It was Christmas Eve and I had been getting ready to celebrate with my family. But within hours I was fighting for my life. By Beth Budgen
I plunged my ski poles into the gleaming white snow and took a deep breath before pushing off from the edge of the slope.
A rush of exhilaration swept through me as I descended, and a huge grin spread across my face.
I was skiing in France with my family and loving every second.
We were an active bunch and one of our Christmas traditions was to gift each other experiences - the more hair-raising, the better!
Over the years I’d climbed the O2 arena, gone clay pigeon shooting and even driven a tank.
But on Christmas Day we enjoyed putting our feet up and having a well-deserved rest.
This year, I was hosting Christmas lunch for my twin sister Liza and her family, older sister Andrea and my mum, Jan.
I was excited but after coming down with a bad cold the previous week, I worried I might not be well enough to cook.
Thankfully, by Christmas Eve morning my sniffles had cleared, and I was almost feeling back to my old self.
I’d decked the halls and even found time to get a sparkling red manicure - perfect for the festive season.
'I think we need an ambulance'
I was sprinkling icing sugar over home-made mince pies when the phone rang.
‘I’ve picked up a cold too, I won’t be well enough to travel down to yours,’ Mum sniffed on the other end.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll think of something,’ I replied.
Not wanting Mum to be alone at Christmas, I called Andrea and we agreed to move the festivities to her house, which was just two minutes away from Mum’s.
I packed up my food and made the 40-minute drive to my sister’s house.
Once I arrived, we finished the last few bits of wrapping but as we arranged the gifts under the tree, I felt a dull ache in my left side.
‘I think my sciatica is playing up,’ I groaned, flopping down on the sofa.
I couldn’t get comfy so, wanting to be on form for the big day I headed to bed at 8pm.
But as hours passed, the pain grew worse.
I tossed and turned until the early hours of Christmas morning, when Andrea popped her head around the spare bedroom door and flicked on the light.
‘You look really ill, I’m calling a doctor,’ she said, pulling out her phone to dial 111.
As she explained my symptoms to the operator, my stomach lurched, and I vomited.
To my surprise, it was bright blue.
What have I eaten? I thought, curiously.
But Andrea was in a state of panic.
‘I think we need an ambulance,’ she stammered.
Just 10 minutes later an ambulance whizzed me to hospital where I was diagnosed with flu and pneumonia.
'We're going to put you into a coma'
Andrea insisted on staying with me, but I reassured her I was fine.
‘Go and enjoy your Christmas,’ I demanded.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she promised.
Christmas Day passed in a blur and early on Boxing Day, the doctors came in to meet me.
‘Your organs are starting to fail, we’re going to put you into a coma,’
Just hours earlier, I’d been getting ready to celebrate Christmas with my family and now I was fighting for my life.
My sisters rushed back to my bedside, panic-stricken.
‘It’s so lucky you came to my house on Christmas Eve,’ Andrea said. ‘Imagine if you’d been at home on your own.’
I knew she was right. By calling for help, she’d saved my life.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Liza promised me. ‘We’ll make sure of it.’
As I drifted into unconsciousness, I was too sick to take in the full reality of it all. And when I awoke, disorientated and weak, Andrea and Liza were at my bedside once again. My half-sister, Gemma, was there too.
‘You’ve been in a coma for six weeks,’ Liza told me. ‘You weren’t responding to treatment. It was so scary.’
Doctors discovered I was also suffering from Strep A and had developed sepsis.
With my life in the balance, I had been transferred from Basingstoke and North Hampshire Hospital to St Thomas’, in London, where an ECMO machine was waiting.
The ECMO machine is a form of life-support where the blood is pumped outside of the body and reoxygenated.
They were rarely available on the NHS, so I was fortunate.
It was so much to take in.
But there was another surprise in store.
As I looked down at my hands, my eyes widened.
My sparkling red nails remained but the flesh surrounding them was completely black.
They looked like mummified remains.
I poked my feet out from under the blanket and saw they were also black and swollen.
Crikey, this doesn’t look good. I thought to myself.
Doctors explained the sepsis had wreaked havoc on my body meaning I might need amputations.
My kidneys weren’t working properly either and I needed dialysis three times a week.
My poor sisters were traumatised, they had been at my bedside the whole time, willing me to pull through.
We’d always been a close family but becoming ill made me realise how lucky I was to have so much love around me.
Over the following months I was moved around eight different hospitals and in February I underwent surgery to remove my legs below the knee.
I was only 46 years old and now I was facing life as a double amputee.
It would be a big adjustment, but I was determined not to let it stop me from living life to the fullest.
After three month I was moved to rehab, and it was another three weeks before I got to stand.
I set myself a strict schedule in the gym and each day I grew stronger.
There was good news for my kidneys too.
Since the amputations they had started working again and I no longer needed dialysis.
However, I needed more surgery to remove my thumb and large parts of the fingers on my right hand and parts of the fingers on my left.
Seven months on, I was finally discharged from hospital.
By now, I was walking, unaided, on my prosthetic legs.
My half-brother, Matthew, got married later that month, and I was able to stand up for the wedding photos, without any help.
Andrea and Liza have launched a fundraiser to pay for bespoke prosthetics and to fund equipment and adaptations I will need in the future.
For now, I don’t want any adaptions to my home. I want to manage the best I can. I fully intend to go back to doing daredevil stunts.
Life won’t be like it was before, but it might just be even better.
I’m incredibly grateful to all my friends and family.
Andrea saved my life by calling an ambulance on Christmas Day, and their love has pulled me through the past year.
It’s been traumatic having amputations, but I recognise how lucky I am to have a second chance at life, and I won’t waste it.
Whilst I was in hospital, I lost my job but when I’m well enough to work again, I’d like to support other amputees and to continue to raise awareness of sepsis.
I didn’t have the usual sepsis symptoms, so I’d like to make people aware that extreme pain and vomitingare signs of danger.
This Christmas, we’re planning the big get together we should have had last year. The best present will just be to have my family around me.
Landing in hospital was definitely an unwanted Christmas present, but surviving against the odds was a Christmas miracle.
•A version of this article appeared in issue 48/49 of Take a Break. Whilst we always strive to reflect the stories of our readers in an accurate and informative way, unfortunately, some parts of this article fell short our editorial standards. We recognise that some of the content that accompanied her story failed to address the subject of disability in a suitable, sensitive way. We sincerely apologise that the wording of the article was not as Beth intended or expected. We apologise unreservedly for any offence caused.
For more information, visit https://www.gofundme.com/f/beths-sepsis-journey