My Year with Anxiety

While other Catholics were celebrating the Year of Faith, I was struggling through my year with anxiety.  I am finally ready to write about this now, with the support and encouragement from my husband who thinks I need to share my story in order to overcome it.  Plus, he's the only one who really knows what's been going on and he thinks my life would be a little easier if I didn't have to make excuses all the time to cover up what's really happening in my head.

It all began on Black Friday of 2012, which sounds very dramatic, and while it was for me, the events leading up to it were very normal indeed.  We had Phil's brother, his wife, and their 6 kids up visiting for the Thanksgiving break, and we were all having such a fun time.  We decided to go see the Christmas lights at La Salette Shrine, which was our family's tradition, and so we packed up everyone in two vans and started the hour drive around 4:30 pm.  It was getting dark out, and the kids were being even louder than usual (all hyped up from the feasting) and suddenly the car seemed to get very hot.  

I put down the window and turned up the Christmas music playing on the radio to take my mind off of it, but it didn't help.  I started feeling like I couldn't breathe right and had trouble catching my breath.  I told Phil I didn't feel right and he asked what I wanted to do, but I didn't know.  I reclined my seat and tried to focus on slow breathing but my chest was so so tight and I asked Phil to pull over.  

He called his brother and said we were pulling over, and I got out and walked around in the cold air, felt a little better, and we got back in our vans again.  But all the same breathing things started happening again, and I made Phil pull over, saying that I had to go to the bathroom.  At this time, I was feeling very scared that I was having some sort of a heart attack.  I was also really really embarrassed because I kept making Phil's family pull over when we did, and Phil was trying to explain to them what was happening.  Of course, they were very empathetic and patient but I felt like a fool.

I went to the bathroom, and got back in the car.  We were almost at La Salette and about an hour from home, and I didn't know what to do.  The symptoms would not go away, I was on the verge of hyperventilating with a tight chest and feeling very lightheaded and my hands were numb.   At that moment, I saw a sign for a hospital and told Phil to just bring me there.  He called his brother to tell him the plan (again, major embarrassment) and we all pulled into the ER parking lot and I walked in by myself so Phil could figure out what to do with the kids in the car.  

I told the lady at the desk that I couldn't wait in line, and needed to sit down because I was about to pass out.  She was so nice and told me to sit with her while she called for a nurse to come help me.  She asked me what was wrong, and I said "I've never had one before, but I think I'm having a panic attack" which surprised even me because until that second, I didn't know what was happening. 

Phil came in and said that his brother and sister-in-law were going to drive all the kids home and put them to bed.  I was so thankful that they were there to help us out!  But again, you guessed it, ashamed.

At the hospital, things seemed to move in slow motion, and I kept hoping they would just give me something to control my breathing already.  They did all the normal tests and then wheeled me back for an echo-cardiogram to rule out anything with my heart (I have a slight heart murmur).  They took some blood to test for who knows what, and then finally gave me an anti-anxiety medication, Attivan, that kicked in about 20 minutes later and made me feel sleepy and like I could breathe again.  

My heart checked out fine, my blood pressure was up (but duh, I was panicking) and my blood test showed that my thyroid levels were off.  The ER doctor told me to make an appointment with my regular doctor for more thyroid testing, and they sent me home.  Only we didn't have a car, so Phil called a wonderful priest we know that lived in the area and he came and picked us up and drove us home, happily chatting all the way to help set my mind at ease.  

I went to bed that night feeling thankful there was nothing seriously wrong with me, but also wishing I had an answer to why it happened.  Let me tell you, the worst part of a panic attack is the fear of having another one.  It's debilitating.  Our company left the next morning, and I scheduled an appointment with my doctor for the next week. 

I was trying to go back to life as normal, but I soon found out that this stupid panic attack had changed everything for me.  I couldn't get in a car without deep breathing and white knuckling my way to wherever we were going.  I couldn't go out at night.  I couldn't eat too much at once because the feeling of not being able to breathe properly would throw me off the deep end.  I couldn't have any caffeine after my morning cup of coffee, because if my heart started racing I would think I was panicking again.  I couldn't wear pants that were tight at all because that would make me feel like I couldn't breathe right.  Any time I had to go to the bathroom, I would need to rush because I feared I wouldn't get to one in time.  Every time we went to church or a crowded place, I would start to get hot and sweaty and feel trapped.  

I felt like I was going insane.

I prayed for God to take away all of the thoughts that were running through my head and make me back to normal.  I told Him I would rather have a physical disease than a mental one, because nobody can see your mental handicaps and you feel so lonely and ashamed and literally crazy.  I would tell myself to just stop being so dramatic.  There was nothing wrong with me.  Nothing bad or traumatic or terrible had happened in my life to cause this.  I could control this.  Except I couldn't.

I had another panic attack one week after the first one.  We were driving home (at night again) from a friend's house and I started panicking in the car.  It was only a 5 minute drive, but by the time we got home, I had to run upstairs and get a brown paper bag to breathe into because I was hyperventilating.  Phil called my brother, an ER doctor, who said that I just had to try and relax, keep breathing in the bag and say a Rosary to calm me down, and that it would pass.  It did pass after about 10 minutes, and we watched tv until I fell asleep.  

That Monday, I had my doctor's appointment with my really awesome and understanding doctor.  I told him everything that had happened and he ordered more blood work to test my thyroid again as well as some other things.  He really listened to my fears and handed me tissues when I cried, and suggested that I talk to a therapist.  I told him I didn't need to talk to a therapist, that I just needed something to take when I would have a panic attack because they were so very scary.  He prescribed Attivan to take if I had an attack again, and ordered a thyroid ultrasound because he thought my thyroid felt "stiff".

I had the ultrasound and blood work done, and much to my chagrin, everything came back normal.  I had really hoped there would be a reason for the anxiety and had been researching thyroid disorders, and felt I might have one since I had a bunch of the symptoms.  I emailed Grace (because she had thyroid cancer and her husband is an ObGyn resident) to ask for thyroid advice and have her husband read my NFP charts.  I know, I was desperate!  I emailed Jen because she had done the Perfect Health diet and that was a suggestion for someone with thyroid problems.  I felt like I needed to do whatever I could to help me get back to normal, and the only things I knew how to control were diet and exercise.

I began eating smaller meals (to avoid feeling full) and less sugary carbs (like on the Perfect Health Diet) and made sure I was exercising 6 days a week.  When I was having the attacks, my exercise routine had been thrown off due to the holidays, and I thought maybe that was part of the problem.  I was taking my vitamins, and drinking water, and sleeping plenty, and basically just trying to live as healthy as I could.  

And I never had another panic attack.  BUT, I kept having plenty of close calls.  Meaning, I would be somewhere and think I was on the verge of an attack and have to walk away, or go to the bathroom, or go outside, or do something, anything, to take my mind off of it.  It happened at Christmas Eve Mass, it happened at the mall, it happened in meetings at work,  it happened 90% of the time I was in a car (I pulled over quite a bit those first few months!), it happened whenever I was home alone at night, it happened in a restaurant, you get the idea.  I carried a brown paper bag with me in my purse, alongside the Attivan bottle, and always had my phone with me ready to distract me with Netflix or blogs to read when I needed to "escape". So even though I never had to use the anxiety medication because I never had another full-blown attack, but I felt I couldn't keep living like this.   

One night in March, after putting the kids to bed, I broke down to Phil and told him how much I was struggling.  He knew there had been times where I "didn't feel good" - which was code for "I can't breathe right and my chest might explode and I need to get out of here before it gets any worse" - but he didn't know how often they were happening in my head. He urged me to call the doctor again and see what else I could do to stop all of this.  

I called the doctor the next day, and talked to him/cried to him on the phone.  He asked how often I was having these feelings of anxiety, and I told him a few times a week.  I told him we had a big car trip coming up (8 hours to visit Phil's family that April) and that I was really dreading it because I hadn't done any kind of long trip since the first panic attack. He said it sounded like I needed to go on a low dose of anxiety medication, to which I told him all my anxiety (ironic!) about going on a daily medication for the rest of my life.  He understood and even laughed because most of his patients were trying to convince him to prescribe drugs, and I was doing exactly the opposite.  He assured me that it wasn't habit-forming, and I could stop it at any time if I didn't like how it made me feel.  I thanked him and he called in the scrip, and Phil went to pick it up for me. 

When Phil brought it home, I opened up that ridiculously long paper with all the listed possible side effects and promptly decided I wasn't going to take it.  I know.  I drive myself crazy.  I felt better just knowing I had it in the house to take in case I ever wanted to start, but still felt like maybe I could get through all of this without it.  I really really hate going on medication if there's any possible alternative.

Then it was Easter.  We went to Mass that morning (I just want to point out that every activity that involved going somewhere in public still made me uptight) and I struggled through it.  After a Lent of healthy eating, we had binged on sweets the night before (to celebrate the Easter Vigil) and that morning before Mass.  When I got home, I changed and we went to my sister's house for brunch.  

As soon as we walked in the door with all my family there, I felt like I was about to have a panic attack. I took my first Attivan, told my family my stomach didn't feel good, and went upstairs and laid down on my niece's bed.  I prayed and prayed to not have an attack, and eventually the medicine kicked in and I fell asleep.  My kids woke me up saying it was time to leave, and as we were leaving, my mom and sister asked me if I was okay, and if I was pregnant (I wasn't) and I told them I just ate too much sugar.  Which was the truth and I think it was also what set me off.  Too much sugar = my heart races = I panic.

Now I was really worried about the 8 hour car trip to visit Phil's family which was happening in a week.  Phil and I talked about it, and we decided that I should just take an Attivan at the beginning of the trip and then I wouldn't have to worry about an attack possibly happening.  So I did, and I was sleepy and a little foggy for that car trip but it was perfect.  We made it to his family's house, and I felt I had overcome a huge hurdle.  After spending a week there, we had to drive home, and I told Phil I felt much better going into this car trip back, and that I would just take a Dramamine (because I get carsick) and see what happened.  The Dramamine helped, and I slept most of the first leg of the trip, and we got home and I was okay!  The fear of what might happen was worse than whatever actually happened.

After that trip, I felt much more confident about getting in the car.  I don't like car trips, and I still have to talk myself through them, but I know I can do it without panicking.  The rest of my life sort of fell into place in similar fashion.  I could easily recognize my triggers, and knew what I had to avoid in order to live as normally as possible.  Last summer, I was feeling really good and got back to my happy weight and the occurrences of anxiety were definitely fewer and further between.  Things were going so well that we decided to add on to our family!  

I tell myself that this baby has saved me because I have basically had zero anxiety symptoms throughout this pregnancy.  I'm not sure if it's been the shift in my hormones or what, but I am so thankful that I was able to celebrate (yes, celebrate) this past Black Friday, as a close to a year filled with anxiety and mental head games.  Getting through that one year anniversary felt like another huge hurdle cleared.  I can breathe easy.

Looking ahead, I am very hopeful for a future filled with less anxiety.  In speaking to some of my family members who have had panic attacks, I have realized that sometimes it's just something that happened but doesn't continue to happen.  I know I'm a little more high-strung than the average person, and I know my triggers to avoid, and I pray that living healthy and finding joy in my life will help me in not experiencing anything like this past year.  But I am also realistic, and know that if I go through some of these things again, I can turn to therapy or medication and I don't need to be so ashamed.  

The next hurdle that I can see on the horizon is the birth of this little bambino.  I made the decision before I got pregnant that if  we had another baby, I would go for the medicated birth this time to avoid all the anxiety and pain I associate with natural childbirth.  But now that I am pregnant, I am struggling to actually follow through on that decision without feeling like a failure.

I don't judge any mom at all, no matter how she desires to labor, but I look back at my past labors and have felt really great after the natural ones, and really crummy after the epidurals (like I failed because I couldn't do it without the drugs).  So this Advent I am praying the St. Andrew Novena for peace to know what I can handle and what I can't and the wisdom to make the right call.  

In a nutshell, what I have learned the most about my anxiety struggles is that we can never know what it's like to walk in someone's shoes until we have actually walked in them.  I have become so much less judgmental and righteous, and I try to always give people the benefit of the doubt.  If someone is rude or mean, I understand that they could easily be struggling with something internally that I am not privileged to know about.  This whole experience has given me so much more compassion for mental illness and I hope that in sharing my story, I can give someone encouragement that is going through it or an insight to what it's like if you know anyone that is experiencing something similar.  I really don't want to be dramatic, because of all the things that I could have suffered through, this is a teensy little cross, but I am so so glad that it seems to have been lifted from my shoulders, at least for now.