It began as an ordinary family holiday — the kind built on small joys and simple expectations. A weathered campervan. Two excited boys singing off-key in the back seat. A lake shimmering beneath the summer sun. For Lucinda Mullins, a devoted mother and experienced nurse, it was meant to be a pause from routine — a week of laughter, late-night marshmallows, and watching her sons grow just a little taller in the fresh air.
Instead, it became the week that divided her life into “before” and “after.”
A Familiar Pain That Felt Harmless
Lucinda had dealt with kidney stones before. Months earlier, doctors had discovered fourteen small stones scattered between her kidneys. They were told they were manageable — small enough to pass naturally. Drink water. Take pain relief. Rest. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not alarming.
So when a sharp ache returned to her lower back during the camping trip, she dismissed it. She had felt it before. She swallowed medication and carried on, determined not to let discomfort steal moments from her family. Her husband DJ steered the camper along winding roads while their sons, twelve-year-old Teegan and seven-year-old Easton, buzzed with excitement about boating adventures ahead.
But pain has a way of lingering when it carries a warning.
By the time the family returned home, the ache hadn’t faded. Lucinda’s medical instincts told her something wasn’t quite right. A visit to her GP and a CAT scan confirmed it: several stones remained, and one stubborn fragment had lodged in her ureter.
The solution seemed straightforward — a minor hospital procedure to place a stent that would help the stones pass more easily. It was routine. She went home sore but stable. Days later, she removed the stent as instructed. Life resumed.
Months passed. In December, she underwent a similar procedure for her right kidney. Again, it was described as simple. Again, she followed instructions precisely.
Again, she believed the worst was behind her.
The Morning Everything Collapsed
The following day, Lucinda woke feeling feverish. A scratchy throat. A slight chill. It felt like the beginning of a cold — nothing more. But within hours, her body betrayed her. The back pain returned with violent intensity. Nausea gripped her. She couldn’t keep down water. Through the night she trembled, confused and dehydrated.
By morning, DJ found her collapsed on the bathroom floor.
The emergency room visit that followed would reveal the devastating truth: one kidney stone had been left behind. It had become infected. And that infection was spreading rapidly through her bloodstream.
Sepsis.
It is a word that strikes fear into medical professionals — fast, aggressive, and often fatal. Lucinda, who had cared for countless patients in her nursing career, now found herself on the other side of the hospital bed.
Doctors intubated her. Machines breathed for her. Her organs began shutting down as septic shock tightened its grip. She was transferred to a larger hospital. DJ was warned she might not survive the night.
Seven Days Lost to Darkness
Lucinda awoke a week later to a blur of lights, wires, and exhausted faces. DJ sat beside her, eyes heavy but filled with relief. He explained what she could not remember: the coma, the organ failure, the desperate surgical attempts to reach the infected stone. Swollen, diseased tissue had made immediate removal impossible. Instead, another stent had been inserted in hopes that her body could stabilize.
She was alive — but barely.
Then came another cruel discovery.
Dark purple patches began spreading across her hands and legs. The sepsis had starved her limbs of blood. Tissue was dying. Doctors spoke gently but clearly: to save her life, they would have to amputate all four limbs.
The words felt unreal. How could a kidney stone lead here?
Lucinda wept in DJ’s arms, grappling with the impossible choice between life and limb. But the answer, at its core, was simple.
She wanted to live.
She wanted to watch her boys grow up.
The Price of Survival
The next morning, surgeons removed both legs above the knee.
Two weeks later, when her body was strong enough, doctors finally extracted the kidney stone that had triggered the nightmare. Months of healing followed as medical teams fought to preserve as much of her arms as possible. Circulation slowly improved, but the damage was irreversible. Eventually, her arms were amputated below the elbows.
Lucinda’s world had transformed completely. Tasks once performed without thought — brushing her hair, hugging her children with both arms, walking across a room — now required courage, innovation, and immense strength.
Recovery was grueling. She spent a month in intensive rehabilitation, relearning balance, rebuilding her core, and practicing transfers from bed to wheelchair. DJ modified her powered wheelchair so she could maneuver it using her elbow.
Every small victory — sitting upright unassisted, navigating a doorway — felt monumental.
A Family’s Unbreakable Love
If Lucinda’s body had been broken, her family had not.
Teegan and Easton visited constantly, climbing carefully into her hospital bed and wrapping their arms around her. “When are you coming home, Mum?” they would ask.
“When all the sick parts are gone,” she would reply softly.
DJ became her anchor. He learned to cook meals she loved, manage the household, and even apply her makeup. He never left her side. Her mother and mother-in-law alternated caring for the boys so he could remain present through every surgery and therapy session.
Love became the medicine that no IV could provide.
Pink Prosthetics and Powerful Steps
When her skin healed sufficiently, Lucinda was fitted with dazzling hot-pink prosthetic legs — vibrant, glittering declarations of resilience. With a walker and trembling determination, she took her first steps again.
Her boys cheered, their voices echoing through the rehabilitation center: “You’ve got this, Mum!”
Later came hook prosthetics for her arms, with plans to transition to advanced prosthetic hands. Each new device marked another milestone — not just of adaptation, but of defiance against what nearly took her life.
Redefining Strength
Today, Lucinda navigates her world with humor, grit, and astonishing resolve. Some days are heavy with frustration. Some nights still echo with memories of ICU monitors and whispered medical warnings.
But she does not see her amputations as a loss.
She sees them as proof of survival.
“I’m okay with it,” she says steadily. “Because I’m here. I’m alive. And I get to watch my boys grow up.”
Her story is not one of tragedy alone — it is a testament to early warning signs, to the unpredictable ferocity of infection, and to the unbreakable force of family devotion. A simple surgical procedure became a fight for life. A mother nearly lost to sepsis returned home transformed but undefeated.
Lucinda Mullins’ journey reminds us how quickly life can change — and how fiercely love can hold it together.
In the end, the greatest miracle was not the prosthetics, the surgeries, or even survival itself.
It was the simple, extraordinary gift of still being here — still hearing her sons say, “We love you, Mum.”
And that is a victory no infection could ever take away.