Emergency

In early December I took a cab to the Emergency Room at the Health Sciences Center here in Winnipeg. I cried the entire way, pulling my hat down and shoving the money to the front seat to cover the cost. I cried as I registered, struggling to calm down enough to articulate what the problem was. I even cried on the table during the EKG. I was too distraught to care what I looked or sounded like. I had lost control and was unable to stop.


My trip had been motivated by chest pain and pressure. These symptoms had been happening since July, but had become increasingly painful and pronounced. I dismissed them as a side-effect of anxiety and chose to ignore them. Instead of realizing that my body was sending me a strong message, I choose to live with the discomfort. I had many moments when the pressure was so bad that I thought my heart would actually stop. I began to envision myself dropping dead at work or passing out on the bus. The bizarre thing is that these thoughts were not uncomfortable. On the contrary, they felt logical and realistic. It's incredible that the pain was so bad that death (or at least unconsciousness) was a calming alternative. Nevertheless, shame and embarrassment continued to prevent me from being proactive about the situation and actually doing something about it.


While waiting for the results of the EKG and blood tests in the Emergency waiting room, I hoped that the doctors would find something physically wrong with me. I understood that people go to emergency rooms as a result of panic attacks, but could not believe that this would happen to me. I am embarrassed to admit now that I secretly believed that those who wound up in Emergency for panic attacks were overly dramatic, had no concept of what real health problems were, and were not in tune with their own bodies. Despite the fact that I strive to be open and accepting regarding my mental illness, I could not accept that my chest pain was a result of the anxiety. In essence, I would have rather heard that I had serious heart problems than had suffered a panic attack.


The experience was humbling. Not only had my symptoms reached a point where I truly believed that there was a serious, physical problem, I had to confront the fact that I did suffer from painful and uncomfortable panic attacks. I was not imagining them. They are real, as are the physical symptoms that accompany them. Because they are caused by anxiety and not by my heart does not mean that they should be taken any less seriously or that their impacts are less hurtful. Imagine feeling panicked with heavy pressure on your chest and palpitations all day long. It's terrible. How can you feel normal and relaxed when your body is so stressed? Once again I was backed into a corner and needed to make changes.


My experience at the ER does not mean that I have conquered the panic and the anxiety. Boredom at work coupled with the prospect of losing my job in a few weeks is the perfect breeding ground for worry and panic. I still have bad nights and bad days. I still have difficult Sunday afternoons. However, I have begun to take baby steps in analyzing these thoughts and trying to evaluate their relevance. Talking the fear through with someone also helps immensely, and as always, exercise and volunteering continue to help manage this illness.


I wrote this for everyone who suffers from panic attacks. It happens, it's real, and there is nothing to be ashamed about.