Deborah-Lynn Worden

I am a healthy 31 year old dog trainer. Dogs have always been a part of my life. I've been bitten before, just like many people who work with animals! Most bites were nothing more than "just a scratch" that healed without any issue.

This bite was different, although I didn't know it at the time. A dog bit me in the webbing of my right thumb. It didn't bleed very much, and I don't even remember if I washed it or put a bandage on it. It seemed so insignificant that I honestly forgot about it.

Within days, my life changed. It started with stomach pain, the worst I've ever felt. I called 911 the first time and was visited by two female paramedics who told me to, "take a Tylenol and an Aleve and sleep it off." That, and the bite, are the last things I remember. From there I became critically ill. I later found out I called 911 back a second time and had them rush me, and my service dog, to the hospital. I rapidly declined, was unable to breathe, and was placed into a coma. Blood cultures eventually identified the cause:

Capnocytophaga canimorsus, a bacterium commonly found in the saliva of dogs. Because of this bacteria I developed severe sepsis and disseminated intravascular coagulation (DIC). Until that moment, I had never even heard of the bacteria that was now threatening my life. The doctors told me something that still surprises me today: I didn't fit the typical profile. I was healthy. I had a functioning spleen. I wasn't immunocompromised. I didn't have a history of alcohol abuse. I was simply one of the incredibly unlucky ones.

I spent one month in the intensive care unit. I was placed in a medically induced coma and required a ventilator because my lungs could no longer keep up. My blood wasn't clotting properly, and at the same time it was clotting where it shouldn't. My platelets plummeted... Then my skin began to die.

My cheeks, nose, and the tip of my right thumb turned black from tissue necrosis caused by the infection and loss of blood flow. My arms and legs became purple. A plastic surgeon warned me that I might lose my thumb. There was also concern that I could lose part of my nose. Somehow, I didn't.

The skin on my nose eventually peeled away like a scab, revealing new skin underneath. Today my freckles are gone, and the skin is still different, but I kept my nose. I kept my thumb. I kept my limbs! Looking back, those feel like victories I never imagined I would celebrate.

Surviving the infection was only the beginning. When I woke up, I had developed drop foot. Walking became difficult because the nerves in my leg had been damaged. My toes were numb, then painfully sensitive, and now they slowly tingle as feeling gradually returns. Recovery has been measured in tiny improvements that most people would never notice.

My nose continues to remind me every day of what happened. The infection damaged my septum and left my nasal passages packed with hardened debris. Months later, an ENT specialist couldn't even pass a scope into my nose because everything was so inflamed and caked with dried secretions. Eventually my septum fell out and now I require a rhinoplasty. My front teeth also became painfully sensitive after my hospitalization. Some days I can drink water without any discomfort. Other days, simply breathing cool air is enough to make them ache.

Recovery has been anything but straightforward. I expected that surviving would mean getting better every day, but that isn't how it works. Some days I wake up feeling stronger, and other days I can't move. Healing isn't linear, and that's been one of the hardest lessons to accept. I've had to learn to be patient with myself and celebrate the small wins instead of focusing on everything I still can't do.

The hardest part of recovery hasn't been any one symptom. It's been accepting that healing isn't something I can fast track. Some days I feel like I'm making incredible progress. Other days I feel like I've taken ten steps backwards. I still become exhausted far more easily than I ever did before sepsis. Running, something I once took for granted, is something I am still fighting to get back. However, when I stop and look at where I started, I realize just how far I've come in such a short amount of time.

When I first left the hospital, I struggled to walk because of my drop foot. Two months of hard work later, I walk normally. I used to have to stop halfway up the stairs just to catch my breath. Today I can carry laundry upstairs without needing to stop. I couldn't imagine jogging. Three months out of the hospital, I completed a 5K with my service dog. These are my little victories.

Before this happened, I thought sepsis was something that happened to old people or people with weak immune systems. I certainly never imagined that a healthy 31 year old could nearly die from what seemed like an insignificant dog bite. If my story proves anything, it's that sepsis can happen to anyone, even someone who appears completely healthy.

Sepsis doesn't always look the way people expect it to. If sharing my story encourages even one person to take a seemingly minor bite seriously, wash the wound thoroughly, seek medical attention when appropriate, or recognize the signs of sepsis sooner, then telling my story is worth it.

I survived one of the rarest infections most people will never hear about. I am incredibly grateful to the healthcare professionals who saved my life, to my family and friends who supported me, and to everyone who continues to help me through recovery.

I survived sepsis. I am alive.