In 1998, I was Director of Athletics at a school for learning different children, a basketball coach, and a field hockey referee. My husband worked for a computer company and our three children were in 8th grade, a freshman at the University of North Texas, and a junior at the University of Texas. Life was good.

I had taught at my school for 7 years and it was by far the best teaching position I had ever experienced. It was my second family, my best friends were there and it was a school full of magic with teachers who could work miracles with children who learn differently from the rest of us.

In November of 1998, after a season of officiating field hockey and organizing the fall athletic teams; I bent over to pick up a volleyball in the gym and felt a sharp pain in my right knee. Immediately I knew what had happened. I had torn the meniscus cartilage in my knee - the cartilage that cushions the knee joint. I had done this several years back and had arthroscopic surgery.

So off I went to my orthopedist and explained what happened. One x-ray later confirmed my diagnosis and I thought I would have my knee scoped again over the Christmas holidays. My doctor decided instead to give me a non-steroidal anti- inflammatory drug to see if that would relieve my symptoms and avoid another surgery. I started taking the medication.

Two weeks later on Christmas day, I started to feel like I was getting the flu. Three days later after several visits to doctors and emergency rooms, I was seriously ill, breaking out in a rash and then blisters all over my body. My husband took me to the emergency room at our local hospital. I did not know what was wrong however, I knew it was serious. It was really frightening when I became aware the doctors didn't know what was wrong either. I was having trouble swallowing and was in pain. Finally, a dermatologist looked at me and said that I had Steven Johnson Syndrome.

I was rushed to Parkland Hospital in Dallas where a team of burn specialists were waiting for me. I had been put on morphine in the ambulance because the pain had become so intense. The emergency room doctor told my husband that I might not make it through the night. The last thing I remembered was telling my husband to call my good friend in Chicago. She was a nurse and I knew she would come and take care of my kids and him.

I was admitted to the intensive care burn unit at Dallas Parkland Memorial Hospital where the doctors and nurses tried everything they could to save my life. I had 11 operations and almost died several times. My husband had the doctor in charge of my case call a specialist in colon surgery. My abdominal cavity had become infected. I made it through that surgery and at that point, everyone thought I was going to be ok.

But it didn't turn out that way. Over a hundred blood transfusions helped me along, and a respirator helped me breath when I developed pneumonia. The drugs they gave me were narcotics that caused me to have horrible hallucinations, which I cannot even begin to describe. They were so vivid and traumatic that I remember most of them today. One of my doctors prescribed a medication to stop the hallucinations and I had a reaction to that drug as well and wound up back in intensive care almost dying again. All the while, my blood pressure was pole vaulting over my bed, my hair was falling out and my skin was coming off my body. I must have looked like the Borgue Queen.

Throughout it all, my family rallied the wagons. My husband was there every day encouraging me to fight. He literally drug me through the agony and pain and pleaded with me not to give up. My daughter dropped out of college and came home to help take care of me. She knew her dad was going to need some moral support and she just couldn't stay in Austin while all hell was breaking loose in Dallas. My middle son came to see me and became so upset the nurses had to take him out of my room to calm him down. He persevered in college even though he was worried that I might die. My youngest child was left to fend for himself. He fixed his own breakfast and came home to an empty house. But when his sister came home, he was able to cope a little better. My brother came to see me from Virginia and spent time with the boys. His children and wife came as well. The upheaval that my illness caused my family still bothers me to this day

My school chipped in with food; they cleaned my house; mowed the yard, took the kids out to lunch and, of course, came to the waiting room to sit with my husband. They were allowed to see me when I was lucid. I was in the intensive care burn unit for five months and then on the rehab floor for two. Every day one of my friends from school came to see me. My good friend, Vicky, even slept in my room one night.

Eventually my husband told me I had lost my left eye and the function of my tear ducts. I had so much trouble with my eyesight I thought I would never have a normal life again. I lost my colon and spleen and probably several other things I don't know about. I had to learn how to swallow again which was extremely frustrating and difficult. The rehabilitation was absolutely the most excruciating experience in my life. I would come back to my room in tears. But my therapists would not let me give up. I finally stood up one day with three therapists holding me. It was the most physically demanding thing I had ever done. Having been a kinesiology major and a coach I knew how important the rehab was so I tried as hard as I could. Deep down, though, I didn't think I would ever walk again.

My rehab doctor was great, my therapists were great, my surgeon was amazing -- she came in my room one night and scratched my back for fifteen minutes because I had broken out in another rash. My eye doctors came to see me every day. They were worried that I might develop an infection in my right eye. They worked really hard to keep that from happening. The nurses who took care of me and consoled my family are angels on this earth: I just can't see their wings. But I did memorize their voices and knew which one was in my room. They took turns putting up with me.

I can remember just laying in bed day after day with tubes everywhere, and needles and blood tests, a central line, and shots, shots, shots.. Waking up in the middle of the night and thinking it was during the day was very distressing. The more I began to be weaned off the narcotics, the more I realized what I had been through. I started worrying about my husband and children. My anxiety level went up along with my irritability. They sent a psychiatrist in to see me daily because I was developing a depression. But all the hard work of my doctors, family and the support from my school motivated me to keep trying.

Finally, the respirator was removed, the feeding tube was removed, the central line and IV's were removed, the foley was gone and I started to understand just what a horrible illness Stephen Johnson Syndrome is. The day came when I finally went home. I stopped by my school on the way and everyone came out to see me although I could not walk so I stayed in the car. Things were not great at home. My husband was afraid he wasn't going to be able to take care of me. I missed my job; I was still in rehab and came home crying every day. I had neuropathy in my legs and feet and that is very painful. I still have it to a degree, but not as bad as it was. I hated being a burden to my husband, he was so kind and patient and always up. He never let me see him down although I know that at times he was frantic.

Looking back on it now - five years later, I am still angry at times for all the days I spent away from my family and for having them go through the insanity of it all. Losing my job was a very difficult and sad experience. But I found a wonderful doctor in Boston who fitted my right eye with a sclera lens which totally changed my life. I read constantly now. I am coaching field hockey again and even officiated a game last week which goes to prove the saying true that referees are really half blind!

I saw both my children graduate from college and the "baby" graduate from high school. All my children are doing well in spite of their mother. My daughter graduated from law school and in January she gave me my first grandchild (whom I plan to spoil rotten). My middle son is an artist and his paintings are a joy to see. My youngest is starting college and has finally let me back in his life. For so long he was afraid to believe that I was going to be all right.

Although there were days; both in the hospital and when I returned home I thought I would have been better off dying, I am very glad to still be here. So those of you who have those blue days when the "bad guys" come out to get you, just shoo them away. Life is precious and we need to seize every moment and try to find happiness, although at times, I have found that difficult to do. I have a psychiatrist still and go to see her often. She is another one of those angels in my life whose wings I cannot see. And she gets after me when I start feeling crummy. Sometimes she makes me really mad, but I know the advice she is giving me is right. Somehow she has located my brain and has figured out how it works (or not).

Steven Johnson threw a big curve ball in my life. I will never understand why something like that has to hurt so many people. When you almost lose your life and everyone you love, it changes your perspective on so many things. I know I will never be the same.

I have learned how important my family is and how much I cherish them. I have learned who my friends are. One of my neighbors came to see me at home every day. She brought me flowers and read to me. I have learned the incredible sacrifices that doctors and nurses make to help the sick. I have so much respect for them and sometimes I feel like they are my best friends. I have learned the meaning of "in sickness and in health." . I have learned that somewhere out there is a force that sees us through the worst of times. I have learned to love and appreciate those who pass through my life and am grateful to them for believing in me.