‘A lung infection nearly killed me’

As a dog lover and keen walker out and about in all weathers, I didn’t think anything of it when I suddenly developed a nasty cough. I just thought I’d caught a cold, and as I’m asthmatic, that the cough was part of it along with wheezing. I often have a tight chest, so it wasn’t anything unusual for me.

But this time, the cough wouldn’t go away. It was a dry, annoying cough that occasionally produced nasty phlegm. But I felt well so I didn’t take cough medicine or other medication.

My partner, Andy Johnston, suggested I visit a doctor, but I was sure that the cough would go away in a few days. However, when two months later, I was still coughing, I started to worry. “You should really go for a check up,” insisted Andy, 48, and so I went to see my local GP in Colchester, UK, the next day before going into work. The doctor suggested it could be an allergy but to be sure referred me to hospital for an X-ray. It was the first time I was asked to have an X-ray for a cough and that, I have to admit, scared me. My mother died of lung cancer aged 54 so terrible thoughts ran through my head. Even without a diagnosis, I convinced myself it was cancer. Andy hugged me. “No, it can’t be cancerous. You will be fine with some antibiotics.”

I had to have a biopsy, a procedure where doctors remove a sample of cells from the lungs and have it tested. The sample showed I had a pulmonary aspergillosis infection, a condition that can cause irreparable, and sometimes fatal, damage to the lungs and sinuses.

Desperate for information I went online and found aspergillosis is the name of a group of conditions caused by a fungal mould called aspergillus. It usually affects the respiratory system, but it can spread to anywhere in the body. Aspergillosis is frequent among horticultural workers who inhale peat dust, which can be rich in aspergillus spores, I learnt. Symptoms can vary from mild wheezing to coughing up blood. But all I had was a persistent chesty cough – no blood and I didn’t feel particularly unwell. A fungal lung infection is incredibly rare, but can be caught from compost bins or any mould. I must have picked it up while out walking my pet Labrador.

Most people’s immune systems will quickly isolate and destroy the mould before it can spread to their lungs. But because I was asthmatic I was at greater risk of being severely affected. Luckily, aspergillosis isn’t contagious. There was no chance I’d passed it on to Andy.

My usual GP wasn’t there so I saw a new doctor who tried to fob me off with tablets. But I knew I needed hospital treatment. “You’re not listening to me,” I said. “I need to be in a hospital – something isn’t right.” He shook his head. “I’d advise you to try this medication and come back if you don’t feel any better.”

But I dug my heels in: “I can’t carry on. I will be dead in six months if you just put me on more tablets.” He finally agreed to refer me back to Colchester General Hospital where I was put on an intravenous drip and pumped with painkillers and other medication to tackle the infection.

I then underwent a chest drain – which removed almost a litre of fluid that had accumulated due to the infection – from my right lung. However, during the procedure something went wrong and some of the fluid (that can be toxic), seeped into my pleural space – the lining between the lung and the body. My condition got critical, and I was transferred to the Royal Brompton Hospital for another chest drain. Two days later, doctors removed another litre of pus from my lung. I was pumped with painkillers and heavily sedated. Doctors admitted they were not happy with the way my body was responding to the treatment and decided to conduct an emergency operation the next day.

Surgeons decided to remove three quarters of my right lung. “That’s the only way to get rid of the infection,” they told Andy later, while I was sedated. I was very poorly and in a critical state. I also had a bad reaction to the sedative – morphine – which made me see monsters and horrid images in my dreams. So I was put on a different concoction of painkillers.

The next thing I remember is waking up after the four-hour operation and seeing an exercise bike by my bed. The consultant wanted me to use it every day to help me make a speedy recovery. “Your right lung now has the capacity of a 125ml glass, but that won’t stop you doing anything,” she said. She insisted that using my lungs was the best way to get better.

Five weeks in hospital passed. My daughter Laura, then 23, was about to graduate from York St John’s University and I desperately wanted to see the ceremony. “I’ll drive you there,” Andy said. I was wheeled around in a wheelchair and looked terrible, but I managed to stand for a photo with my daughter and was thrilled to see her walk up to the podium and accept her certificate.

Back home, doctors said it would take a year for me to fully recover. I was only in a wheelchair for a week after leaving hospital, but I decided to take some time off work to rest.

In April 2014, Andy, my dog and I decided to fulfil my lifelong dream. I’d always wanted to travel across Europe in a campervan – so we set off. We travelled through Germany and Italy and got as far as Greece when we got a message from my son Elliot, now 22.

Doctors tried various combinations of drugs to control Elliot’s epilepsy, but it takes a while to get it right, but I’m so pleased he’s back at university in Birmingham.

Meanwhile, I decided to start fundraising for an epilepsy charity. I read about a 30km charity night walk “I’ve got to do it,” I thought. It was a challenge and a great opportunity to raise money for Epilepsy Research UK. I completed it alone in five-and-a-half hours and have so far raised £1,425 (Dh7,915).

Doctors say my right lung will always have a capacity of a 125ml glass – but that shouldn’t stop me living a normal life. And I am. Thankfully a relapse is unlikely. I sound chesty when I talk, but I feel fine and my body’s learned to adapt. Now I can channel my energy into raising funds for Epilepsy UK. I’ve always tried to live life to the full, but now I’m grasping life with both hands to make every second count.