The life story of Alex Lewis is like no other. This man refused to give up on his life no matter what it took, and today, he’s thriving with the help of his loving wife Lucy Townsend, and their son.
Alex and Lucy always knew they were meant for each other. When they married and welcomed their son Sam into their life, they felt like the happiest couple on Earth. But then in 2013, around the time Sam turned two, this family’s life took a different turn.
Both Alex and Sam caught the flu, or at least they believed so. However, as the boy got better in a short period of time, Alex wasn’t feeling fine even days after he experienced the flu-like symptoms.
“Because we owned and lived in a pub and came into contact with lots of different people, I assumed it was a seasonal cold and thought it started off as man flu,” Alex told Metro.
Instead of improving, his condition worsened and he became feverish and noticed blood in his urine.
As he could feel something was very wrong, he went to the hospital where doctors told him he contracted a streptococcal infection (type A). Unfortunately, at that point, the infection penetrated deep into the tissue and the organs and caused sepsis. Alex had contracted shock syndrome, septicemia, and necrotizing fascitis – and his body was attacking itself from the inside out.
“I called an ambulance, and within eight minutes, they were there. At the hospital, we went straight into resuscitation, and I was told to say goodbye. His kidneys were shutting down, and they were going to put him on life support,” his wife Lucy told The Guardian.
Doctors’ prognoses were dull. They told the family there was just a three percent chance that Alex would survive as his face and body turned black.
“They were going to turn my life support off, but they wanted to give me one more night to see if I improved, and they wanted to give my family a chance to say goodbye,” Alex told Metro.
“I cannot imagine what Lucy and my mum were going through.
“Having spoken to them since it happened, I think they were more in shock as they couldn’t believe something so incredibly invasive was happening so quickly,” he added.
“I don’t remember being in excruciating pain at this point, but my family remembers seeing me in absolute agony.”
It was determined that a flesh-eating bacteria was poisoning his body so doctors had to amputate his left arm up to the elbow. Sadly, as months passed by, Alex lost all of his limbs, and doctors were also forced to cut parts of his face in order to save his life.
“I can remember seeing my legs in hospital and how they were getting blacker and blacker,” Alex told The Guardian. “The blackness was creeping up towards my waist. I don’t remember seeing my left arm in that condition, but I can remember my legs vividly.”
As Alex lost his lips, plastic surgeon Alexandra Crick took skin from his shoulder in an attempt to fix his mouth.
“It would take me about an hour to eat a sandwich at night, and that was with the help of the nurse,” he told the Daily Mail.
“The last available skin for surgery was on my shoulder,” he explained. “So they replaced the temporary flap with that. All my other skin had to be used for grafts or was scarred.”
“Having my bottom and top lip done at the same time like this was a world first. It’s one piece of skin, and it was like if you imagine placing a bag in your mouth and then sewing around the edges. After the original operation, I had to have them every three or four months.”
Looking at his father, and how different he was, Sam was afraid to approach closer to him, but Lucy found a way to explain to him why his dad looked like that, which wasn’t easy as Sam was just two years old at the time.
After spending months at the hospital Alex could finally go home. The good thing was that doctors managed to save the elbow of his right arm which allowed him to have a prosthetic and be able to use his arm. Eventually, he could speak again as his lip surgery was a huge success.
“That one elbow is his whole independence,” Lucy said.
“I had to relearn everything,” Alex added. “From learning to eat, drink, put my clothes on, to learn to use a prosthesis, and to self propel a manual wheelchair.”
Today, Alex is involved in a number of tech projects which help ease the lives of disabled people. Among the rest, he has tested solar-powered, battery-assisted four-wheeled handles which have been designed by masters students at Southampton University.
Despite his condition, he’s living a quality life and is doing a lot of things, such as kayaking and climbing. In 2019, he climbed one of Africa’s tallest mountains using a specially adapted buggy.
“Since becoming an amputee, I’ve been fortunate enough to try out a number of training methods to keep my fitness up, working with physios and visiting the Help for Heroes training facilities,” he shared with Sports Management.
“I’ve had first-rate guidance, but nothing has been as effective as EMS training, especially in such a short space of time.
“It’s amazing how the machine helps me to engage muscles I haven’t felt since I lost my arms and legs,” he added.
“I feel stronger in training, daily life tasks are easier, and I’ve gained greater confidence that I can take on these challenges.”
His Wild Wheelchairs Project, besides helping improve the lives of disabled people, raises money to finance the construction and operation of a wheelchair manufacturing facility in Ethiopia.
Alex is also a motivational speaker who is happy with his life.
“I’ve lived more of a life in the past four years than I did in the previous 33, and it’s made me realize how much I love Lucy and Sam,” he told Metro.
“There was so much I regretted not doing when I had arms and legs, but I am not letting that happen again. I would not change anything, not in a heartbeat.”
Sam also learned to love his dad for who he is and is proud of him.
We truly admire this brave man’s resilience. His story is proof that no matter the curveballs life throws at us, we should always do our best to end up winners.
My 16-Year-Old Son Went to Stay with His Grandmother for the Summer – One Day, I Got a Call from Her
When my 16-year-old son offered to spend the summer taking care of his disabled grandmother, I thought he’d finally turned a corner. But one night, a terrifying call from my mother shattered that hope.
“Please, come save me from him!” my mother’s voice whispered through the phone, barely a breath.
A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
Her words were sharp with fear, a tone I’d never heard from her. My stomach knotted. Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, disbelief mixing with shock. My strong, fiercely independent mother was scared. And I knew exactly who “him” was.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
My son had always been a handful, but lately, he’d crossed new lines. At sixteen, he was testing every boundary he could find. Rebellious, headstrong, a walking storm of attitude and defiance.
I remembered him coming home from school, slinging his backpack down with a certain grin that I didn’t recognize. “I was thinking about going to Grandma’s this summer,” he’d said. “I mean, you’re always saying she could use more company. I could keep an eye on her.”
A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels
My first reaction was surprise and a little pride. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, becoming responsible. But looking back now, as I sped down the darkening highway, his words nagged at me in a way they hadn’t before.
I blinked in surprise. “You… want to go stay with Grandma? You usually can’t wait to get out of there.”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I’ll help take care of her,” he said. “You could even let the caregiver go, Mom. Save some money, you know?”
The more I drove, the more pieces of our recent conversations slipped into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn’t like.
“People change,” he’d shrugged with a strange smile. Then he looked up at me with a half-smile. “I mean, I’m almost a man now, right?”
A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels
I brushed it off then, thinking maybe he was finally growing up. But now, that smile felt… off. Not warm or genuine, but like he was playing a part.
As I drove, I remembered other details, things I’d dismissed at the time. A week into his stay, I called, wanting to check on my mother directly. He’d answer, cheerful but too fast, like he was steering the call. “Hey, Mom! Grandma’s asleep. She said she’s too tired to talk tonight, but I’ll tell her you called.”
A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik
Why didn’t I push harder?
My mind raced back to how it all began. It had been just the two of us since his father left when he was two. I’d tried to give him what he needed to stay grounded. But since he hit his teenage years, the small cracks had started widening.
An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik
The only person who seemed to get through to him now and then was my mother. She had a way of disarming him, though even she admitted he was “testing her patience.”
I dialed my mother’s number again, willing her to pick up. My thumb tapped the screen anxiously, but still, nothing.
The sky darkened as the houses became sparse, her rural neighborhood just up ahead. With every mile, my mind replayed his too-smooth excuses, his charming act.
A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik
As I pulled up to my mother’s house, a chill ran through me. I could hear music blasting from two blocks away. Her lawn, once so tidy, was now overgrown, weeds tangling around the porch steps. The shutters had peeling paint, and the lights were off, as though no one had been home in weeks.
I stepped out of the car, feeling disbelief twisting into a sick anger. Beer bottles and crushed soda cans littered the porch. I could even smell cigarette smoke drifting out through the open window.
A littered porch | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I reached for the door, pushing it open.
And there, right in front of me, was chaos.
Strangers filled the living room laughing, drinking, shouting over the music. Half of them looked old enough to be college kids, others barely looked out of high school. My heart twisted, a mixture of fury and heartache flooding through me.
A furious woman | Source: Pexels
“Where is he?” I whispered, scanning the crowd, disbelief giving way to a focused rage. I shouldered through people, calling his name. “Excuse me! Move!”
A girl sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, blinking lazily. “Hey, lady, chill out. We’re just having fun,” she slurred, waving a bottle in my direction.
“Where’s my mother?” I snapped, barely able to hold back the edge in my voice.
A shouting woman | Source: Pexels
The girl just shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. Haven’t seen any old lady here.”
Ignoring her, I continued through the packed room, shouting my son’s name over the blaring music. I looked from face to face, my heart pounding faster with every step. Every second that passed made the house feel more like a stranger’s, more like a place my mother would never allow, let alone live in.
Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels
“Mom!” I called, my voice desperate as I reached the end of the hall, near her bedroom door. It was closed, the handle faintly scratched, as though it’d been opened and closed a hundred times in the last hour alone.
I knocked hard, heart racing. “Mom? Are you in there? It’s me!”
A weak, trembling voice replied, barely audible over the noise. “I’m here. Please—just get me out.”
A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney
I felt a wave of relief and horror as I fumbled with the handle and threw the door open. There she was, sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, and I could see dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to my knees beside her and wrapping my arms around her.
An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik
Her hand, frail but steady, clutched mine. “He started with just a few friends,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when I told him to stop, he got angry. He… he said I was just getting in the way.” Her voice wavered. “He started locking me in here. Said I was… ruining his fun.”
A sickening wave of anger surged through me. I’d been blind, foolish enough to believe my son’s promise to “help out.” I took a shaky breath, stroking her hand. “I’m going to fix this, Mom. I swear.”
An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik
She nodded, gripping my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. “You have to.”
I walked back to the living room, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. And there was my son, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.
When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.
“Mom? What… what are you doing here?”
A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik
“What am I doing here?” I echoed, my voice steady with a calm I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here? Look around! Look at what you’ve done to your grandmother’s home!”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I saw his mask slipping. “It’s just a party. You don’t have to freak out.”
“Get everyone out of here. Now.” My voice was steel, and this time, it cut through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. “I’m calling the police if this house isn’t empty in the next two minutes.”
A furious woman | Source: Freepik
One by one, the partiers shuffled out, murmuring and stumbling toward the door. The house cleared out, leaving only broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone in the wreckage he’d made.
When the last guest was gone, I turned to him. “I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? This is what you thought ‘helping’ looked like?”
A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, a defensive sneer twisting his face. “She didn’t need the space. You’re always on my case, Mom. I just wanted some freedom!”
“Freedom?” My voice shook with disbelief. “You’re going to learn what responsibility is.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. “You’re going to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’m selling your electronics, everything valuable, to pay for the damage. You don’t get a single ‘freedom’ until you earn it.”
An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney
“What?” His bravado faltered, fear flickering in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” I said, voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “And if you don’t change, you’re out of the house when you turn eighteen. I’m done with excuses.”
The next day, I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger all faded as the summer passed, and for the first time, he was forced to face the consequences.
A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels
As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I felt the pieces of our family begin to mend. Bit by bit, room by room, I cleared the broken glass, patched up the walls, and held on to hope that my son would come home a different person.
After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He grew quieter, steadier, spending evenings studying instead of disappearing with friends.
A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels
Small acts like helping around the house, and apologizing without being prompted became routine. Each day, he seemed more aware, and more respectful, like he was finally becoming the man I’d hoped for.
Two years later, I watched him walk up my mother’s steps again, head bowed. He was about to graduate school with honors and enroll in a nice college. In his hand was a bouquet, his gaze sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen.
A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he said, his voice thick with regret. I held my breath, watching as the boy I’d fought to raise offered her a piece of his heart.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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