- Sarah boarded a plane with her hubby to Jamaica for their dream wedding when she felt a lump on her groin.
- With the big day approaching, she tried to put her health to rest while the lump swelled up to her hip.
- Before she knew it, Sarah was in hospital with her organs shutting down.
Here Sarah Wintrip, 38, tells her story in her own words.
Fastening my seatbelt, I was giddy with excitement.
It was May 2025, and my fiancé, Luke, then 34, and I had boarded a plane headed for our destination wedding.
We’d decided on a celebration at a resort in Jamaica, with 40 of our friends, after getting engaged two years earlier.
But during the 10-hour flight, I noticed a sore lump in my right groin, next to my bikini line.
Not thinking too much about it, after we arrived, we enjoyed days basking by the pool and sipping cocktails. We even held a welcome dinner and threw a pre-wedding boat party.
But while everyone was having a ball, I felt really out of sorts. I was moody, nauseous, lethargic and was struggling to focus.
‘What’s up?’ Luke asked me.
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‘Just pre-wedding jitters,’ I fibbed, not wanting him to worry about me.
When our big day arrived on May 17, I woke feeling exhausted and nauseous.
‘You’re not yourself,’ my best friend Ruth said, as she helped me slip into my beautiful black strapless wedding dress.
‘Maybe I just drank a little too much yesterday,’ I replied.
‘You’re not yourself.’
But the truth was, I’d barely even had a sip of alcohol.
Get it together, I willed myself, taking some painkillers.
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Despite feeling awful, I soldiered on and, at 3pm I staggered up the aisle, feeling like I was going to faint.
In a daze, I struggled to focus on Luke as I recited my vows, hoping that the words I mumbled were the right ones.
Pulling me in for a kiss as we were pronounced man and wife, Luke looked very concerned.
‘I feel a bit overwhelmed.’
‘Are you okay?’ he whispered.
‘I’m fine,’ I stammered, forcing a smile. ‘I feel a bit overwhelmed.’
That evening was a blur as guests enjoyed a spectacular four-course feast, while I could only stomach a mere morsel.
When it was time for our first dance, I couldn’t even get to my feet.
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So as our guests continued to boogie the night away, Luke and I made an early exit after I told him I really didn’t feel well.
Back in our hotel room, undressing to get ready for bed, I winced when I looked at my groin area.
The lump I’d felt was now so swollen it spread from my groin all the way to my right hip.
‘That looks terrible,’ Luke uttered, worry etched in his face.
‘I just want to go to sleep,’ I said, taking some painkillers and drifting off into slumber.
‘You need medical attention.’
When I woke the next morning, I felt like death warmed up.
‘You need medical attention,’ Luke urged.
‘I just need to get home now,’ I insisted, following my gut instinct. ‘Or else I’ll die here.’
We were due to fly out that day anyway, but after boarding the plane, my condition continued to deteriorate.
‘Take these,’ a friend said, giving me some antibiotics she had.
Then everything went black…
When I woke I was in hospital and Luke was by my side.
‘Welcome back,’ he said.
‘What happened?’ I croaked.
I listened in shock as my new hubby explained that, an hour from landing, the flight crew had to administer oxygen as I faded in and out of consciousness and my vitals began to tank.
After being met by paramedics on the runway, I was rushed to hospital and underwent emergency surgery.
‘You had a cyst in your groin,’ a doctor chimed. ‘It was huge, like no other we’ve seen.’
Growing 35cm across and 10cm deep, it was the size of a melon!
The giant cyst, which was filled with fluid, had exploded due to the cabin pressure during the flight.
The infection caused sepsis which coursed through my veins, poisoning my body and making my organs shut down.
During a three-hour surgery, doctors had cleared the infection and cleaned out the cyst. My insides had been stuck together with tape to keep them in place.
Looking down, I recoiled seeing the gaping wound, packed with gauze.
I couldn’t be stitched up due to a risk of trapping the infection.
‘If you hadn’t taken the antibiotics to slow the infection, you would not have made it,’ the doctor told me.
My heart raced as he went on to say that I was only two hours away from death.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
For two weeks, I lay in a hospital bed before being discharged.
Then for three weeks I had to wear a suction machine, that I carried around like a handbag 24/7, with a tube to my stomach that worked to slowly seal the wound.
Now, eight months on, while my groin has healed, I’ve suffered memory loss and headaches as a result of post-sepsis syndrome.
I’m hopeful my memories will return, and I’ll be less forgetful, but only time will tell.
For me now, our vows ‘in sickness and in health’ have taken on a much deeper meaning.
I can’t believe the happiest day of my life nearly ended in a death sentence.
But with Luke by my side, I know I can get through anything.
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