June 1998 - Released from Hospital (catalog of health)
((Content warning: medical / hospital))
Genre: sickfic
Romance level: none
Angst level: 2/5
Draco's headspace: pensive
((words: ~1500))
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Draco was finally, finally released from the healers' clutches in the middle of June, after almost a full month in the hospital. He was wearing a new piece of jewellery, a cuff on his wrist that was charmed to display his heartbeat when touched in the right spot. He was also in possession of a long list of cautions and advice about his health, and a thick catalogue of potions and charms he'd be depending on going forward, for presumably forever.
The curse Voldemort had laid on him was apparently unliftable, and he would have to live this way.
His badly drained life force left him with reduced response to healing magic, which drew on the subject's own life to speed up their body's recovery. Healing resistance meant that even injuries which could normally be dealt with at home or even ignored might mean a trip to a Healer for more advanced treatment. Because his blood was thin, any bleeding wound needed to be attended to immediately, because it wouldn't stop bleeding on its own, and they had already seen what blood-clotting potions could do to him. He should also avoid harsh physical contact and be aware of any bruises that kept getting larger, more painful, or firmer to the touch, which would mean uncontrolled internal bleeding.
The more stress he put on his heart, the sooner it would wear out the enchantments that were strengthening it and protecting his health, which meant ideally he should avoid doing anything physically strenuous or overly stressful.
He had a series of potions specifically for his heart: one he was supposed to take daily to suppress its speed, one he was supposed to take whenever he noticed it beating irregularly — which was intended to make it skip beats until it got back to normal, and which he hated the feeling of — and the sedative cocktail for when it was dangerously out of control.
If his skin started feeling cold or clammy, he started hyperventilating or coughing up blood, became disoriented or unconscious, or the veins in his neck stood out, he needed to check his pulse, and if it was extremely weak and fast, it meant his heart wasn't pumping enough blood and he was going into shock. He needed a blood replenishing potion immediately and then he needed to have his heart slowed down, or be sent to the hospital if it wouldn't.
It shouldn't happen again, but since it already had once, he should be aware and alert for it: any mental symptoms like they had seen, like difficulty speaking, difficulty standing, walking, or using his hands, loss of vision, or numbness or weakness on one side of his body, were an emergency that meant there was a blood clot in his brain and required a blood-thinning potion and to go to the hospital.
He probably wasn't going to have a heart attack — but he might. He would probably know by severe chest pain that spread out and didn't ease up after a few minutes, maybe with sweating or nausea. That would mean coming back to the hospital to have another procedure done.
The way his heart worked now, it meant that discomfort or pain in his chest or fainting were a constant threat that meant his heart needed to be slowed down, but weren't in themselves especially serious. He would probably always have difficulty breathing and fatigue, and there was a constant risk of dizziness or fainting, which meant he should avoid anything that would be physically risky if he suddenly fell, like flying a broom.
No one had really come to a consensus on whether his nightmares and terrors were natural or part of a curse, but either way Dreamless Sleep potions were going to be his saviour. Overreliance on them, though, had basically the same side effects as not sleeping at all, so they determined that the schedule they had started him on, an hour at the beginning of the night to lead into normal sleep, was the best course. If he woke up within a few hours, he could have a second hour of it to go back to sleep. And if he didn't sleep for more than two days and couldn't make himself, there was a sleeping potion to force it.
Conversely, there were Wiggenweld stamina potions to help keep his energy up during the day despite his poor sleep quality, and stronger stimulants if he really needed it, to be used in moderation. If his mind was too foggy, he had a potion to sharpen his attention, but it had side effects on mood and impulse control.
Those were just the potions he would expect to regularly need — on top of that were a vast array of potions or charms he might need at any time. Pepperup potions if he got too cold or ill, painkillers, stomach settling potions, cheering potions if his mood became too dark, calming draughts, mind numbing to help him forget his dreams, although he didn't like them because they normally meant he was out of it for the first couple hours of his day…
With so many potions, potentially building up in his body or interacting, he had to have doses of All-Antidote on hand, and he was expected to spend every twelfth week completely without potions, both to clear them out of his system and to check on the state of his health without them.
Most, though not all, of the potions had a spell counterpart that could be used to mitigate the risk of potion toxicity, but it wasn't always a better option. The strength and dosage of the potions could be carefully formulated and measured for him, while the spells could vary in their power, or be miscast in a stressful situation. The potions were more reliable, and could be self-administered, unlike a lot of the spells.
He would probably always be cold, just because he was seemingly always going to be underweight — not a result of his heart, but more directly from his drained vitality and lack of appetite, which either stemmed from or interacted poorly with his tendency to nausea and his occasional vomiting from his dreams. It had taken him weeks to put on enough weight for them to be confident releasing him from care, and that would have to be watched. There were a variety of potions and spells that were supposed to help that — fattening potions that were supposed to extract nutrients from food, hunger hexes, flavour enhancers that were meant to make foods irresistible — but none had proven very effective for him; the aversion to eating was in his mind, not his body, for some reason that wasn't very obvious, but probably had to do with not wanting to be sick. They thought his appetite might come back if the nausea was properly managed for long enough.
He was also going to be vulnerable to ailments — colds, toxins, diseases like the Dragon Pox that had killed his grandparents. They recommended he try to minimise contact with people so that he could reduce the risk of catching anything.
He had to admit that he did feel better than when he had been admitted. What they had done for his heart made him feel almost normal, at least comparatively; he hadn't noticed how badly he had been breathing before, until he could actually take a deep breath again, and his heartbeat was noticeably stronger and not always so fast now, especially if he took the potion every day. Their schedule with the Dreamless Sleep potion, too; he didn't enjoy it, because he knew it meant every time he went to sleep he was going to dream, but he couldn't deny it did give him five or six hours of sleep almost every night, which wasn't bad, comparatively.
Put all together, the best advice for his health was to renovate a reasonably small section of the ground floor of the Manor with everything he would need, so that he wouldn't have to walk very far or climb stairs; deal with people via owl rather than in person so that they couldn't get him sick; avoid going out because Apparating could be dangerous if he lost focus, the floo would aggravate his vertigo, and a fall from a broom could be deadly and he should probably never be on one again. He could enjoy the excitement of sporting events vicariously, via paper or wireless, but be sure not to get too excited, and at the same time try to avoid anything too mentally taxing if his brain was foggy so he wouldn't have to take an unnecessary potion. Be sure to stay near his bed or a nice seat where he could rest if his heart got a little tired, eat his precisely balanced meals at precise times despite how unpalatable it may seem at the time, drink water, don't drink alcohol, go to sleep early every night and just never mind the dreams, take his potions, see the healers regularly, keep records, keep notes, keep a schedule, follow instructions…
It sounded perfectly awful.
And it would probably be effective — if he did all that, he might live to be forty-five.