?!'
‘I'm afraid I really don't know,' he said. ‘All I can do is prescribe you some more antibiotics.'
Rushing home, I was in such a daze. I couldn't understand how a house spider could have caused me so many problems. As I drifted off to a fitful sleep that night, I dreamt
of 8ft-long spiders running all over me...
‘Argh!' I screeched, waking up from my nightmare.
Switching on the light, my eyes darted around the room, but there was nothing there. By the following afternoon, though, my right leg had swollen up like a balloon. Was history repeating itself?
A couple of days on, Reagan had to pop over again to help me out. The infected area had started opening up and bleeding. I could only just about hobble round on a pair of crutches.
‘What are those white little pellets poking out of your wound?' Reagan asked.
‘Oh my god,' I gasped, suddenly feeling sick. ‘Are they... maggots?!'
‘Keep calm,' she said. ‘I'll call the doctor.'
I couldn't help but panic. My leg was falling apart! Thankfully, it turned out they weren't maggots after all, but lumps of fat. Still, it was absolutely disgusting.
Even worse, this time around, the doctors decided they wouldn't operate straight away.
‘That's probably why your left knee took so long to heal before,' they explained. ‘You're going to have to wait a while.'
Until then, my life was on hold. For now, my leg looked like a piece of raw meat. I was desperate to feel normal again. Slowly but surely my left knee started improving... but the right one was only getting worse. The wound had now spread from my knee to just above my ankle and was about the size of a wine bottle.
One evening, I hobbled into the shower when I glanced down and saw one of my hairs sticking out the wound.
‘Oh dear,' I tutted, reaching down to pull it out. But then my leg sprang up like a puppet.
‘Ouch!' I screeched, falling backwards in pain. As the blood poured out, I gagged.
‘What the hell is going on?!' I sobbed.
Later, the doctor explained that I'd actually pulled out a tendon. Disgusting! I was in absolute agony until it popped back into place.
Thankfully, after four long months of pain, the surgeons performed the skin graft. But before I went in, they had more bad news.
‘If the infection's spread to the bone, the best option would be to amputate the leg,' the doctor said.
‘Amputation!' I spluttered, my head spinning. ‘No, this can't be happening...' I cried, completely breaking down. ‘This is a house spider bite, I haven't been in some jungle in Borneo!'
It just seemed so unfair, especially seeing as I'd previously been so young, fit and healthy. Luckily, the skin graft was a success. Weeks later, I was seen by a dermatologist who made an interesting discovery. ‘You have a rare autoimmune disease,' he explained. ‘It causes painful open sores. That's why your immune system isn't able to work properly.' Suddenly, everything made sense. That explained why the bites hadn't healed and why I'd had such a bad reaction. ‘Most people are diagnosed when they're older,' he continued. ‘But now that we've picked up on it, we can give you specialised treatment.' If the condition had been left, it would have only got worse. So looking at it another way, that house spider had saved my life. Saying that, I still get the exterminators round to spray my flat every month these days!
After further specialist treatment, the wounds soon completely cleared up. Now, the big rectangle scars on my legs are the only sign of what I've been through in the last four years.
I've been to hell and back all because of one incy wincy, teeny weeny spider!
Jane Hefferan, 32, Nashville, Tennessee, USA