Anxiety
So, Festivall has come and gone. I had a blast, and was glad to have such a busy and fun week to keep me distracted. I have been suffering from a very painful and energy-sucking health condition for a while, and spent the time before and during Festivall waiting for a diagnosis. My diagnosis came on Friday, and I won’t go into details (trust me, you don’t want to know) but the good news is that a very minor surgery can put me back into good health again.
Unfortunately, I have a serious phobia of surgical procedures. I have always had it, but I honestly thought I had sort of worked myself through it — sort of my own aversion therapy, called “having four children.” None of my children’s births caused the terrifying reaction that I normally get with surgical procedures, other than a few not-so-bad anxiety issues as I got closer to childbirth. But not like this. This time, the panic attacks hit hard and nasty.
For those of you who have never had a true panic attack, consider yourselves lucky. Do you know that feeling you get when you’re driving down the road and you almost have an accident but avoid it at the last minute? A panic attack is sort of like that, except it lasts longer, you get light-headed, you feel like you can’t breathe, your chest feels tight, and you may start hyperventilating. It’s the most visceral feeling of terror that I’ve ever experienced.
The thing about phobias is that people don’t get them. People tell you “it’s not so bad,” and “just think of something else,” and “take deep breaths,” but they really don’t understand how phobias work. Phobias are irrational fears. IRRATIONAL, meaning “not rational.” In all honesty, while I am not looking forward to going under the knife, I am looking forward to having the procedure done so I can have my life back. And when I think about the procedure, itself, I’m really not afraid of it. I have a great doctor, the surgery is really not too bad, I’ll be asleep through the whole thing, and won’t feel much pain after I wake back up. The irrational fear has nothing to do with logic, so there is no trying to reason myself out of the fear. My phobia is not with the procedure, itself. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I’m afraid of, other than just the idea of surgery, itself.
Lucky for me, we’ve got amazing pharmaceuticals these days. Lexapro is my new best friend. Well, not best friend — I don’t love it, but it is cool to sleep without waking up in a panicky cold sweat, and it’s also nice not to have panic attacks in public places, where people stop and stare and wonder “what the hell is going on with that crazy lady?!?” I feel very low-key and sort of dopey, but I guess it’s better than feeling like I’m on the verge of a heart attack all the time. I’m sure my family thinks so, too.
So, in a month and a half, I can have my life back. Until then, I am sort of being held hostage by this condition that has been making me pretty miserable. I am counting down the days until I’m back in the saddle. Then school will be ready to start again, and I’m already looking forward to some new projects. In the meantime, I’ve had Festivall to keep me busy, and a family vacation and summer camp job coming right up. I think keeping myself distracted (and … um… mildly sedated) is the key to not losing my mind between now and the big day. The good thing is that I have a lot of little distractions running around, and they keep me from thinking about it too much.
























