For those of you who have also grappled with the complexities of acute anxiety, you already know that once you have experienced your first bona fide Panic Attack, a brand-spanking-new strain of panic is introduced into your life: The Intense Panic at the Thought of Having Another Panic Attack. It is truly a vast, unwanted and deranged Catch-22.
Yeah, once you survive the initial ordeal, it starts to dawn on you that you still have a problem. For me it didn’t take too long. When they released me at the hospital, I shuffled out into the waiting area expecting to see either the man I was married to at the time, or perhaps a family member, or hey – I’d settle for my fucking DOG. I mean, I WAS after all carted away from my place of employment, unconscious in an ambulance and all. One would THINK that this fact might merit a bit of familial concern. But no. I’m standing there staring dumbly at room fulla complete strangers. JUST GREAT.
My mind starts racing. Didn’t my job CALL anybody to let them know I was in the HOSPITAL for CHRIST’S SAKE???? I could be DEAD right now, laying on a fucking SLAB, and my so-called LOVED ONES wouldn’t have a clue.
My voice sounds far-off and vague as I ask a broad at the information desk where the nearest payphone is. She directs me out into a deserted, echo-y hospital corridor.
I am gripping a big metal payphone box for dear life with one hand, as I shakily rummage in my shoulder bag for coins. Finally find some. Try to reach my then-husband. No answer. I try my shit-head JOB, but of course they’re fucking useless - gone for the day. Finally, as a last resort, I call my parents. By now my hands are trembling badly and I am terrified that I’m about to plunge right back into another attack.
My mom answers the phone. I don’t remember much of the conversation that I had with my mother, except her telling me: "Your husband should be there soon to get you. First, he just wanted to go check and make sure the car was okay.”
See, I had driven our fairly new car to work. It seems that the paramount concern here was to make sure that the car was okay, being that it was all alone – you know – parked at my job and all. Lonely and vulnerable. Poor car.
To be honest, at this point I felt such a current of hysteria building in me that it seemed like my head might blow apart. I was practically speaking in tongues – it was all gibberish – I was shaking and scared because I was PANICKING AGAIN!! IT WAS ALREADY BACK.
My mom can sense this, I guess, and she freaks out - puts my dad on the phone. All I remember is my voice escalating uncontrollably. I’m soon screaming and unable to stop - my voice resonating and bouncing off the walls of this long, dingy-sterile hallway: ’”O MY GOD ….I’M ALONE HERE ….. WHY AM I ALONE HERE?? …. WHY the FUCK AM I ALL ALONE HERE???”
This display draws the attention of a hospital attendant. He comes up behind me and taps my arm, mid-scream.
Dude: (calmly): “Scuse me, Ma’am, but you can’t behave like that in here. You’re being much too loud.”
Me: (Spinning around crazily) “WHAT? WHAT?” Dazed, I slam the phone down on my parents. I look into the attendant’s eyes and mutter: “Oh, GOD. I’m losing it.”
Dude (Completely unphased): “I’m sorry, but you need to leave.”
Me: “You’re telling me to LEAVE?? I WAS JUST A PATIENT HERE! THEY ONLY JUST RELEASED ME.”
He thinks about this for a second and then says: “Well, Ma’am…if yore released, then you’d best be gittin’ on yore way.”
Yup, it sure can be a cruel, cruel world. So I wander outside. Queens Boulevard. Sure enough, there’s my then-husband marching up the entrance ramp. Come to collect me. He has no idea how to deal with me and I don’t know how to deal with myself. We go home in silence and I curl up in a ball, but sleep does not come easy. Every time I almost drift off, a part of me feels like it’s a loss of control – like I’ll drown. I’m so scared of having another attack that I can’t allow myself to fall asleep.
Hopefully things will look different in the morning…
TO BE CONTINUED…
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