A short story about flying and scrambled egg sandwiches

In my last post I mentioned that I had been sick on a plane before. Here is that story.
In 2002 I went to New Orleans for work and my husband – then boyfriend – decided to tag along and we made a trip of it.
It was a long flight and I was ok getting there. A little perturbed in Dallas/Fort Worth airport though when the Texas Rangers went through my bags dressed in their fatigues and their AK-47s strung on their backs.
We had a great time and the city is beautiful. I always recommend to everyone to go to New Orleans at least once in their lives.
The night before we left we went partying with some friends we met while there. Too much drinking, little sleep and having to catch our airport shuttle at 4:30am was not an ideal mix.
When we got to the airport at six am, we checked in and at our gate was a little food stand. I ordered a scrambled egg sandwich and gobbled it down as I was starving.
We got on our flight and I started to feel a little ill. As you know, when you are taking off you are supposed to stay in your seat with your “seat belt firmly fastened until the pilot turns the seat belt light off.” Well, I started to feel very ill, which then turned into panic as I did not want to be ill on a plane.
Well, too late for that! I looked at my husband, turned pale, broke into a cold sweat and quickly released the buckle of my seatbelt, bolted upright and literally ran down the aisle of the plane to the bathroom.
The flight attendant in the back started to tell me that I needed to be in my seat, but stopped short after realizing I did not look well and quickly pointed to the location of the bathroom.
I entered with a bang of the door and promptly fell to my knees and the entire scrambled egg sandwich was relieved from my stomach.
I actually do not remember how I got back to my seat, but I did and the flight attendant was kind enough to bring me some water.
We landed in Dallas and I was not well. We sat at our gate waiting for our next flight and I started to panic. Dallas airport is very busy, which didn’t help my state of mind. They called our flight and as we were waiting to board I burst into tears. I was overtired, sick and panicky. Ugh! I can remember the feeling as if it happened this morning. My husband quickly dashed across the hallway to a little store, bought some Dramamine (aptly named –drama) and I chewed on two of the tablets which felt like a thick, awful tasting paste in my mouth with a hint of orange.
The last thing I remember was lying across two seats on the plane clutching a barf bag and the flight attendant asking my husband if I wanted something to drink. He said, “No thank you. I don’t think she’ll be having anything this flight.”

Folding sheets

I’ve always struggled with describing what having a panic attack is like. Today, I have a good analogy. It’s like trying to fold a fitted sheet. You know, the sheets that have the elastic corners to hug the mattress. Have you ever tried to fold one of those suckers? Well, needless to say, you feel like the sucker in the end and it’s still not folded.

First, you pick up the sheet and the find the corners. Put your hands in them and think, “yes, I can do this.” But then you start to fold and it looks off balance. The corners don’t match up. The lines don’t match when folded. You unfold and start again. This time it gets all bunched up in the corners and you start to become frustrated. You start folding this way and that. Using the chair or couch as an extra hand; holding your arms as wide as they’ll go while standing on your tippy toes; holding it over your head; wrapping it around your body. It’s useless and it’s hard to do, so you give up and throw it down or just fold it as best you can and put it away in the linen closet and think to yourself, “no one will see it in there.”

Well my friends, that is very similar as suffering a panic attack. You start out thinking everything is ok, but then it starts and you try and fight it. You try every little thing to stop it and finally you give in and lay down and feel like that’s it. It’s the end and you feel crumpled and disheveled. You feel like a sucker. After this, you pull yourself together as best you can and then put it away inside of you and think, “no one will see it in there.”

So today, I guess I’m fighting my way out of an unfolded, wet sheet.

My panic and my larynx are inextricably linked

I’ve always wondered why, during this time that I’ve been going through, that when you have a panic attack, why does it feel like you are being strangled? I feel like there are invisible hands pushing down on my larynx making it hard for me to breathe. It does not feel good and it actually makes the feeling of panic worse. It makes me want to grab at my throat and pry off the invisible set of hands strangling me. Yet, the feeling of my hands on my neck makes the feeling of panic worse. Conclusion: anything I do to stop imaginary forces makes my panic worse.

At that moment when my panic feeling becomes escalated, I start to breathe very fast – almost hyperventilate. To tell you the truth, I have a couple of times and almost passed out. I found out from my doctor that this happens when you breathe out all your CO2 and your extremities – arms, legs, feet, etc. – start to tingle and feel numb. This tingling and numbness then adds to my panic because I then feel like or think I am having a heart attack. My chest becomes tight; my arms are tingly and numb. Not a good feeling, wouldn’t you agree?

In essence I feel like I’m fighting my way out of a wet paper bag.

We are Not Alone

Ironically, I don’t like to suffer alone, but do not like to have anyone touch me while I am suffering a panic attack. Don’t ask me why, it’s just the way it is. Usually the scene unfolds of me sitting on a chair or couch and I’m fidgeting in some sort of way, trying in vain to hold still and needing someone – anyone – to sit with me. Just their presence helps me to calm down quicker than if I were alone when a panic attack hits. I think this is part of the reason why I don’t like to drive long distances alone. I sometimes have to call either my mother or husband to talk to me as I drive (on the speaker phone of course! I am always safe) so that I can calm down enough to keep driving.

I wanted to know if anyone “famous” suffered from panic and anxiety and I found this list. I was astounded and surprised at the many famous and distinguished people who suffered from anxiety and panic. Some I could see them as panic sufferers, but others not so much.

I am hoping that 2011 will bring the end of my panic attacks. I am tired of fighting my way out of wet paper bag as I am sure everyone on the list above is too.

The Jits

Tonight I’ve got the jits. I don’t know why either. I’ve been pretty good lately, but these last few days, I’ve been a bit on edge. Maybe because I have a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Maybe it’s because I spent too much money tonight. I really don’t know. I’ve been getting little mini panic attacks throughout the day.

I just read online that if you are having a panic attack, tell yourself you’ve had them before and survived others and this is no different. Then you should laugh as that will help to thwart the attack and make it less to deal with. So I’ve been laughing out loud. My husband and cats have been eyeing me curiously. They may have to commit me sooner or later to the funny farm…. I’m sure I’ll get lots of laughing done there!

I just wish this would get better and I hope that finding the humour in all this will help. And yes, I still feel like I’m fighting my way out of a wet paper bag.

Why reading magazines can give you hypochondria

So the other evening, I’m sitting by the fire reading a popular Canadian women’s magazine. I’m drinking my “feeling calm” herbal tea and the cat is curled up at my feet. I’m turning the pages slowly, one at a time. Reading about a TV star and then about some fashion and what’s new for fall and what keeps us warm on these chilly days now upon us.

I turn another page and then it begins – the dreaded health article. The battle to stop myself from thinking that I have the health issue I’m reading about it epic. I read about two women who suffered strokes at a young age; what they went through to get noticed by their doctors who thought nothing was wrong with them since they were so young – mid to late thirties. My age! I re-read their symptoms over and over thinking back to when I had my last blasting headache; when I felt dizzy; when I felt ill or had blurred vision.

My heart starts to pound. I start to sweat a little bit. I glance at the fire wondering if turned it up too high or am I starting to have stroke? I take my pulse. It’s in the normal range. I don’t feel dizzy or have blurred vision. I look into my tea cup at the amber liquid looking back up at me. I can see the lights above the chair reflecting in it.

I stop myself; my mind from racing away with its ten million thoughts on how when I stand up I’ll collapse in a heap on the floor and the cat will do nothing to alarm my husband and I’ll lay there my life slowly ebbing away with every slowed heart beat.

As I said, I stop myself from letting my mind run away with itself. I tell myself not to be so stupid and to put that annoying magazine down. I push it into the middle of the coffee table and decide to put it into the pile I give to my mother. I get up and walk away from it and go to warm up my tea and then to bed. I promptly forgot about the article until the next day when my mother did come to visit and I hand her the pile of magazines.

Good riddance! Now time to pull myself back together piece by piece and keep punching away at this wet paper bag.

Fear and loathing in broad daylight

Ever had a panic attack walking down the street in broad daylight? No? Let me elaborate. It feels like you are walking on air – almost – and then you feel like you’re going to drop, trip or pass out. Usually, one or both of your eyes starts to blur and you start to breathe very quickly. Then hyperventilate. Your hands and arms go numb (from the hyperventilating) and you start to shake.

Meanwhile you’re thinking how can I act as normal as possible without looking like an idiot? You become self conscious and your eyes dart around like a wild animal being closed in on by hunters. The clip clopping of my shoes echo in my ears; I keep walking, walking, walking. There’s really nothing else I can do. What I really want to do is stop someone and ask them to drive me to the hospital.

What’s really awful about this whole episode, as well as the all the others I’ve gone through? I know deep down inside there is NOTHING wrong with me. It’s all psychological. Or is it……

I went to the hospital last year the day before Christmas Eve having what I thought was a heart attack. I had terrible pain in my chest, neck and left arm. I couldn’t breathe well. So, off to emergency I go and get all these tests done to find out….. NOTHING IS WRONG!

The doctor was kind and showed me my ECG graph and said, “See this? This tells me your heart is perfect. So what you had was a panic attack. Don’t let anyone tell you they aren’t real, ok? Just get some help to work through them.” Then he gave me a prescription for Ativan.

So there I am, feeling like a bit of a dumbass. I went home and went to bed. I was tired. Oh, that’s another thing about panic attacks – they drain your energy so much you feel like you could collapse afterwards.

Nothing like feeling you’re fighting your way out of a wet paper bag and the bag is winning.

Lady Macbeth’s hysteria vs. my fear

Lady Macbeth had it easy. She just saw spots on her skin because of her guilt. I have panic attacks for no reason other than… well because I really do not know.

When she had her bout of hysteria (which by the way, a synonym for hysteria is panic), Lady Macbeth literally went into hysterics and saw spots on her arms and hands because she felt guilty for the murder of King Duncan committed by her husband to gain the crown in Scotland at her urging and devise.

I on the other hand have a husband who has not committed murder – or anything for that matter – for gain; yet I still have panic attacks. Hmmmm…. I wonder….. Maybe, like Lady Macbeth, I create my own fear. Maybe I ‘let’ myself have these panic attacks to fill a void for something that I’ve never had before and therefore cannot explain my fear. Lady Macbeth then created her hysteria because of her guilt and was so stressed by the fact that she is the instrument of a King’s murder, she sleep walks and hallucinates seeing blood on her hand, startles at the clock striking and remembers her husband’s reluctance at her idea of regicide.

Let’s entertain a thought for a moment: Lady Macbeth is a prominent figure in Shakespeare’s play of the same name (surname that is) and backs her husband fully in his iniquitous deed. Well, she actually nags him into committing murder. I mean, she lays the daggers for him and his men after drugging King Duncan and his men at a banquet. But later in the play, performing her job as hostess for her husband’s men, at a similar banquet that King Duncan was killed, she is nervous. She becomes “stressed” for lack of a better word. Does she propel herself into hysteria? Or does Lady Macbeth have her first panic attack in the middle of the night?

Could it be that my panic (and subsequent attacks) and Lady Macbeth’s hysteria are one and the same? I mean, not in the sense that I’ve committed murder, or am going to for that matter. But same in the sense that my panic and Lady Macbeth’s hysteria is self created? That we cause ourselves our own stress?

Master Shakespeare, I thank thee for you maketh me understand myself.

Drinking tea to prevent death over tacos

So, again, last night I had a mild panic attack – but it was still an attack.

I suffer from heartburn once in awhile and anyone who suffers from heartburn or acid reflux knows the pain I’m talking about. Well, that set off another panic in me that it was my heart; that I was having a heart attack. It felt so real. My heart started to race, I started to get cold, clammy and sweaty. I felt dizzy. I thought for sure this was it, that my number was up. I would drop dead in my kitchen while I was cooking tacos and my husband wouldn’t notice because the tv was too loud.

I had to sit and be quiet. I went into the living room with some cold “Feeling Calm” tea that I had made earlier in the day. I sipped. I wished it was gin. I sipped again. Nope, it was feeling calm tea. I took my pulse. I felt my forehead. That darn muscle in my back – the one over my left shoulder blade, – started to spasm.

My husband came up from the family room. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I said. “Are you mad because I’m not helping to cook?” “No” “Then What’s wrong?”

Oh how I wish others could understand the fear that goes along with panic attacks. Think of the most scariest thing you ever went through: being locked in a port a potty; losing your child in a department store; going to a funeral where there’s a viewing; getting ready to abandon ship that you thought was sinking when really the ship had only ran aground because the skipper got drunk and fell asleep at the helm. Whatever! But think of a scary moment.

Think how you felt. That is a panic attack. Now think how you would feel if you had one of those every day, or every couple of days. Think how frustrating that is. You cannot control them and to fight them, well, don’t even both trying. It just makes it worse.

Now do you get my analogy of fighting my way out of a wet paper bag? Because that’s what it feels like every time I have a panic attack, but the paper bag is winning.

Is anyone out there?

So I don’t know if anyone out there will read this blog, but I feel that I need to write it. I suffer from Anxiety and Panic Attacks. I have since I was 8 years old and feel that now, in my mid-thirties, I need to connect with others out there in this world who suffer from this – what I call – affliction as well.

So, are you out there? Is anyone listening? Or I should ask, reading?

Do you dread getting on the bus? Going into large stores? Have you had to run out clutching your bag, purse, wallet, purchase like a wild animal escaping its cage? Would you fight savagely anyone who tried to stop or push you? I know I’ve felt this way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very normal. I’m a professional who works in the public service and had some high profile jobs thus far. But really; I suffer from what my doctor says most professional women my age suffer from – Anxiety.

My last panic attack was on the bus two days ago. I got on feeling fine – perfect in fact. I was on my way home from work. I felt pretty good. I got on the bus and started to feel odd. My skin started to tingle. I got a lump in my throat. I began to sweat. I could feel my skin blanche. I start to shake uncontrollably. The nice little Chinese lady sitting beside me asked as we neared every stop, “You get off? You get off?” I had to shake my head or whisper ‘no’ about 10 times. I thought I was going to die.

So what is it? What triggered this attack? Really? I couldn’t tell you. It came out of the blue. I’m tired of feeling tired of feeling tired of feeling like this.

Does anyone else feel this way? Do you feel like you’re fighting your way out of a wet paper bag and the bag is winning?