Panic - Part II

The Weekend…

Friday
Back then I did not know that it was a Panic Attack… I only knew that an instant my whole body was out of control, my psyche affected and my life’s foundation appeared to have a crack. A crack that is patchable, but not removable, the one that will stain my character and give a shadow to all my future endeavors.

I slowly recuperated at home, taking things easy and trying to figure out as to why an activity that has always been a part of my life has had such an effect on me. Without having many answers and many more questions by the hour, I nursed the shaken soul back to normalcy and proceeded with my everyday life as if nothing is wrong.

For weeks everything was as always and nothing seemed to be out of place. I began to forget the events of that day, not wanting to remember a weak point in my strong, independent life. Life was too short to concentrate on something that insignificant, or so I thought…

October 31st came rolling in; just like any other Halloween morning, full of preparations for early commute and last-minute candy hauling by desperate parents. Everywhere the people were eager to finish up the work day and enjoy the childish display of horror and twisted tales, sugared with a cherry on top. I was making last minute plans to attend a family get-together and still have enough time for our own trick-or-treating. This would be the first year when Simone was actually looking forward and enjoying the holiday.

I finished the workload for the day, said my ‘Happy Halloween’ greetings to co-workers and friends and proceed to my last errand of the day – laser hair removal appointment. To those that have never experienced the torture of being a woman, this would be irrelevant. But, to those poor creatures that at all costs have tried every recipe known to men to reduce the hair growth in body parts never seen to the public, this is truly a profound moment. The laser promises to remove and/or greatly reduce the pesky reminders that once we were all on all fours, foraging the Sahara .

The appointment started as usual with a few niceties said to the technician and me getting ready to experience half an hour of torture. I relaxed and submitted myself to the loud bangs of the laser gun. As the thirty minutes have passed and the actual treatment was almost completed, I began to feel that awful lightness in the head, freezing extremities…and horrendous feeling of pure panic. Heart began to beat faster and faster, making my mind spin in all directions, not wanting to admit the return of the monster. I asked the technician to lay me flat, elevate my feet and give me a cold compress. Thankfully, being a nurse, she calmly and sweetly told me that ‘It will be OK’ and proceeded to do just what I asked. After taking my vitals and noticing highly irregular heart-beat combined with elevated blood-pressure, they called 911. Paramedics arrived in a few minutes and advised that it would be in my best interest to go to ER. At that point I remember saying two things over and over again: “I want my daughter and husband” & “Don’t let me die”. I don’t remember when I stopped.

The next thing was a dim light shining through the ambulance, with a murky sky barely seen in the side window. The paramedic held my hand and kept asking me questions. “Name, height, weight…” How hard I tried to stay awake and answer all of them. How hard… When we arrived in the hospital, the nurses took me to a room and put me on the monitor. The vitals were improving and I was given a doze of Xanax. The panic attacks kept coming, but in smaller bursts, almost trying to relive their glory one last time. I kept screaming for help and no one came. The nurse forgot to give me the button to ring for help and being only three feet away from the actual nurses station I never did get the help.

I finally told myself that I am strong and can get up on my own. I did and was lucky enough to catch a passer by in the hallway to inform my nurse that I needed to use the restroom. What a great time to have someone in full blown panic attack to scramble for help. All problems aside, I was finally beginning to feel like I could breathe again. It was a welcomed feeling, combined with hope that I will see my husband soon and be able to go home and see Simone. I wanted nothing more then see my beautiful girl, feel her skin, touch her hair and kiss those gorgeous eyes. I just wanted to do that, over and over, and never stop. It seemed like an unattainable goal, being stuck in a cold hospital room, with no one around to share my fear.

The doctor finally came and advised that I see a shrink. The bed-side manner of that doctor and the hospital’s general ‘friendly’ disposition left nothing but disgust in my mouth for St. John’s Mercy Medical Center . To this day, I always feel a bit of anger passing by that building.

Christian arrived when it was almost 4 PM and took me home. I was so happy, exhausted, scared and completely morphed into a helpless little girl. Seeing my home and seeing Simone made the rest of the day bearable. I did get enough strength to take my little angel trick-or-treating and then crushed, falling into a deep sleep…and the nightmare to come.

Saturday
Shabbat morning the Hotter House was buzzing with preparations for synagogue, reminding us of the day of rest that G-d took on the 7th day and the need for us to do the same, in order to re-fill the drained energy from the week’s worries and deeds. I was looking forward to seeing Rabbi Randy and Rabbi Susan, their sweet faces and calm dispositions, the warm hands and open hearts. I wanted to be in a safe place, with my daughter and husband next to me.

We got into the car and I decided that being in such a weak state was probably impossible combination to handle a driving task. So, Christian took the reigns and I reclined the chair, deciding to relax until we get to our destination. As we continued on State Road 44 and observed the gray mass of autumn ridden St. Louis , I began to feel the dreaded symptoms. Without wanting to scare Simone, I calmly asked Christian to drive me to Barnes Jewish Hospital. I could not think of another place that was closer and more appealing at that point, which made me even more scared. I realized that I did not feel safe without medical attention, without confirmation that there was nothing wrong from a doctor. I was loosing trust in people around me and in myself. I could not rely on anything, except a life-less machine producing green digits of hope on a tiny screen and beeping in unison with my aching heart.

After securing Simone’s entertainment for the afternoon (on the gracious invitation from the Alperin family), we felt comfortable and ready to face the music. The tests did not bother me, as much as unknown and almost pitiful expression in my doctor’s face when stating that ‘there is nothing wrong physically with you’. It is as if he was sorry for giving me such a blurry diagnosis of nothingness. I felt betrayed and outraged that in this day and age the only thing that these machines could tell me is that it is all in my head! The nerve! How dare they? I am sick…why else would I be in a hospital?!?! I am very intelligent, independent, strong and take-charge woman. Why would I be here if something was not wrong?

My heart-felt anger and frustration, combined with Christians’ inability to console me made matters worse. I did not know what to do or what to say. I just felt tired and upset. The world was turned against me and no a soul was able to see into mine, to understand me, to see me, to hear my pleas.

I was release from Barnes Jewish that evening, with lots of tests to show and no plan to take charge of the situation. We drove to Alperin’s house to pick up Simone and had a wonderful meal with the whole family. It was nice to be among friends and loved ones, as opposed to a hospital. I felt a few symptoms, but was able to deflect them with a timely rest on the couch. Things were beginning to ware off and I thought that I just need rest. Yes, I just need rest and everything would be fine…


Saturday Night
We got home and decided to just take things easy. Simone was deep asleep and I was resting on the couch. The symptoms came in an instance, hard, like a freight-train rushing through the dark of the night, with its full might determined to throw me off the tracks. That it did. I could not contain the fear or the physical pain of pure exhaustion of contact horror and fear of what might happen next. My symptoms had an enormous strength and determination. I was at total loss for words or actions. What could I do to stop this? G-d, help me. Please don’t let me die. I could hear Simone’s breathing on the monitor, asking myself to listen, TO LISTEN! Nothing worked. I screamed for Christian to go to the hospital. I don’t remember the rest, except being transported to Missouri Baptist Medical Center in a quiet ambulance, with a nice paramedic asking me the same sets of questions…the same questions….the same answer-less questions…déjà vu has taken its place and I felt like Alice, not being able to get home.

Christian held my hand, while I fell into a deep, much needed sleep. Additional tests were done and nothing found. It was after midnight when a nice, older man came into the room and started to talk about panic attacks, anxiety and all that jazz. I listened, quietly, taking in every word and feeling a RELIEF. Someone knew that I am sick and someone had the plan. I swallowed hard and deep, knowing that relief was in sight (even though it was a long and hard road ahead). I breathed. For the first time in 72 hours, I breathed…and let out a first sigh of relief.