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Eaten by the printer

It was a simple printout - but it soon became a matter of life and death...


Published by: Katie Evans and Fiona Ford
Published on: 16 August 2012

With a smile a mile wide, I finally finished applying the final flourishes to my CV.
‘Ta da.' I grinned, pressing print on the computer.
‘Can we play now, please Mummy?' asked my four-year-old daughter Daisy.
‘Course,' I smiled. Poor old Daisy. She'd been waiting patiently all afternoon for me to finish sorting out my CV.
It was January and, because I was applying for a new teaching job, I was desperate to perfect it. I worked as a supply teacher, but needed something more permanent. And after the terrible year I'd had up until now, I felt I deserved a bit of good luck.
My mum had died suddenly a week earlier. She'd gone to
bed and never woken up. Me and my dad were devastated - although Mum had a heart condition, she was only 70 and
in good health otherwise. I missed her so much.
If it hadn't been for little Daisy and my husband Andrew, 41, a photographer, I don't know how I would have coped. They'd both been taking care of me. Andrew was my shoulder to cry on - making me cups of tea and running me hot, soapy baths.
And my Daisy was always there for a cuddle. I'd have been lost without them. Which is why I'd promised Daisy we could play when I'd finished.
‘Come on, then,' I said, plastering a smile on my face while whipping the paper quickly away from the printer.
Ouch! There was a red smear of blood on the pristine white paper. ‘Ooh, paper cut.' I flinched, spotting the tiny cut on my right thumb.
‘They really hurt, Mummy.' Daisy soothed.
‘They do,' I agreed. ‘But it won't stop us playing.' Grabbing her hand, we headed outside to run around and make the most of the crisp afternoon. But it wasn't long before we were both shivering.
‘You go inside,' I smiled. ‘I've just got to dig up some fresh spuds for dinner.'
Recently, we'd started growing our own veg, and loved eating home-grown potatoes and cauliflowers. Something Andrew appreciated, as we sat down to eat that night.
‘These spuds are delicious.' He said before frowning at my hand. ‘But you didn't cut yourself gardening, did you?'
‘Just a paper cut,' I replied. Actually, it looked a bit angry, there was now a massive red bump near the tiny cut.
By the following morning, it was even worse.
‘You sure you didn't bang your hand somewhere?' Andrew asked, concerned.
I shook my head. ‘It's probably nothing,' I shrugged. After all, it didn't even hurt.
Three days later, though, my thumb had a black boil on it! Worse still, my whole hand had puffed up
to the size of a football. And I was also starting to feel very dizzy, confused, and couldn't do anything apart from lay on the settee.
Andrew was worried. ‘I've made an appointment for you to see our GP today,' he said.
‘I'm fine,' I slurred, struggling to even talk.
At the surgery, our GP examined me, but was just as worried as Andrew. He sent me to casualty for tests...
Next thing I knew was waking up, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Eh? What was going on?
‘Do you know where you are?' one asked.
‘China?' I said, convinced for some reason I was on holiday.
‘Afraid not,' one doctor smiled.
Gently he explained I was in Wexham Park Hospital, Slough, and had been in a coma for the past week.
‘You've got a flesh-eating bug,' he explained. ‘You've had one operation where we've cut the tip of your thumb off and removed the infected tissue from your arm.'
Nausea rose as I looked at my hand and arm. It was covered
in thick bandages. Horror gripped me. Had I just been left with a stump? Sinking my head back into my pillows, I tried
to make sense of it all. Surely this had to be some sort of joke. But one look at Andrew told me this was real.
‘How?' I asked weakly.
‘From the paper cut,' he replied grimly. ‘Doctors reckon you'll need another two operations at least to remove all the infected tissue, otherwise you could die.'
‘Your life's hanging in the balance until we get this treated,' the consultant said.
Hold on, I could die? From a paper cut? Confused and woozy, I let darkness take me...
Blink. God knows how long later, I opened my eyes. Doctors explained more about what had happened. They reckoned I'd contracted the infection through the soil in the garden when I was digging the spuds.
‘You were stressed following the death of your mum, meaning you were ripe for infection,' the consultant said. ‘The paper cut just meant there was an opening into your blood stream for the bug to enter.'
His face was serious as he explained that when I'd been admitted, the flesh-eating bug, better known as necrotizing fasciitis, had spread to my wrist. When Andrew had seen me in intensive care six hours later it had reached my shoulder.
The infection is caused by bacteria which eat the skin and tissue around the bone and kills more than two-thirds of its victims. The bug is so aggressive that 20 per cent of sufferers need a limb amputating.
‘If left untreated, it would have spread through your entire body and killed you in hours,' the consultant finished.
Tears streamed down my face. It was all so much to take in. But it was the idea of leaving my poor Daisy without a mum - just as I had been - that really got to me. I became depressed.
It didn't help I had to spend the next two months in hospital fighting the infection and having further operations to beat the bug.
But the worst thing was missing my dear mum's funeral. ‘I should've been there,' I sobbed to Andrew afterwards. ‘I wanted to say goodbye.'
And I became terrified the bug could get me again.
‘It's just a fluke,' doctors assured me. ‘It could happen
to anyone.'
By the time I left hospital in March, I'd lost 2st, and I'm still getting my strength back.
The doctors removed a lot of the damaged tissue and I've had to have skin grafts to rebuild my thumb. I also have a large scar on my arm which is a constant reminder of what I went through.
I always thought a flesh-eating bug was something you picked up in a tropical rainforest - not in your back garden. So now I refuse to touch anything out there. I'm also seeing a counsellor to help me deal with what's happened - I can't get over the idea I nearly died.
For now, I'm taking it one step at a time. I know I'm lucky just to be alive and, with Andrew
and Daisy to support me, I know I'll be okay.
As for the printer... well, I'm always extra careful now. I can't believe I almost died because of a paper cut.
Diana Spiers, 34 Ascot, Berkshire