It was late winter 2023, and my then 6-year-old daughter, Francesca, caught a cold. Nothing unusual for a cold Berlin winter and a child who goes to kindergarten. But the cold turned into an ear infection, high fever, and relentless symptoms. I visited our pediatrician three days in a row, followed by a visit to the hospital emergency room. Everyone assured us this was just a cold or the flu, and an ear infection, nothing to worry about. But I knew different. I could see it in her. This was not a regular cold.

Then came a new symptom, elbow and knee pain. Again, a visit to the pediatrician, again sent home. Symptoms kept getting worse, along with very high fever. Her pain became so severe that she could not walk to the bathroom unassisted, and this is when a rash started on her body. Again, we went to the pediatrician, carried since she could no longer walk. By then, the small rash had turned purple on her legs, and she was lethargic as well. After another examination, our doctor sent us to the hospital.

We arrived at the emergency room, which was packed, and waited. Her rash was getting rapidly worse, a dark deep purple all over her legs. Once we are finally seen and blood is drawn, we are told that we will be admitted to the hospital. We were given Covid tests and admitted. Then chaos ensued, one doctor came in, followed by another, and another, and another. My daughter was suddenly surrounded by 7 doctors, frantically talking, taking blood, and hooking her up to machines. She was so dehydrated that getting an IV took several people. We were asked so many questions to help doctors determine what caused this, from where we were born, where we had traveled to, had we been around people who traveled abroad, describing every symptom she’d had, and countless more.

My heart was sinking, my husband looked equally scared, and my daughter was crying and calling out for me. Finally, the head of the ER addressed us and explained that my daughter’s CRP levels, which determine inflammation in the body, were dangerously high. Any number above 10 requires hospitalization; her levels were at 326. Our doctor had never seen such a high number in his career. The next hours were like living in a nightmare. We saw countless doctors, they performed countless tests, and we were informed she needed to be moved to another hospital as the ICU was full there, yet she was not stable enough to move. It took hours to stabilize her and over 15 attempts for a 3rd IV to be placed, in a makeshift ICU room, with caring doctors and nurses that could no longer hide the severity of the situation.

We were finally able to move her, in an ICU ambulance, to the top hospital in the country, which, lucky for us, is in Berlin. We arrived, again, to a myriad of doctors inspecting her. Another cardiologist woken up to once again perform the 3rd ultrasound of her heart. We spent a sleepless night in the ICU. Doctors did not have the heart to send my husband away, even though only 1 parent is allowed to stay. My daughter was finally asleep and in no pain; she slept for over 48 hours.

The next day, she continued to be stable, and we were sent to the Intermediate Care unit. This is when questions started again about everything, from our routines, traveling, family members, etc. While in intermediate care, we were seen by cardiologists, infectious disease experts, rheumatologists, surgeons, and countless more. Her blood was drawn and tested every 2 hours. When she finally woke, I could sense the relief in her doctors. She was tired but talking and against odds in good spirits. She still slept most of the day and night, but every day she felt more and more like herself.

We were eventually sent to the regular ward and spent many days there, where she regained strength through physical therapy and eventually was strong enough to sit in a chair and walk again. Questions still went unanswered. What had caused this? I was told that if we spent 2 months in the hospital and walked away with a healthy daughter, I would be very lucky.

We spent a total of 25 days in the hospital. She took antibiotics for 6 months afterward, but against all odds, she made a full recovery. Her strength and will to fight was praised by everyone we met in the hospital. We would never know what caused sepsis, and sepsis was never mentioned by our team of doctors and nurses. We would understand the severity of her case upon being discharged, with her medical records. She had arrived in septic shock to the ER, and organ failure had begun.

We still go to regular checkups for her myositis (elbow & knee), and this is something she will need to monitor her entire life. However difficult, her story has a happy ending; she is a thriving 8-year-old, happy as can be.

It has now been two and a half years since that terrifying time. Today, I am part of the Global Sepsis Alliance. Not every family is as lucky as ours, and I feel a responsibility to raise awareness about this often-overlooked disease. Sepsis can move fast and be devastating—but with more awareness, earlier recognition, and better advocacy, more lives can be saved. I hope that by sharing our story, I can help prevent other families from going through what we did.

The article above was written by Karla Koch and is shared here with her explicit consent. The views in the article do not necessarily represent those of the Global Sepsis Alliance. They are not intended or implied to be a substitute for professional medical advice. The whole team here at the Global Sepsis Alliance and World Sepsis Day wishes to thank her for sharing her daughter’s story and for fighting to raise awareness for sepsis.

“This Was Not a Regular Cold”: A Mother’s Story of Sepsis and Survival