Stuffed alive after a bug ate my arm
Kiera Bland, 25, from West Lothian, was in great danger as something ate away at her arm...
Climbing into the back seat, I shut the car door behind me and smiled at my pals. ‘Let’s get some food!’ I said to my friends Bobbi, 25, and Jennifer, 26.
It was 14 March, and they had just picked me up from my Saturday shift at Morrisons.
‘Ooo what shall I have?’ I said, my stomach growling as we pulled into the Burger King car park.
Suddenly, I felt a painful sensation in the inner crease of my left arm.
‘Ouch… my arm feels really bruised,’ I said to the girls.
‘Did you hurt yourself at work?’
Bobbi asked.
‘Not that I can remember,’ I said, giving it a rub.
But it did feel as if I had – as if I’d knocked it.
Heading into the restaurant, I forgot all about the pain as I sipped on a vanilla milkshake.
But as the evening went on, I noticed that I felt a bit off.
My arm was still sore, and now I felt really lethargic.
Then, by Monday morning, I was feeling even worse.
My throat was killing me, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw a huge red ulcer on my tonsils.
Ugh, tonsillitis, I thought. ‘I think I’m getting ill,’ I told my mum Samantha, 42.
I’d had tonsillitis before, and knew it was awful.
Later that day, my arm was throbbing worse than before, and I knew that had nothing to do with tonsillitis...
‘Maybe you should go to A&E?’ Mum suggested.
I felt silly going to hospital for a sore arm and throat, but I was in so much pain, so I decided it was best.
My nan Rachel, 64, kindly drove me out to St John’s Hospital in Livingston.
When we arrived, though, because of hospital restrictions due to the coronavirus, Nan wasn’t allowed to come in with me.
‘Just give me a call when you’re done, love,’ she smiled.
I felt nervous walking in on my own, but hoped I’d be in good hands.
I felt awful by this point – my
I felt silly going to hospital with a sore arm
throat was burning up and my arm was throbbing – so I was relieved when 20 minutes later, I was called into triage, where I was given an ECG. My blood pressure was high. ‘I’m just going to stretch your arm out,’ a nurse told me, touching the painful area.
It was more painful than ever, and I felt sick.
Before I knew it, I was throwing up into a sick bowl.
And as soon as that happened, doctors suddenly grew more concerned.
‘She may have Covid-19,’ I heard one of them say.
With that, I was placed in an isolated room with a mask over my face, was pumped with anti-sickness medication and had my blood taken.
Of course I’d read all about the coronavirus on the news, and I was terrified.
Throughout everything that was going on, I almost forgot about the pain in my arm.
But when I focused on it, I knew something wasn’t right.
Finally, a doctor came to see me.
‘You have an infection in your throat, but it doesn’t look too bad,’ he said. ‘You can go home, just make sure you self-isolate.’
He couldn’t explain the pain in my arm, put it down to a knock at work.
But I figured they knew what they were doing, so I rang my nan and asked her to pick me up.
When I got home, I went straight to the sofa to lie down.
I slept for the rest of the day, waking up every now and then to sip on some juice.
‘You’re burning up,’ Mum said, touching my forehead.
Shechecked on me often, and soon I was having to rush to the loo to be sick again.
‘Something really isn’t right,’ Mum sighed. ‘I’ve never seen anybody so ill in my life.’
I was starving but couldn’t keep any food down.
Mum constantly had the phone to her ear, trying to get through to speak to somebody at the NHS.
‘A 45-minute wait!’ she mouthed at me.
It was 2am by the time an ambulance finally arrived.
By then I had started vomiting up blood.
Not allowed to come with
me, Mum packed me an overnight bag with some toiletries, and I was bluelighted back to the hospital.
‘Text me,’ Mum urged, shoving my phone into my hand before I was driven away.
At the hospital, I was placed back in isolation.
Laying in the hospital bed, I felt my arm becoming heavier and heavier, to the point I had to use my other arm to lift it.
It was agony and I couldn’t understand why.
‘Hmm, your arm is quite swollen, isn’t it?’ a nurse said, examining it. ‘And how long has that rash been there?’ ‘What rash?’ I asked.
She was right – red blotches were covering my left arm, close to the site of the pain.
‘Kiera, I’m very concerned about this,’ the nurse said, measuring my arm.
My left arm was 2cm larger than my right.
A doctor from the plastic surgery unit was called, who told me I could have cellulitis – a bacterial skin infection.
He drew dotted lines around the rashes on my arm to keep track of whether they were expanding – and a few hours later, they had.
‘We’re going to elevate your arm, as we want it to drain downwards – this means if there is an infection, we’re keeping it away from the area,’ a doctor told me.
Later on, though, when that didn’t work, I received terrifying news.
‘You’ve tested negative for Covid-19, but we think you may have necrotising fasciitis – a flesh-eating bug,’ a doctor explained to me. ‘What?!’ I gasped, terrified. The words ‘flesh eating’ rattled through my mind and I imagined some kind of vicious bug quickly eating its way through my arm.
Where would I have got that from? I thought.
Am I going to die?
‘It may have come from the bacteria that’s been causing your sore throat,’ the doctor explained. ‘We’ll need to do surgery to remove some of the dead tissue from your arm.’
‘Just do what you need to do,’ I replied.
My hands shaking, I text Mum.
I’m being taken down for surgery, I wrote.
Be strong, love you, she replied.
The next thing I knew, I was being wheeled down into theatre.
Four hours later, I woke up, groggy.
Looking down at my arm, I gasped.
It was packed from my shoulder to my hand with gauze, and had been wrapped in bandages, which were already covered in yellow seepage.
‘Doctors cut open your arm and stuffed the holes with gauze to soak up the infected fluids,’ a nurse explained.
I felt faint.
Later, a doctor came in with a grave look on his face.
‘You’re a very lucky girl,’ he said to me.
‘The infection was spreading fast, and if you hadn’t come in when you did, it could have killed you within 48 hours.’
My mind raced – one minute I’d been enjoying a milkshake with my mates, the next I was lying in a hospital bed with a deadly infection. I just felt so lucky that it had been caught in time.
I was told it was definitely necrotising fasciitis – the flesh-eating disease – which is severe and causes parts of the body’s tissue to die.
I felt like a Build-a-bear teddy – sitting there with my arm stuffed like that! But I wasn’t out of the woods just yet.
The following day, I was taken in for a second surgery so doctors could remove more dead flesh.
It was horrible not being able to see my family, and I felt so alone.
A week later, I went in for a third operation where doctors performed a skin graft, using skin from my left thigh to patch up my arm. By now, thankfully, the infection had cleared, and I was discharged, so grateful to be back with my family.
Six days later, a nurse came over to remove my bandages. And when I looked at my arm, I burst into tears.
Big black bloody and oozy wounds covered my arm, and there was a huge patch of red raw skin on my thigh.
‘I look like a monster,’ I cried. The nurse explained that it would take around 18 months to heal properly, but that I would always have a scar.
It was a huge blow.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that when I get married one day, I will have to wear a long-sleeved dress. But then I remembered what the doctor had said. This could have killed me – having a scar is a small price to pay for being alive.
I’ve always been a positive person, so why stop now? I’ve since learnt how to change my own bandages, and while my scars still look terrible terrible, they are improving little by little little.
I’m also having physiotherapy, as the muscles in my arm had been eaten away.
It’s a lot of hard work, but every time I look at my arm, I feel so grateful – I’m actually now learning to love my scars.
The fact that I was so close to death is terrifying, but it’s made me look at life so differently.
I never let little things get to me, and I appreciate everything I have.
I just feel so lucky.