Now that it's all said and done, (the endocarditis, that is), I'm pretty amazed by a couple of different overlapping things--how nonspecific the symptoms are at first, how gradually they came on, and by the "end," how severe things had gotten w/o me panicking about it. (Had those symptoms come on over 3 or 4 days I would have taken myself to the emergency room WELL before they progressed... The fact that they came on so slowly--I dunno, I guess I just got used to feeling like sh*t all the time and figured that eventually, I'd get better on my own--being in pretty good health all my life I've never had to go to the doctor to get over a "bug.") The last week before I was finally hospitalized, I was maintaining a pretty constant fever of 103.5 or so, shaking/shuddering myself to sleep every night, and waking up soaking wet and freezing. Nope, nothing wrong HERE. <eye roll>
I don't remember dreaming anything at all during this time. But that's probably because I was masking my inability to fall asleep with stashed-away "emergency reserves" of Ambien and Xanax I had been collecting. It's strange, just this one time I was lying on my bed after work being miserable and listening to my heart race--at the time I just attributed it to the fever--if you're that hot you're heart's gotta race, right? I had heard before of this disease where bacteria gets into the sac surrounding your heart and goes wild (what's that called, Pericarditis or something?) I dismissed it immediately. Nah. How in the hell would I get a heart infection? Famous last words...
Actually, if you are so inclined, I (have started to) put some thoughts about this on my "website" (in quotes because it's so amateurish... but it's what I'm working with, for now...)
http://geocities.com/svantuss
What's not on the site, (because I haven't finished the story yet) is the "aftermath." I don't remember having nightmares, but I *did* think I was going crazy. As with most "mental" illness or related phenomena, it's almost impossible for me to explain why I felt that way--I just had this persistent feeling of unease that I just couldn't shake... The only really weird dreams I had were usually related somehow to my nightly ritual of running my bag of Vancomycin, flushing my PICC line, all that. I was always SO paranoid of re-infecting myself (even I was, at the time, taking enough antibiotics to suffocate a whole army of mutant bacteria on crack...) that the whole procedure stressed me out, the entire six weeks I did it.
Right after release from the hospital I stayed with some friends of mine (it was only a week before Christmas and I obviously wasn't allowed to fly home and nobody could stand the thought of me being in my apartment then all by myself so I stayed with them for the first 2 weeks or so...) When I *did* go back to my own apartment, I had a TERRIBLE time sleeping for the first week or so. Only got an hour or so a night... I was really freaked out at what felt like "bad vibes" in my bedroom--I had been in the hospital for 3 weeks, and at Laura & Kristin's for two more, but before that, I had spent the previous 3 or 4 weeks being miserably sick. It took me some time to get over an extreme case of the willies re: that. I had some other friends come over and re-arrange the furniture in the room and I bought all new bed linens and did everything I could to make it look like anything BUT the room I had left before the hospital... I know that sounds weird but I'm sure it was just some sort of subconscious coping mechanism...
In hindsight, I attribute all of this to "anesthesia dementia," or something.
It really does take many weeks or a few months to get all of that out of your system...
And then, you know, the "Pump Head" syndrome sets in but that's like a whole nother topic.
In any case, if you're just a short time post-op (how long?) and if my experience is typical, it will take several more weeks before you feel like "yourself" again, and I mean that mentally and spiritually as much as physically...
Be well
Scott