on Antibiotics

When I was four years old, I had a heck of a time!

My family vacationed a lot in an area of Southern Oregon called the Oxbow, specifically near Sister's Creek.  There were many miles of logging roads perfect for riding dirtbikes (motorcycles that are not necessarily street-legal).  My parents had Yamaha 250s and I usually rode as a passenger on the back of my father's bike.  This one particular vacation, my cousin Lori decided to hijack her mother Lola's Yamaha 1000 (a very powerful cycle) for which she didn't really know how to ride.  In addition she brought along her friend who was camping with us.  I was riding with my cousin Debbie who was very experienced even though she was only 6 years old at the time.

As our small convoy rounded a corner along a steep mountain-side, we heard a loud engine approaching from the rear.  It was Lori and her friend quickly threatening to overtake us.  The road wasn't very wide despite being made for log trucks.  Lori wouldn't move aside or slow down, or she was unable to due to her lack of ability, so she careened straight toward us.  My cousin Debbie had to make a snap decision; either leap off the cliff, or ram into the rock wall.  She chose the latter as my Lori spun out and lost control of her mother's bike.

We hit the large boulders and the motorcycle fell on top of me.  Oregon had a mandatory helmet law, but they didn't make helmets small enough to truly fit my small cranium, so when I hit the helmet slid down my face, opening up the cheek.  The motorcycle pinned my foot and caused it to turn backward.  I can remember my face being very warm, but it didn't hurt, whereas my foot was in agony.  Thank goodness I was wearing some kind of head protection or the accident would have been much worse.

They somehow carried me to my uncle's camper which was mounted on top of the bed of his truck.  I remember laying in there, with some people (not sure if it was my mother, cousin, or whom) around me.  It took a couple of hours to reach the nearest hospital where they taped up my face temporarily and then set to figuring out my ankle.  My foot had been turned around, but no bones were broken.  It seems that my young four-year-old tendons simply stretched to allow the turning, so it was easily set right.  I was on crutches for a few weeks while the tendons shrunk back to shape.  I had my face stitched up in the same hospital I was born in, by my family pediatrician Dr. Berryhill, but he removed the stitches too early and I ended up with a pretty good scar under my right eye.  It's started to disappear now as the elastin in my skin diminishes.

During this horrible time, they put me on antibiotics in order to stave off any infections.

Later that same year I started having a severely sore throat and couldn't eat anything.  The inside of my mouth, especially the roof started dying, turning white and flaking away.  The same thing was happening in my throat, esophagus and stomach.  At first I had my own room with my own color television, something I'd not had before.  I was there for a couple of days, then the doctors put me into a special quarantine ward at the hospital with other sufferers from a similar disease.  They labeled it Stephens-Johnson's Syndrome, the leading cause of blindness in the United States.  The little girl in the bed next to mine lost her eyes to the tissue-necrophying illness.

Near Holiday time in December, my parents pleaded with the doctors to let me come home.  The doctors were loathe to do this as I needed constant IVs for food and hydration.  Dr. Berryhill told my parents to brace themselves for my impending death as my white blood cells were beginning to take over my body.  For some insane reason the doctors allowed my parents to take me home for a couple of days.  They pumped me full of antibiotics and cortisone and then released me to my parents.  Being the irresponsible parents they could sometimes be (sorry, but true) my father and mother decided to bundle me up and drive to Tacoma to visit my aunt.  This was a five hour drive.  The cortisone had an interesting affect on me; it increased my hunger immensely.  I had an oral mouthwash antiseptic and anesthetic so I could eat some soft foods.

My aunt and uncle raised goats and although I had never drunk goat's milk prior to this, I couldn't get enough of it during this short visit.  I drank and drank and drank the creamy mixture.  When we got back to the hospital, Dr. Berryhill was shocked to see I had actually gained weight.  As he tested me he discovered my throat, esophagus and stomach were nearly back to normal with no signs of the terrible Syndrome.  His conclusion was that I didn't actually suffer from the true Syndrome, but had some kind of bug that the antibiotics killed off.  Of course the intense amount of nutrition present in the goat's milk helped immensely too.

Years later, as an adult, I was contacted by a support group for the Stephens-Johnson's Syndrome.  Doctors had now discovered the cause of the Syndrome: an allergic reaction to antibiotics.

So, after having the motorcycle accident and receiving antibiotics, my body had a severe allergic reaction which put me in the hospital again.  While there, I had received even more antibiotics and began to spiral towards doom.  By being temporarily released from the constant barrage of antibiotics, and consuming large quantities of nutrition, my body recovered.

Cautionary tale!


My aunt