Making progress

Two weeks ago I got sick. It was on Friday afternoon that I started feeling achy with a little twinge of pain in my throat. Saturday it got worse. By Saturday night my throat was very sore. I was pretty sure it was strep so on Sunday morning I headed to a walk in clinic. They confirmed it was indeed strep and prescribed me some antibiotics which I picked up at Walmart. Then I took the horse sized pills home and just looked at them.

You see, I have this fear of taking medicine with an anti-depressant. It kinda stems from this little experience. I avoid taking medicine whenever I can. Advil is one I know to be fine and that’s pretty much it. Even when I had mastitis after Sassypants was born, I wouldn’t get antibiotics. I took the painful route and stood in the shower for 45 minutes crying as I massaged the lump out of my breast. It worked and I didn’t have to see the doctor.

But strep is different. I only went to the doctor because I felt very very sick. My body was the achiest I think it’s ever been. It was very painful and I sat looking at the antibiotics knowing that I might get much sicker if I didn’t take them. But there was the nagging worry in the back of my head about some kind of interaction. After getting lots of reassurance from my husband that the two medicines don’t work in the same way I swallowed the pill and did my best to forget about it.

Then approximately 2 1/2 hours after I’d taken it, out of the blue, I felt that awful, horrifying surge of nausea and fear and hot streaks zapping through my body and I thought, I’m screwed. But this time I knew it was a panic attack and I knew logically that it probably just had to do with my working up my fears over taking the antibiotic. So I laid down on the couch trying to stay calm. It was hard not to think, “I don’t want to die” or “I’m going to die” as each surge of terror welled up to its strongest point and then began to abate. But I lay still telling myself that I would be ok, trying not to cause the panic to become worse. It was about 30 minutes of struggle and then, just as my family got back from church, it ceased. I knew it hadn’t been the antibiotics after all and that now I could add antibiotics and anti-depressants to my “safe to take together list”.

It was terrible to feel that out of control over my body and emotions again, even if it was just for that little bit. But as I look back on it, I see myself laying on the couch, eyes closed, concentrating on trying to breathe slowly. Doing everything I could to calm a heart that was racing as though I was running for my life. From the outside, anyone who saw me would have thought I was just trying to nap on the couch. But inside I felt I was fighting for my very existence.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. At feeling the terror and being able to keep a calm demeanor externally. There have been many times out in public where I’ve had an attack come on and I know that the people I was around never knew it. I’m so proud of that. I know I may not always be able to hold it together, but most of the time I can do so because I know what is happening to my body and mind in that moment. And because of my horrid experience a few years ago I have the patience to wait it out, thinking encouraging thoughts all the while so I doesn’t aggravate and elongate the episode.

As I sat there trying to calm my body I kept thinking, “I’ll be okay. This is my lot in life. It will always be my lot in life, but I’ll be okay.” And you know what, I will. I have a family and a Heavenly Father who loves me. And whether fear or pain or death knock at my door, in the end, I will be okay.