If my memory serves me, it was day five of being home when I realised something was very wrong. I was getting ready for a shower when suddenly dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks. I laid down in bed instead, and that is when the chills and body aches started. I felt like I had a fever, so I asked Matt to get the thermometer. I took my own temperature and sure enough, I did. The thermometer read 38.4C (101.12F – this was an hour after taking ibuprofen). I know that fevers postpartum are nothing to mess with, so I immediately phoned my midwife. She happened to be in the delivery suite when I called, so she asked me to come down so she could assess my vitals.
The timing could not have been worse. We had just gotten our other three to bed, so poor Matt had to wake them all up and get them ready to leave the house. I was not up for leaving the house, but really, I had no other choice. I did not pack anything because I thought I was going for a quick checkup and then coming back home. I could not have been more wrong! Approximately 20 minutes later, we arrived at the delivery suite. I was still dizzy, so I held onto the handrails for dear life for the duration of the walk to the room where my midwife was meeting me.
I arrived and my midwife said I looked flush. I sat down in the hospital bed and they took my temperature. To my surprise, it had risen to 39.1C (102.38F) in that short amount of time. The next thing I knew, hospital staff were swarming to my room. One nurse arrived with a box labelled Sepsis Protocol. A Doctor came in and started asking me a series of questions. I asked the nurse, “What is that box? Do I have sepsis?” I could tell she was trying to keep things light and airy, so she said something along the lines of, “Don’t worry about the label, all you need to know is you are sick and these medications are going to make you feel so much better.”
She started hooking me up to IVs, including fluids because I was dehydrated. The first antibiotic drip started and I realised that I was not going home. Matt left shortly after and I sorted a phone charger from the nurse so I could charge my phone overnight. I kept Louis, which was a silver lining because I got to spend one-on-one time with him. I got lots of warm snuggles, which helped distract me from what was going on.
The plan was that I would get antibiotics and then go home in 24 hours if I was stable with no fevers during that time. I was so certain I would be home in no time. The next day, Matt came by with some supplies for me since I did not pack anything the night before. Unfortunately, I was not stable enough to come home, so the new plan was I would go home the next day. This went on for 6 days. I would feel good then crash, feel great again, then crash again. I was doing horrible!
On day two, I was moved from the delivery suite to the maternity ward. This was a much more comfortable stay, as the delivery suite was not set up for longer-term stays, whereas the maternity ward was. Also, sleeping was a challenge in the delivery suite. You know, with all the screaming (I laugh, because that was me the week prior). I got a different room than the one I initially recovered in for my first stay, and this one was set up with two beds. Every day I was there, I prayed I would not have to share a room with anyone. Thankfully, no one moved into the room while I was there.
One morning during my stay, I woke up feeling extra awful. Apparently, I looked awful too, according to the nurses and my midwife. I had spiked another high fever and had no energy, not even to care for my new baby. I started feeling hopeless – like I was never going to leave the hospital. At one point I felt so bad that I wondered if I would even survive. I wanted to open a window for some fresh air, but all the windows were permanently shut (I have since been told there is a reason for that).
Click for Part 4:
The Cullums Immigrate 
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