My Deadly Post-Op Infection
How a routine recovery became a life-threatening emergency
Hey gang, this is the second issue (Part II) of my four-part series, “My Lung Cancer Surgery Journey.” If you dig it, please share it and say hello, bro, by commenting below. 😁
Surgery (April 29) weakened my immune system. Being cut into freaks out the brain, which goes into total, “what-the-heck-happened?” mode, disrupting everything and welcoming illness.
A severe post-operative infection appeared without warning on Sunday, May 3—just two days after my speech at Sacramento Writers and Hannah's regional gymnastics meet—and five days after surgery.
The infection painted my skin in violent scarlet, surrounding both chest incisions, swirling, swelling, and spreading. Two painfully infected wounds glared at me with angry eyes as though they blamed me for their existence.
It didn’t rattle me, “I’m concerned but will deal with and eradicate this,” I thought. I knew my surgeon needed to order a prescription for antibiotics ASAP.
Toxins and inflammatory substances entered my bloodstream, causing a 100+°F fever by Sunday evening with nausea, dizziness, exhaustion, and overall lousiness as my body diverted all energy resources to battle.
Post-operative infections after thoracic surgery can spiral into sepsis—
a life-threatening emergency—with frightening speed, hijacking your body's defenses and turning them against you.
On Wednesday, May 7, my surgeon started me on ten days of antibiotics. “I’ll be okay, now,” I thought.
I had every right to be fearful, but that frightening word, sepsis, didn’t frighten me. It should have, but didn't. Maybe I’m an experienced professional at not over-thinking and obsessing about my life-threatening issues.
Without the immune foundation I'd been building over the past several years, I’d have likely been hospitalized or dead.
My survival toolkit wasn't about perfection: healthy eating without guilt when I slipped, hecka hydration, high-quality supplements and treatments from my holistic cancer doctor, regular exercise, and yes—an IPA beer or Diet Pepsi during our occasional pizza night splurges.
Nod to the Jinx of the Odds Gods
There’s a five percent chance of being cursed by infection post-Pleurx Catheter surgery. Similar odds have wronged me several times during my sixteen-year cancer journey.
There was a three percent chance of developing deep vein thrombosis, blood clots, post-radical prostatectomy cancer surgery. (2009). I’ve battled more than a dozen blood clots, and also two rounds of Pulmonary Embolism (blood clots in the lungs).
There was a one in a thousand chance that the drug Casodex was damaging my liver during thirty-five radiation treatments in 2012. I urged the doctor, who finally agreed to conduct the blood test, which came back positive for liver damage. I wanted to shout nasty words in his face.
Tolerance and patience were key.
Wednesday, May 14, completed seven days on antibiotics.
I was mainly bedridden and confined to the house, patiently resting for more than two weeks. It was frustrating. I wanted to sit up and stay brain productive via my laptop. But I accepted it and rested and hoped, prayed that I’d soon be able to resume my life.
Thank God I could rest when needed, but I was ready not to need it.
The antibiotics were working. I noticed a slight improvement every day. The fever went under 100°F, and the swelling was substantially less.
“God, please let the ‘creative Hennergy flow’ enthusiastically return and flow freely, re-energizing my Hennenergy.”
On Thursday, May 8, the ninth day of antibiotics, I noticed the redness and swelling around the incisions had progressed slightly. Oy.
On Friday morning, May 9, Betsy left for a one-night girls' trip to Truckee, CA. I kind of needed her not to be so far away, but my baby needed and deserved this time with her besties.
Late in the morning, the surgeon called, "Let's extend the current antibiotic for five days."
I wondered if continuing the same medication was smart since the infection worsened.
I became dizzy and nauseous, and my fever spiked over 100°F. Ninety minutes into their two-hour drive, I reluctantly called Betsy. She placed me on speaker—plenty of female joviality buzzed throughout their vehicle.
Betsy and her three friends probably expected the usual Chris—ad-libbing and have them laughing their asses off immediately.
"Betsy, I'm so sorry. I'm burning up, disgustingly dizzy, and the wounds look horrible. I believe I may need to go to the ER..." Complete silence.
After a few seconds Betsy broke the silence and gently said, "It's not an ER thing, babe." That calmed me. "Have you taken Advil?"
"No."
“Take Advil and call nurse Sarah. See if she can come over and assess the sitch. She’ll likely push Dr. Grey for a different antibiotic.”
"Ten-four. Please have the best time. I'll call Sarah as soon as we hang up. Love you."
Sarah said she could be here in half an hour. She arrived thirty-seven minutes later. We sat at the dining room table. I removed my shirt. Her body language confirmed what I'd suspected: it's worse and worsening fast.
"Chris, we must get you a different antibiotic today!" Sarah said assuredly.
After consultation from my #1 consultant, Betsy, retired nurse bff Monica Blanton, and trusted nurse Sarah, we decided not to follow my surgeon's plan of extending the current medication.
Sarah checked my vitals and changed my wound dressing. “I'll contact Dr. Grey, and he’ll get you on a new antibiotic. Call me immediately if needed.”
Dr. Grey's office followed through 100%. “Mr. Hennessy,” the nurse said on our final chat. “Dr. Grey is confident he’s identified the proper medication.”
A new prescription was waiting at nearby Rite Aid by 6 p.m., a minor miracle considering it was late Friday, Memorial Day Weekend.
I took the antibiotic, ate some dinner, and lay down. It was a tough night. The surgical incisions could have been in a horror movie—massive swelling under the bottom incision ballooned to the size of half a baseball. As a bonus, my temperature climbed back over 100.5°F for the first time in a week. There was too much pain to panic about the dirty, diseased baseball lodged inside of me.
I prayed in pain that the new med worked, and IV antibiotics weren't needed. IV would mean a hospital stay which is below the bottom of my bucket list in a pile of poo.
And in the end,
*please look for Part III, approximately Thursday, July 3.
Newsflash, Touched by Hannah is getting published!
I will make an official announcement on social media soon, and there will be more news in the next issue. We’re shooting for a late October 2025 launch date, and I am pumped times infinity!
Thanks for keeping your fan-base up to date on how God continues to use you! :)
Best wishes and prayers for your recovery.