Surviving the ICU: The Afterparty No One Warned Me About.

The emotional trauma of a near-death experience sticks around like that one guest at a party who won’t leave (we all know someone like this). Studies (and I’m saying this generally, as a mashup of all I read online, and is not a Medical Fact in any way) show that one-third of ICU patients deal with lingering emotional and physical symptoms long after getting discharged. Turns out, I’m part of that lucky group. Yay, me!

The Event.

So, I was really sick over two years ago. I walked into the ER of our local hospital and was rushed to a bigger hospital, ending up in the ICU with septic shock—a scary, life-threatening condition with a more-than-50% mortality rate. Oh, and let’s not forget the sizable abscess inside one of my lungs that decided to hang out for who knows how long. My three-week hospital stay with lobectomy surgery was borderline unbearable. But it saved my life.

When I was finally released, I assumed I’d recover as I had in the past with numerous other hospital admissions due to the rare disease I was born with. Sure, I had surgery, so it would take longer, but I figured I’d bounce back. What I didn’t expect was the fun surprise of feeling like an emotional wreck for over two years.

The Aftermath.

Instead of feeling all “Carpe Diem” about my second chance at life, I felt stuck in a never-ending doom spiral. I expected gratitude and a newfound appreciation for life, but nope—just a heavy dose of “bleh.” Even my dog, Izzy, who used to follow me everywhere, had ditched me for my husband. Now, she’s his shadow, and I’m just some random person in the house. Rude. But disheartening as well.

As my two-year ICU anniversary rolled around and my depression, anxiety and exhaustion still hadn’t left, I finally did some solid research. And that’s when I discovered I had something called Post-Intensive Care Syndrome (PICS).

What? PICS?

PICS is basically a grab bag of health issues that show up after a critical illness with more than a week spent in the ICU and make your life miserable. The worst part? Many people suffer for years before they even know it’s a thing. When I mentioned it to my doctor, he casually confirmed that Vanderbilt has an entire rehab program for ICU survivors—especially those who, like me, spent weeks in critical care. Oh, cool. Wish I knew that BEFORE the two-year mental breakdown.

Before you ask why I wasn’t at my doctor’s hospital, Vanderbilt, it’s because I was not in the proper mindframe when they were transporting me to an ICU at a bigger trauma hospital to tell them anything different. And most likely Eric was too. I ended up at St. Thomas outside of Nashville, also a very good facility.

More than half of people who spend at least a week in the ICU develop PICS. The same stat applies to sepsis survivors. Since I had both, my chances of struggling were basically inevitable. Yet, no one warned me.

Cognitive issues? Check. Memory loss? Check. Anxiety and depression? Oh, absolutely. Muscle weakness? Yep. Nightmares that feel way too real? Unfortunately, yes. I’d wake up convinced things had happened that never did. Like, did I ever live in Idaho? Did my friend really move to another state? Sorting through reality became a bizarre morning struggle.

Statistically, I had at least a 50% chance of developing PTSD-like symptoms, and honestly, it felt more like a 100% guarantee with having the abscess and undergoing a lobectomy. And yet, people kept telling me I was “so lucky” to be alive. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt ungrateful, exhausted, and detached from everything—making me feel even worse.

For two years, I obsessively researched sepsis survivors, trying to understand why I lived when so many didn’t. Given my lifelong chronic illness, my survival made no sense. Instead of feeling empowered, I felt drained, unworthy, and like an imposter in my own life.

Meanwhile, my lifelong fixation on death hit overdrive. Anxiety took the wheel, and nightmares kept sending me over a cliff (Don't ask me about my experience sitting on the floor of my dad's car while the whole family drove up Mount Washington when I was a kid... ) was supposed to feel like a warrior who conquered death. Instead, I felt stuck in a mental fog with no way out.

Will I find Normalcy?

In the early days of recovery, my parents, who flew in from Florida to stay with me at the hospital and continued to help me back home for a bit, helped keep the worst of the symptoms at bay. One day, my dad coaxed me out of the house for a drive and, in an act of true parenting heroism, pulled into Dairy Queen, telling me not to tell my mom as he bought me a giant Blizzard. For a brief moment, life felt okay.

But eventually, they had to leave. And as my dad hugged me another final goodbye, I broke down crying. “I feel trapped,” was all I could say. And that feeling stuck around for a long time. I was irritable, anxious, and snapping at everyone—assuming it was just frustration over feeling physically weak. But even as my strength returned, my emotions stayed stuck.

Over the next two years, I did two rounds of Pulmonary Therapy, each lasting 2-3 months. But I still didn’t feel like me, and that triggered an entirely new level of panic. I kept telling myself, “This is my new normal.” But there was nothing normal about any of it.

I finally had a heart-to-heart with my dad, realizing I needed to change things up. One of the biggest changes? Giving up alcohol. Not easy, but I knew how toxic my beloved glass of wine was to my body—especially with my existing Kartagener's Syndrome and stage four lung disease. Cutting it out gave me a clearer mind to actually process my emotions instead of drowning them.

After feeling like a malfunctioning human for way too long, finally stumbling across that article about PICS was the pivot point. Learning that my anxiety, exhaustion, and emotional rollercoaster could hit at random, with no rhyme or reason, was a game-changer. I wasn’t crazy—I was just dealing with something very real.

I’m still working through the lingering symptoms of PICS, but at least now I have an explanation for what’s happening. That knowledge alone has made a huge difference.

For anyone out there struggling after an ICU stay, know this: You are not crazy. You are not alone. PICS is real. And most importantly, you can find your way back—one ice cream—or more drastic Dairy Queen Blizzard—at a time.

Now back to blogging again... and trying to give up Coca-Cola and the sugar which appears to be much harder than giving up the wine!