Sunday, October 13, 2013

Guest Post Part II

Here is Part II of guest blogger Jamie's story:

“Have you ever had a panic attack?"

A panic attack? Like, a crying screaming tantrum? I was so confused. My whole body was shaking. How could that have been imagined. Eventually, the paramedics filtered out and the house was quiet. My husband had been notified and was driving home from a nearby port where he was spending the night. When he got home he demanded I go to the Emergency Room, angry at me for the false alarm. I went, waited, did another EKG, and was told the same thing, by an aggravated nurse with absolutely zero sympathy, “sometimes chest pain is not caused by the heart; here’s your discharge papers.” Diagnosis: Anxiety. Go home crazy girl.

That night I could not sleep. Every time my mind would start to drift into dream land my body would jerk awake as if sleep would bring imminent death. It’s not that I was experiencing insomnia… my body, literally, would not let me sleep. I tiptoed upstairs, shook my husband, and asked: “will you please come and sit with me? I just don’t feel good.” Annoyed, he shrugged me off, said “take a Tylenol,” rolled over and went back to sleep. This is the point where I realized I would be on my own with this battle. So I returned downstairs where I sat alone, dizzy, scared, exhausted, and now afraid to sleep. Something was horribly wrong with me, and I needed to see the doctor.

So, that is the back story. Symptoms I experienced during the following months: chest pain, inability to sleep due to that weird impulse to jerk awake, constant vertigo, ringing in the ears, a pounding, flip-flopping heart, an unusual post-nasal drip, a sensation of suffocation, recurring attacks where I would race through the house with my finger on the send button for 911, pacing, trying to calm myself, a fear of driving (passing out at the wheel), grocery shopping (not sure why), taking a bath or shower (passing out and drowning), dying with my children trapped in the house alone (leaving windows open, even in cold weather, so others might hear their cries).

One evening, while sitting slackjawed at the dinner table, my husband lost his temper with me again. I was drawn deep inside of myself, listening to the unusually chaotic thudding of my own heart, while he was telling me a story. He was angry with me for not responding, angry about the whole overly dramatic ordeal, disbelieving, frustrated, and not able to understand. I apologized, brought my mind back to the table, and tried to present as a normal functioning human being. I felt so incredibly scared and alone and he, the one I needed for support, was not interested in it. Panic Disorder is not like cancer or pancreatitis. You don’t receive get well cards; no one calls to see “how are you doing?” Nobody talks about crazy. It’s the proverbial elephant in the room. You are on your own with this one, honey.

To compound the stressors-- crazy, grad school, and new baby, my beloved grandmother called to tell me she was dying from cancer. My mom said she would need help and I said I would fly home to stay with her, since I wasn’t currently working. I was so terrified on the flight. What if I had a panic attack on the plane? I was responsible for the two kids I was travelling with. What if I became unable to care for them? What would happen? But, as miracles do happen, I arrived safely on the ground and into the safety of my family home. But it was no peaceful place, and we all grappled with our emotions, watching my grandma’s swift decline and passing, only three weeks after her diagnosis of cancer.

These distractions did not diminish my own medical concerns. I was hyperaware of everything going on with my body. I often felt like I was in the same boat as my grandma and feared for my own death nearly as much as I feared for her. Together we shared a fear and curiosity of the great unknown. My grandma, much braver than I, knew her fate and faced it smiling, with humor. But as we sat one morning, flushing giant clots of blood from her catheter, she told me how scared she was, and I felt a deep understanding and sense of camaraderie that she would never know. I knew the fear of dying, because I felt it too. With tears we concluded that everything would “be okay.” I don’t think she ever spoke of that fear again. She passed with her family surrounding her, a smile on her face, making light jokes only hours earlier. In her passing there was a great peace. She had crossed her T’s and dotted her I’s, ensured everything was in order for her departure, and then, she was gone. And shortly after her funeral I was going too; back home to face my own demons, and prepare for our upcoming transfer from New Jersey to Michigan.

I checked into the ER again and when the receptionist asked me what was wrong, between sobs I drew imaginary circles with my finger around my ear—the international sign of “crazy.” I now knew it wasn’t my heart, but my mind. I was not reassured. Then, the most amazing thing happened; the ER doctor prescribed Xanax. After so many months of chaos I experienced sleep; deep, uninhibited, fearless, dream sleep. Whoa. It really is in my mind. I began seeing a psychiatrist who immediately diagnosed me with panic disorder— I met the criteria completely. He laughed and assured me I was not “crazy,” as I felt.

I worried I was having a “nervous breakdown,” or a psychotic break, I worried they would take my children away. A regimen of low dose Klonopin brought me back into reality. I was able to function--so many of my symptoms of imminent death dissipated. Before the medication I was afraid to look in the mirror because I imagined an emaciated, red eyed, balding, sickly person would be standing there; but when I looked, it was just me, looking perfectly healthy. How could I feel so deathly and appear so normal—a few pounds lighter, maybe even better than normal. With medication, I began to feel like the person in the mirror again. Life was nowhere near “normal,” I still suffered through panic attacks, but I learned to do it silently. I began to recognize this sense of imminent doom for what it was—a physiological response. Fight or Flight. A whole variety of physical responses to some imagined danger: Hyperventilation, palpitations, chest muscle tension, pupil dilation, the urge to run, save my children, etc. As I grappled with this reality, I began to put my life back together.

Moving to a new location helped immensely. Finishing my graduate work was also a major burden lifted. I feel safer in this new setting. My husband’s schedule changed and he now comes home every evening. I began seeing a therapist, who I lovingly call my “emotional prostitute’’ the one person I can share these ridiculous fears with (for $180.00/hour). I’ve made the mistake a few times of trying to tell friends about these problems (especially after a few drinks), but I feel like such a fool as they become awkward and quickly change the subject; shutting out my heartfelt confessions. I realized, of course, that hearty minded people cannot understand what it feels like when your mind betrays you; when the only safe haven you have becomes your personal prison-- the feeling that you cannot trust your own body to do what it supposed to.

To wrap this up I would like readers to know that I write from a much more comfortable place than I was in a year and a half ago but I am not a cured woman. I am slowly weaning myself from the medication that has been my crutch for so long. Simple life transitions will set off panic attacks (much more minor than before, of course). I feel the warmth of blood flowing through my body with each unnecessary dump of adrenaline, focus on my breathing, and search for a mental distraction. I find great relief in the escape of a good book or a funny TV show. There was a time when I was crashing through the rapids in the river of my life without any control, holding on through a terrifying ride. Now, the waters are calm and I’m able to navigate around the obstacles, relax a bit, and enjoy the scenery.

My marriage has suffered greatly and I am not sure where to begin with repairs. While my husband has likely dealt with anger and frustration at my new distance and fragility I have struggled to come to terms with his hostility toward me in my time of need. I find most of my thoughts still revolve, selfishly, around my own needs. Without distraction I will find myself with furrowed brow, trying to mentally solve some unknown mystery; to figure out what in my life made me break and how I can fix it. These memories I’ve shared were painful to think about, but they are, in fact, just memories. The solution, I believe, lies in the future. I hope that by writing down the past and sharing it here I will be able to leave it behind, focus on my family, my marriage, and the rest of the world that I’ve ignored for so long. I hope others will share their stories and move on with life, as well.

When the dangers are behind us the only thing left we have to fear is fear, itself.


-Jamie M.

5 comments:

  1. I was very pleased to find this site. I wanted to thank you for this unique read. I definitely savoured all bits and pieces of it including all the comments and I have added you to my bookmark list to check out new articles you post.
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  2. This is more helpful for every body, very nice blog, It may even happen that we might take these symptoms as malfunctioning of our heart or even a heart attack. This is mainly due to the similarities between the symptoms of the panic and heart attacks.


    Claire Weekes

    Thanks!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thank you very much for this post. As a fellow sufferer i found great comfort reading this article. Xx

    ReplyDelete
  4. I like your content and information!
    My husband sometimes suffer from panic attacks and due to this me and my family suffers a lot because of his bad mode during panic attacks!
    Last week i find another blog anxietyexperts.com

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