Transcriber: Theresa Ranft Reviewer: Denise RQ
I'd like to tell you about my story,
about having a cough for two weeks.
It was very irritating, but being a busy working mum,
I probably didn't look after myself very well, and it was just a cough.
This Friday morning, I decided though I would like rid of it for the weekend;
it was to be a very hot weekend,
and it would be nice if I can get some antibiotics
to get rid of it for the weekend.
So I did just that, I took myself to the doctor's,
got the antibiotics, took myself to bed,
and thought I would be better the next morning.
But I wasn't; I was worse.
Even then I didn't like the fuss, probably I wouldn't have done anything about it,
but for a bit of bullying by my mother and my friend,
I phoned NHS 24 on the Saturday morning, and I told them my story.
They didn't seem to think there was a big panic either,
but they did suggest that I get myself up there and be checked.
So I did that, and as I walked into the Paisley RAH, I collapsed.
And that's all I remember:
a crash team standing around me, and nothing else for two weeks.
I know now from reports from everyone I had pneumonia, quite chronic pneumonia,
I also had - everyone has - Staphylococcus virus inside you,
but mine was in places it shouldn't have been,
and the two between them were poisoning my blood.
I had sepsis, and it was taking hold at a very alarming rate of knots.
Within perhaps two hours of being there, my organs were shutting down one by one,
and the doctors didn't know what to do.
My family were all called.
My brother was told to get on a plane from Dubai,
and probably all along thought, "How ridiculous!
People survive pneumonia all the time now. What's the panic?"
But he didn't know they were keeping me alive until he arrived,
so that I could say goodbye.
However, during his flight, and through a lot of brainstorming,
the doctors had come up with a plan to try and get me on a program,
on an ECMO machine.
The ECMO machine that could fight chest issues was in Leicester,
and this doctor spent a bit of time checking out the criteria in Leicester,
and managed to get an acceptance for them to get me on their program.
And a whole team of doctors and nurses flew up by air ambulance
- not dramatic at all - from Leicester to Paisley to get me,
and I've been told they ran in like the cavalry,
or the knights in shining armor,
with their white horse being the mobile ECMO unit.
That consultant I've since been to see,
and he told me that in the flight, on the way up,
they thought there was little chance they would take me.
And when they arrived I was worse,
I was dying.
However, it was a weekend, and normally he'd have been answerable to someone else
who'd almost certainly have said no to helping me.
But it being his decision that weekend, he decided there was nothing to lose
as the end result was going to be death anyway.
So they put me onto the ECMO unit, and they flew me back down to Leicester,
and I spent a bit of time down there fighting for my life,
and this ECMO machine which took the blood from me,
filtered it, cooled it,
took the toxins out and put it back in, as I understand it;
this ECMO machine saved my life,
as did the doctors and nurses of the ECMO unit in Leicester.
Before too long, they felt I was strong enough to come back home,
and I regained consciousness
in the intensive care unit at Paisley again.
And from that point,
every day, as I had regained consciousness, to me was a positive one.
All the doctors and nurses who looked after me,
every one of them had something positive to tell me:
I was doing so well, they couldn't believe I'd been able to fight back,
they couldn't believe I was getting rid of this and that life-saving machine,
and pretty soon I'd be off this one and that one.
Every single message was one of positivity,
and I felt positive.
However, there was a downside:
in saving my vital organs
the extremities had to be left,
and the circulation hadn't reached my hands and my feet,
and they'd started to turn black.
Over a period of time
my hands turned to what can only be described as ebony,
or coal perhaps;
they were brittle, no flesh, nothing soft and spongy about my skin,
and my hands were showing signs that they'd gone too far.
My feet though, although they were still blue-black,
there was a lot of hope for them,
and I spent a total of six weeks getting myself well enough at the RAH
to be considering moving to a new hospital
for my hands and my feet to be inspected.
One Thursday afternoon, I was moved to Glasgow Royal,
and I expected there to be tests and treatments, scans perhaps, X-rays,
a lot of research into what state my hands and my feet were in,
and what needed to go and what could be saved.
I only had time as I arrived to settle into my new room,
visiting time that evening,
and the following morning
was my first day I thought it would all start to be discussed.
But what actually happened was, at ten to eight in the morning,
anyone who's been at hospital knows there are doctors' rounds,
and in came this team of people to the end of my bed.
It was a consultant and a couple of interns,
the ward sister, physios, nurses;
I didn't know, to be honest, I was new to this ward,
I didn't know any of them.
The consultant led by telling the team,
"Mrs. Hutton has to lose her hands and her feet next week."
That's exactly what he said and exactly the way he said it,
and that's not what I expected to hear.
Suddenly, the positivity had gone, and it was negative.
I was distraught, I was hysterical, I was alone.
So the family were all called again, within a few minutes by my side again,
and we tried to work out what to do in this situation.
I'd been fit, healthy, and active,
and this was obviously a big deal to anyone, never mind anyone active.
We sought second opinions, third opinions,
probably fourth actually, me and my family,
but it became obvious within a period of three days
that every opinion was the same,
and everyone thought these amputations had to happen.
There wasn't anyone that came up with a miracle cure
or the pioneering surgery that could do anything different.
We resigned ourselves to the fact
that I would soon become the quadruple amputee.
That happened on day four, and for the next six weeks after that,
I took part in surgeries to remove both my legs,
right through the shins, just below my calves.
I lost both my hands at the wrists.
They took an awful lot of tissue and muscle away,
and I actually had to have my hand sewn into a pocket flap on my hip
for three weeks.
For three weeks I sat in this position while they changed my bed,
not this position or that position - this position,
while they changed my clothes, while they bathed me,
always in this position; I couldn't move at all.
That was a particularly negative time, very hard to be positive at that time,
but I remember my brother Davy coming in with iPads and the suchlike with downloads
and almost all of them were TED talks by somebody inspirational,
and somebody who gave me some kind of information
that could make me more positive in that situation.
One day in particular, Davy came in with a check.
The check had been given to him by a friend of ours in our gym,
and he'd said to David, "Corrine's going to need a lot of money,
she's going to need an awful lot of things for the rest of her life.
Would you please give her this check?
It's far easier than doing all the silly challenges
that you probably meet me do in time;
I won't need to jump off a cliff or swim the rapids, just give her the money."
And I actually started to see these events quite like that,
where people wanted to hand over money if they had it,
they wanted to fundraise, they wanted to do anything they could to help me.
We tried to decide what to do with the check
and the money that followed,
and it was suggested that we start a charity
and maybe I could help other people.
We were out one afternoon when I escaped hospital,
my brother took me out to a bionic clinic in Livingston.
Before that, we had some lunch in a really classy joint,
McDonald's joint along the way
(Laughter)
and he pushed me in a wheelchair which I'd never done before,
and we didn't know where to sit.
So a kind couple said, "We'll give you our seat."
And I said, "No, please no. We're trying to find our feet."
And Scott, behind me, said, "You can't say that ..."
(Laughter)
You've not got any feet!"
And that was when "Finding Your Feet" was born.
But I wanted to fight back, I wanted to be able.
I got myself out of hospital for my son's first day at school,
which made me a mum again, that very day.
I wanted to try and make a difference.
I discovered what I now know to be real wealth:
the people that helped me, my closest friends and family,
but also the complete kindness of total strangers who wanted to help,
and that, for me, was my real wealth.
Having found that, I thought, "What am I going to do with this?"
And I decided the best thing I could do is to share that wealth,
and I had access to all sorts of professional people:
doctors, lawyers, accountants,
surgeons, nurses.
Lots of people that helped me, but a lot of people don't have that.
And perhaps I could share my wealth and that information with a lot of people
who had perhaps suffered a life-changing trauma, such as me.
It didn't need to be ECMO, it didn't need to be amputations,
just anyone who needed to find their feet.
And that's how I decided I could use my wealth, I could spread my wealth.
I thought perhaps being positive might rub off in some people,
and I could perhaps teach people: "Yes, you can,"
and not to accept the defeat.
I wanted to be able not disabled, and perhaps I could spread that message
and be able to turn your diversity into something much more positive.
At the moment, I'm looking at the next few weeks,
I'm carrying the Queen's Baton,
and I've been invited to attend her Garden Party, very kind.
Can't make that one I'm afraid, I had to say no.
(Laughter)
(Applause)
Thank you.
Also, I was given a gift by awell-known, famous actor
who decided to do his hand prints for me,
and he said he would like to lend a hand to [Finding Your] Feet,
and that followed quite a few more celebrities.
I've been...
(Shriek from audience and laughter)
I've been doing a bit of star spotting as well.
The point is that my life that I thought would be quite negative in the future,
has opened up to a lot of riches,
and my wealth has become so much more obvious to me.
Perhaps if there was a message today that I could pass to you guys,
I'd say, "Yes, you can."
Maybe one or two of you might leave with a bit more of a message,
that's just to be all you can be.
But for me to be asked to talk at TEDx was quite a big deal
knowing the history of TEDx and how it helped me.
But also, strangely,
this all happened to me on the 8th of June, 2013,
and I've packed that all in this;
this is the anniversary of my illness, one year on,
and I couldn't think of a better way of commemorating it.
(Applause)
Thank you.
(Applause)