On Anxiety and Panic

"Pull!"

Having just shot, I took my turn launching the targets. The shooting stations were constructed of wood with lattice on the top and two sides that at some point had been painted green.

"Pull!"

I pressed the button. As I stood there, I looked more closely at the upright box I was standing in. In the top corners I noticed thick spider webs. I immediately look to the bottom corners to find the same.

"Pull!"

I looked quickly to find that the lattice surrounding me was obviously some type of arachnid preservation. My heart pounded and my lungs felt shallow.

"Pull!"

My shoulders tensed as I looked around and forced a deep breath. Upon guarded inspection in fear of what I was going to see if I looked too carefully, I found nothing in the webs.

"Pull!"

Mostly relaxed, I launched the final targets and stepped out of the station. What I felt in there could have escalated into a panic attack, but I managed to keep my wits about me and think realistically. My fear of spiders is irrational and because I know so, I was able to keep my panic in check. This isn't always the case, however. Sometimes panic comes without an obvious stressor, and when that happens, it's difficult to manage.


"Sorry for the heat," my director informed us, "The air conditioner wouldn't come on." 


The normally cool theater was hot and stuffy for rehearsal, but I thought nothing of it. If I can take an hour spin class without air conditioning, I can survive rehearsal in the heat. We began Act II and a few pages in, I was beginning my song. I had just run the song a few times at home earlier in the day and was feeling confident and ready to knock it out. 


It didn't start out well, but I was going to shake it off for the next verse. When I move into the second verse, I find that I'm having trouble pushing it out. 


"I'm sorry, I'm out of breath," I panted as the piano continued.
"That's okay, it's hot. Just keep going," my director, well, directed.

I make my cross to continue, but only manage to push out half of the words. I gasp and put my hands on my knees. "I can't breathe," I gasp a few times and sit on the edge of the low stage, my chest feeling like it was wrapped 100 times with Ace bandaging, "I'm panicking."

Before grabbing some water and taking it with me outside for some air, I was met with reassuring gestures of  "You're doing great, don't panic!" but it wasn't that. This panic attack was seemingly out of the blue and because I didn't know what was causing it, I couldn't slow it down. It's bad enough to buckle under pressure, but halting rehearsal because I had a panic attack in the middle of my song is just embarrassing.

It took a couple years before Jamie was really understanding of how my panic and anxiety works, so dealing with it in front of people who don't know about it makes me feel weak. It doesn't help the situation when following my musical director saying "Take as much time as you need," a cast mate said, under her breath to him, "Easy for you to say. You don't have kids to go home to."

After what was probably still less than five minutes, I pushed myself to go on. I wasn't ready, but I can't bring waste everyone's time because of something so seemingly silly. Continuing the scene while trying to regulate my breathing and get my heart to stop racing was difficult, but within a half hour I was feeling better.

Anxiety and panic attacks are tricky to manage. When my anxiety first began to have an effect on my life 5 or 6 years ago, I went on medication. It was a low dose of Celexa that proved effective in eliminating my work and driving anxieties, but I yawned constantly. When I say "constantly", I'm not exaggerating. So while I felt better, my doctor advised me that once I got to a place where I was feeling normal, I could ween myself off of the pills. I did just that after about 4 or 5 months, and since then have had less general anxiety. (However, this can also be attributed to changes in workplace since then.)

Where I used to have more general anxiety, lately I've had more pop-up panic attacks, both explained and unexplained. My surprise panic at rehearsal has me considering a return to medication, but hopefully just for short term management. As described above at the shooting range, there are a lot of situations where I can control my own anxiety and keep panic attacks at bay, but that might not be good enough right now. As much as I'd like to stay off medication, it might be necessary in order to keep my situation from affecting others as it did that night at rehearsal.

Anxiety and panic are such overwhelming sensations that when left unmanaged can, over time, build and grow to where it will weigh over everything in life. If I don't keep my anxiety under control, I'll lose control over everything else in my life and that is unacceptable. Though, even on medication, it's likely that I still won't enjoy standing in a box full of spider webs. I'll just be able to breathe comfortably while doing it.

Ultrasounds and a Tan Gent

Gentlemen, yes, that wand goes where you think it goes.

By now you all probably know that I've been hopped up on egg-making pills and stabbing my gut with blood-thinners. I was on Clomid for about 5 days at the beginning of my cycle. For those unaware, the Clomid is to try to get my ovaries to spit out more than one egg in order to increase my chances of getting pregnant.

Then at day 11 of my cycle, I went in for an ultrasound to get my follicles measured. The follicles are what actually hold an egg, and when they're called to action, they grow until it's time to launch that egg out into the world. The world being my fallopian tube and uterus. So the ultrasounds measure the follicles, which are about ready when they reach at least 20mm in diameter.

My first ultrasound on Thursday revealed that my largest follicle was only at 18mm, my two other follicles were only at about 15 and 16mm. They weren't ready and I had to come back on Saturday morning. This created a little bit of panic since Jamie and I had planned to spend Friday afternoon with our friends John and Lisl in San Diego, followed by seeing Dave Matthews that night, after which we planned to spend the night. Jamie was a little resistant to driving two cars and then leaving much earlier than was comfortable, but it was our only choice.

HEAVY PHOTO TANGENT! San Diego and DMB were fun!

Our hotel was once a bank. The rooms weren't anything special, but the common areas were cool.

We played games at one of my favorite spots in San Diego, The Tipsy Crow.

Sometimes my iPhone isn't awesome at taking photos.

It was a gorgeous day.

It was also very sunny.

Then we went to the concert, and I guess it was purple and blue.

And Dave sang songs.

We rounded out the night with late night eats at Brian's 24, which is a 24 hour restaurant with a full bar. John had beer and pancakes, Jamie had two shots with his fish sandwich, I had eggs and fried bologna and Lisl's burger had peanut butter on it (which was oddly delicious.)

THE END. (Of the tangent)

Saturday morning, after sleeping very poorly because those two shots made it impossible for Jamie to sleep anywhere other than sprawled in the center of the queen bed, I rolled out of bed and took a bath... because standing in the shower would have required too much energy. By the time I was ready to get out of the tub, Jamie had risen from his solid slumber (which left him with a stiff neck) and groggily decided that he'd ride home with me, and we were on our way.

After dropping Jamie off at home, I was on my way to my second ultrasound. I was so excited. I had been feeling my growing ovaries all day Friday (which is such a weird sensation) and was certain that my follicles were huge and ready. They weren't.

I went back in for my third ultrasound today and whoa! 24mm, ready to go! So today, since everything was looking good, they gave me my HCG trigger shot, which pretty much induces ovulation. I was given my homework for Tuesday and Wednesday, then on Thursday I'll go in so they can check everything out and confirm that I ovulated.

When I got in my car to head home, I had a quick pang of anxiety. It wasn't really a bad anxiety, I suppose, if that makes any sense, but it was maybe more of a reality check. Today was the first day that it felt really real that I could be a parent in 2013 and that freaked me out for a minute. Okay, well, it still freaks me out, but I'm managing the idea. Even though we've been trying for three years, this was the day that it felt the most real and the most possible.

So, I'm feeling weird and excited and scared and frightened and oh my God but mostly excited. And scared. Did I mention scared?

That Time I Misplaced My Baby

I don't have a baby, but I just woke up from a dream that I did.

[Insert Wayne's World dream sequence sound effect.]

(Are you aware that there are no videos or sound bites of Wayne and Garth making that sound anywhere on the internet? WHY?)

A woman and a baby walk into a bar. The woman was me. I set my baby down on the bar next to a group of some of my best friends from over the years. I said hello to my long-time best friend Hannah, my closest-in-age cousin (that I spent most of my childhood days with) Amy, and two of my super long time good friends going way back to being Girl Scouts together as small children, Tessa and Lynsay. I was so excited to see them since I rarely get to these days. 

August 2011

After I grabbed a beer, I was distracted and brought into another room of the bar where I met some random people and Rob Lowe. (What?) When I returned to my friends at the bar, my baby was gone. 

"Hannah, where's my baby? Where's my baby!?"

"Your baby is fine. You can't walk off like that and leave your baby."

She sighed and opened a door that led down a stairwell to another door to the outside, gesturing toward the car seat that was sitting at the bottom of the steps. I ran down the stairs only to find my cat, Chase, strapped in the car seat. 

"Hannah! It's my cat! It's my cat! I brought my cat!"

"Well you know what? You shouldn't have brought your baby to a f'king bar, Sam! You couldn't go without a beer for one night? Have a f'king beer at home! Don't be so f'king selfish!"

Hannah ranted on and I just sat down, defeated and said, "You're right."

Then someone came over and told me that Rob Lowe's name was actually Pete, and then I woke up. 

This anxiety induced dream most definitely comes from the fact that today is the day I go to the doctors to test and it's freaking me out. My last two cycles never made it to this day; I got my period before the appointment. 

It's been so difficult waiting, but now that the day is here, I want to keep waiting. I've been spotting a little bit today and yesterday, but that's not a definite sign of anything. It could mean that my period is coming, but it's also common in early pregnancy. I'm trying to set myself up for a negative result to protect myself, but it's difficult when I don't have any of my usual PMS symptoms. Every other cycle I've ever had for the past 3.5 years, I've had bloating for a few days before my period and sore breasts for up to a week before my period. I have neither of those today.

I know it will be a tease, but no matter what result I get, I likely won't post about it here right away. It's obviously important to share any good news with ourselves and our families first. And if it's bad news? It will be equally as important to have time to feel my feelings and figure out what's next. 

My palms are sweaty.

 

Out of the Window and Off His Rocker

I gave Chuck a big hug before I left for work yesterday. He really had upset me with his recent antics; I was almost certain he was either lost forever or going to end up dead when he made that jump again on Monday. I'm still having a hard time shaking that he could have been out of my life for good.

I noticed that when I hugged him, he didn't react in his normal way. His usual self would give a quiet grumble or just run off to his bed. He's not a hugger. He likes his space. But yesterday, he didn't grumble or try to get away. He settled in and let me hold him.

He wasn't himself, so I ran back up to the kitchen (on the second level) and eyeballed the windows over the sink.

I should close those. Would he? Nah. Maybe?

I assessed the counter and decided that he could definitely get up there if he really wanted to, so I closed the windows and ran off to work.

Half-way through my day I felt my gut sink. I had this terrible feeling that he was gone again. I talked myself out of it.

None of the windows are open. He'd have had to have grown thumbs and gained dexterity in just three hours to have gotten out. Get back to work.

I came home from work around 3:45 and heard Chuck hit the window with his nose, so before unlocking the door, I glanced over. My eyes widened and my chest slowly filled with air as I walked closer to the window.

Oh. MY. GOD.

I unlocked the door and walked inside the house like a robot and turned toward the living room. Chuck is prancing around my legs, ears back, his body curling to the left and to the right as he wagged his tail and licked the air.

"nnNNNO!" I yelled as I pointed toward his bed. 

Chuck immediately ran into his bed as I stood there, staring in disbelief.

The only time Chuck has been destructive was the first year we had him. He was around a year old when we adopted him, and was still into chewing things. Even then, that was it. He gnawed on my high heels, the corners of the coffee table and, well, that's pretty much it. The only things he had ever destroyed were the toys we gave him that he was allowed to destroy.

I walked upstairs to the kitchen. My heart pounded as I saw stuff from the counter on the floor and dog hair and dirty paw prints on the counter.

That [expletive deleted] actually did it! 

There was wet nose and slobber marks all over the windows and he had managed to pull little pieces of foam out of the window edges.

I called Jamie and then I cried.

Google told me that dogs usually develop separation anxiety after a major change like a move or an addition or subtraction of people in the household. We have had no major changes and I cannot figure out what has made him like this.

Since he broke the zipper on his pop-up crate (and even if he hadn't, we know that wouldn't keep him contained), we decided to buy him a steel crate. I ran to PetCo while Jamie cleaned up the living room. $135 later, we're going to try this calming aid as well as put Chuck in his crate when we're gone. He's already a fan of his crate. We call it his bed and he spends a lot of time in there with the door open; it's like his own room. He will almost always go directly there when we say "Go to bed."

We crate trained him when we adopted him, but it wasn't difficult. You'd think a rescue dog would come with anxieties and house-breaking issues, but Chuck had none. While we did have to use the treat in the back of the crate trick to get him to voluntarily go in, it didn't take much effort or time before he went in there on his own, just to chill out. Since he had been chewing, we put him in there during the night and when we were gone. I worked at home at the time, so it was mostly just during the night.

This time, however, he's fine at night so he'll only be crated for the 5 or 6 hours that I'm at work. I'm hoping this structure helps and he can get back to normal and I can stop being so stressed, exhausted and mentally spent.

And I thought this guy was the crazy one.