“Like many women in their forties, I was finding it harder to stay in shape. I was exercising three times a week at the gym with a personal trainer and also adored water sports, such as kayaking.
“I was single, and to be honest needed a little pick-me-up. As a flight attendant I worked with many women who had undergone cosmetic surgery, either to have their nose or boobs fixed.
“Quite a few of the women told me they had liposuction, and I admit I was envious of the result. They made it sound all so simple.
“Although I was 45, I was still in pretty good shape. But at the time [liposuction] seemed the perfect way to lose some excess fat around my stomach.
“My personal trainer was against me having the lipo, but I decided to go ahead anyway. The cost was $5780; I was to have lipo on my stomach, thighs and knees.
“On the day of the operation, I had a tingling feeling in my stomach — the sort of feeling you get when something is wrong. I ignored my intuition. As I lay on the operating table, the surgeon assured me everything would be OK.
“I remember coming round from the operation with a terrible burning sensation behind my right knee. The nurses at the clinic gave me some pain-killers and my friend Danny collected me. I had to be taken out in a wheelchair because I couldn’t walk and was in so much pain. On the way home I was so thirsty we had to stop to buy a soft drink.
“Back at my house, the pain just got worse. I was drifting in and out of sleep and was also vomiting. When Danny called the clinic, they told him to give me more pain-killers, but I was unable to keep them down.
“The following morning, despite drinking lots of fluid, I woke up totally dehydrated. I felt awful. Danny was worried enough to call an ambulance as my condition worsened.
“When I arrived [at hospital], a nurse said to me, ‘We’ll clean you up and soon have you out of here’. From then on everything became hazy, as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember someone saying I had a complete organ failure. Doctors and nurses seemed to be running about and I remember signing a consent form so they could operate. ‘What’s wrong?’ I mumbled.
“The doctor leant in close so I could hear and told me, ‘You’ve got necrotising fasciitis’.
“I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Later, after almost dying on the operating table, I learnt this was a flesh-eating bug…”
For the full story, see this week’s Woman’s Day (on-sale June 18).
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