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Me before panic disorder

A zoo is not just for animals

Help came the next day in the form of my brother whom we met at the zoo. I had been going through the motions all morning - determined not to ruin our day out with my sister, her daughter, my brother, his girlfriend and my family. It was the first time we had taken our children to the zoo. It was meant to be a memorable occasion. It was, but not in the way I had hoped. At the penguins I became disoriented, there were crowds of people, I got separated from my family, I was exhausted and emotional. By the time we got to the lions I was sobbing uncontrollably.

My brother was there for me. I told him everything from A to Z that I had been going through. In return, he told me everything he had learned about panic disorder and how he had dealt with it. All the little 'life-lines' that he had made up for himself, such as not wearing a seat belt and not wanting anything around his neck. This made me feel better about my little foibles such as keeping all the windows open in my house for fear of feeling hot and having the radio always playing to ensure constant distraction. Just knowing that everything I had been through, someone else had been through before me AND HAD RECOVERED blew my theory that I was mentally ill. I learned that my symptoms were 'text book' and that there were websites on the internet where I could chat to others with my condition. I was no longer alone. My brother promised to post me 2 good books that demystified panic disorder. Our conversation lasted the rest of the zoo trip and throughout it I was able to glimpse normality. It was the first time I had felt hope in 3 months. It was my turning point to recovery.

A Birthday Party

The icing on the cake came later that day. My neighbour had driven past me on my way to the pharmacy to collect my anti-depressents. I had not looked up at her car. I was in an entirely different plane of reality. She sent me a text message saying how disappointed she was that I had ignored her. I felt a rage inside me. Can't people just leave me alone to recover? I call her. I start to explain that I am having problems with panic attacks and depression. She tells me that the other mums at school have seen my recent behaviour as demented and psychotic. She screams at me, tells me she'll sue me for slander (I confided in my ex best friend that my neighbour had gone trick or treating at my house when I was away and my boyfriend had answered. She he had offered him a 'treat' and lifted up the back of her skirt at him. I had not confronted her about it) and tells me she won't forgive me for the race track incident over Christmas. She goes on to say she won't ever speak to me again and that I am dead to her. We get cut off and I am left shaken. Panic had just claimed it's 3rd friend.

I am now in a panic stricken state. I had already been frightened of losing my mind. Now an outsider has said I have been acting demented and psychotic. All this is only compounding my fears. I have to collect my sister from the airport, but am in no state to drive. I go anyway. I tell myself I only have to get there, she can drive back. I speed, fast thinking keeps my mind occupied. I make it. But I am in emotional shreds.

It was in this state that my son had his fifth birthday. Five is a landmark, a special coming of age - officially a child. I did not want to ruin it for him. I was determined not to ruin it for him. The thing was - I had no control over my mind or body, so how could I NOT ruin it for him? I began to make contingency plans - that if I wasn't at my son's party, I couldn't ruin it. That if I had to be there, I could hide behind the video camera. But there were other factors involved. What if the neighbour's son and the son of my former friend showed up? That meant their dreaded mothers would be there too. I would not be safe from panic. My worst enemy was now myself. All of the above came true - I went to the party, the people came that I didn't want to be there and I hid behind the camera. But I won't forget that day, how I was unable to enjoy my son's birthday because of my inward focus and intrusive thoughts. Something had to change.

Fear of mental illness

I continue to have panic attacks and live my life in a constant anxiety state. The phone calls to my mother become frequent. She is a master at talking me down from a panic. She is solid. Speaks to me with confidence and her words are comforting. In my heightened state of suspicion and paranoia, she is an impenetrable force. No amount of doubts or dark thoughts catch her off guard. I need this stability. I begin to depend on it. I glimpse recovery when I speak to her, if only for the time we are on the phone. I see my mother in a whole new light. I realise I must be a drain on her, so many calls and so much angst. I can't imagine going through that with my children. But she is always there. I fear the time I ring her and she doesn't answer. But it never happens, she always picks up.

I use calming candles and ambient cds, mood lighting and camomile tea. I dream of anxiety and wake in the night, in a full panic attack. Unable to find distraction, not allowing myself to wake my mother, or my boyfriend. Desperate to go back to sleep. I pace the house at night. I fall asleep at dawn, then am exhausted the next day.

I form little coping mechanisms - life lines. Things I can do to distract myself out of a panic. Like call my mother, or play the piano, go for brisk walks or go online. But concentration is impaired when you are panicking. You feel as if your brain is working in slow motion. It adds to the self loathing. Because you try so hard to find new and interesting life lines; new dvds, new hobbies, playing with the children - you seldom actually enjoy any of them. I was missing the point. I was trying to incorporate panic into my life. Not working on how to eradicate it.

Once you live with panic disorder for a certain amount of time and realise the physical symptoms aren't going to kill you, the intrusive thoughts become the most troubling thing. You begin to question your sanity. The only thing worse than death, is to be committed to a mental institution, bound in a straight jacket, taken away from your family. The thoughts don't stop, they keep coming. Dark, dark thoughts, continually flowing, blocking out other noises, other people speaking to you. You feel like you're losing your mind. You must be paranoid schizophrenic or worse. Senile dementia, that could be it, right? The voice in your head won't shut up. What if, what if... With panic comes a tremendous amount of mental clarity - but to an unfocused mind. A mind with tunnel vision. You see yourself from the worst angles, life looks grey and your future just as bleak. What is the point of life? This is not living. This is hell and torment. I want it to stop so badly, to go back to normal. But normal was 9 weeks ago and I'm forgetting what it is. I'm terrified I'm losing my mind.

Panic Disorder takes over

Home again. It's New Year's eve and my birthday tomorrow. I'm going to be 29. I am fighting to see the new year in. Determined to have a memory other than one blighted by panic. I succeed but when it's over, I succumb to the full force of my panic disorder. I'm too tired to fight anymore.

Panic disorder has taken me light years from normal. I have dark intrusive thoughts continuously. They are telling me I will hurt my children, harm myself, that I am doomed, that I will never rejoin the 'real' world. I notice every tiny detail about my body as my focus is turned entirely inward. New aches and pains each day. New panic symptoms. I am socially agoraphobic. I cannot make eye contact or speak to people. I arrive at school early and leave first. I have told my formerly close friend that I need to be left alone for now because of my panic attacks. She responded with "if you say so". I have stopped confiding everything in my boyfriend as I sense he is fed up with hearing about it and when I ask for comfort, he looks worried and that makes me worried. I trust his opinion and if he is concerned then I am concerned.

My darkest day came when I went back to my doctor for help. I told him I'm tired of living with a constantly racing heart. I avoid going up my stairs at home for fear of raising my heart rate. I walk the school runs at a snail's pace and breathe only through my nose. He sent me home with Beta Blockers to slow my heart rate. He listened when I told him how panics were interfering with my quality of life. But then made a joke about how during sex I had to tell my boyfriend to stop because my heart was racing. I felt utterly degraded. This doctor did not take my condition seriously. Once again he was attempting to treat the symptoms and not the cause. I have a weakness, not a medical condition.

That night, I tried the pills. I instantly had an attack. I threw them in the bin. After that I hit a real low point. Thoughts of suicide plagued me and I felt a great weight pressing on my spirit. I won't recover from this I think. I am horribly, horribly depressed. I have absolutely NO idea how to come back from this. None. I can't see a way out. There is no way out. Maybe death...
I hate thinking like this, I need help. I ring mum, I cry, I sob, I beg her to come over and stay with me. We talk for two hours. She cracks the darkness by saying straight out - "It sounds to me like your close friend has been causing these panics. Am I right?" Boom. It hit me. She has said outloud what my subconscious has been red flagging me about for 6 weeks. And the weight lifts. She tells me I have got to practise self-preservation and cut contact with this person. I agree. I am saddened by it. But she's right.

I call the one person who has helped me with depression in the past. I want to live. I want my life back. The health visitor comes out and gives me the Edinburgh Scoring Test for depression. I score a 17. I am officially depressed. I get an appointment with my GP who prescribes me an anti-depressent for panic attack sufferers. She is the 5th doctor I have seen and the only sympathetic one so far. I feel in good hands. I start my medication and get booked in for counselling.

In a nutshell

I was anxious on the plane. Fists clenched with my face in the air vents, determined not to have a panic attack, but wound so tight that I was forcing myself into one. We arrived. The first 3 days were fine, just as I had told myself they would be. I laughed, I drank wine, I felt free. I fantasised about staying there, not going home to my troubles, but living a calm life in a secluded spot in the woods, in control and without worry. Then something interesting happened. I had a conversation with my boyfriend's mother and sister in which they both admitted to me that they had also had panic attacks. The three of us sat around the kitchen table in a moment of shared commiseration. But merely mentioning them was too much. I had to excuse myself as I was starting to have a panic attack. I got my paper bag and found a room by myself to lie down in. I was uncomfortable. My heart was racing, thumping, I was hot, dizzy. This was not meant to happen. My holiday was supposed to save me from the panic attacks. If relaxation doesn't stop them then what will?

I will never forget the rest of that Christmas. Trying to bravely act normal when inside I was fighting panic. Making excuses for spending time alone, for seeming withdrawn. I wanted to enjoy my Christmas, I loved Sweden, the amazing food was part of the draw for me, but my appetite was gone, I was unhappy, I had returned to my anxiety state. I watched my children unwrap their presents from the other side of the room, but it may as well have been from outside of the window. I was present, but not in focus.

This time my anxiety state would last for two months without a break. If someone had told me what I was embarking on I might have tried to kill myself.

The anxiety state

Monday morning I went in for my chest x-ray. I had been in an anxiety state since the Ikea incident which had shaken me to the core. That was 3 days ago on December 10th. Dates become important when time appears to move painfully slow. Being in an anxiety state means you are in one long sustained panic. At best it can be described as ongoing and uncomfortable. At worst, it is hell and torment. The technician refused to give me the results of my x-ray. I told her I suffered from panic attacks and that I needed to know if I had a collapsed lung, that I couldn't wait 10 days for the results. Please. Didn't she realise it would ruin my Christmas? I was flying to Sweden at the end of the week to spend the holidays with my boyfriend's parents. She said she couldn't tell me, but that she had seen nothing obvious.

These words might have comforted a normal person, but a person in an anxiety state just thinks; she scanned it, but didn't look properly. She's missed something. There's something wrong with me.

The world looks different now. I'm in an anxiety state and can barely make eye contact with the hospital staff or the people coming and going. It's like looking out through sunglasses you can't take off - people smile at you and talk to you but can't really see your expression. They are clueless as to what's going on underneath. For me looking out, everything is shrouded in a kind of darkness, a veil. I want it to look as it always has done.

I go home. I'm safe there. It's the last week of school before the holidays and I have plenty of valid reasons why I can't make any social commitments. Why I can't spend time with my formerly close friend. I need to just get through this week, I need a holiday. I'll be fine after that and this will all go away. I just need to get on that plane.

Disaster strikes again in the form of Christmas drinks with our neighbours. They are very different from us; local people, loud, brash, haven't seen much of the world, 12 years our senior. I don't like their children. They are naughty and classroom trouble makers. I don't invite them around very often. The last time I did my antique guitar that my mother had given me when I was sixteen got damaged. The boy had broken the tuning peg on the machine head and snapped the string. I didn't tell his mother. I kept it to myself to save her humiliation.

During the drinks her husband shows up drunk. We had invited them around for 1 hour. After 2 hours, my boyfriend is impatient. We have to catch a plane tomorrow morning and our neighbours won't leave. The husband is insisting on staying and is slurring his words. He's embarassing us all. I go outside to get something from my car. I come back in and there's a commotion upstairs. The children have been playing in a room which is under refurbishment - one they shouldn't have been in. They had pulled down a mattress onto my boyfriend's prize electric race car set and were jumping on it. As kids do. My boyfriend had picked up the mattress and told the kids to move away. But the naughty boy continues to walk on the track, destroying it further. His mother tells him to get off. But he smiles and stands firm. My boyfriend shouts at him to get off and physically lifts him from the track. The child starts to cry. His mother tells me my boyfriend had lost his temper. My boyfriend apologises to the boy. The family leave.

My boyfriend was angry. The broken race track went in the bin. We had done a nice neighbourly thing by inviting them round for drinks, giving all of them Christmas presents AND a wedding present (they were renewing their vows and wanted us to cancel our holidays to attend the ceremony). In return we had had a disaster. By now I was desperate to start my holiday. I was convinced everything would be fine if I just got away from it all.

Christmas drinks and panic attacks

It's the next day. My close friend and her husband are coming over for Christmas drinks. I'm nervous about it. Since the whole gym incident our relationship has been slowly disintegrating. She shouted at me again this week. For not going to her house Monday afternoon but choosing to stay home instead (I'd just had a panic attack in Tesco's and needed to rest. She had been there with me and seen the whole incident). For not saying 'hi' after our sons' school play, even though I had waved hello to her just before it had started. For offering to make alternate childcare arrangements when she said she'd forgotten she was looking after my daughter that day (she was actually doing this daily for me in exchange for piano lessons). She shouted, turned and walked off. I didn't like her anymore. She was not a friend. But I still didn't know this. I thought her behaviour was bizarre, but inwardly I felt like a child being told off.

The next morning I didn't do the school run. I couldn't breathe properly. I was in a bad way. I made my boyfriend do it. He was hung over and late for work. I thought it was the mystery chest virus. I didn't realise I was having a panic attack about seeing my friend again that day. Just as I hadn't realised my attack in Tesco's had been because I didn't enjoy shopping with her anymore. These emotions were there but I refused to accept them.

5 minutes before she and her husband were due to arrive I started to have another attack. By the time they knocked I was hot, muzzy headed, my heart racing, chest pains. I disguised it as best I could. I opened the back door up and pretended it was hot in the house (It was December and below freezing outside). I tried to focus on faces as they were talking, nodded, but heard nothing. I was uncomfortable. She had not apologised for any of the incidents. I did not know where I stood. She shouted at her kids and looked disapprovingly at my allowing a pillow fight between our boys in the living room.

After she left I was relieved. Panic gone. I asked my boyfriend honestly what he thought of my best friend of one year. His comment shocked me. I trusted his opinion. He was always truthful and unbiased. He told me she was arrogant, haughty. I thought about it. No wonder our personalitities were clashing. She must have lost repect for me for not standing up for myself and for allowing her to shout and control me. The balance is off. She's treating me with contempt and I'm a child being told off, trying to get back on her good side. I disliked confrontation and with her it was unpredictable. I never knew when it would come next and for what. Treading on eggshells wasn't enough, she would find fault if she felt like it. She was now causing me to have regular panic attacks.

Ikea's first aid room

I take a Taxi to my gig to avoid straining myself on the stairs, escalators, tubes and streets. I arrive without having raised my heartbeat, but out of pocket. I'll be lucky to make my cab fare back in door fees. It was a good show, the audience was brilliant and I sang surprisingly well, in fact it was one of my best performances. My brother was there. I told him about the pending x-ray and the possibility of a collapsed lung. There were hugs and sympathy. I went home and went to sleep.

The next morning we took the family to Ikea. Everything was fine until we got to the end. We were putting Christmas things in our trolley. My son had to be collected from the creche. My boyfriend went to get him. I stayed in the large department store's Christmas section with my youngest and waited. My legs were tired. I finally got to bed at 2am last night. I was up at 8am. I can never manage to sleep in. I sit down on a display. My boyfriend returns and we start to walk off. I feel dizzy. We go through the checkout and I buy hot dogs for us all. I walk over to our table. Sit down. Look at my hot dog. I love hot dogs. My mouth is dry and my appetite gone. The room starts to spin. It's uncomfortable. I think I'm going to pass out. I put my head on the table. Ask my boyfriend to fetch me some water. I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to pass out. I'm terrified of passing out. Make it stop. It's uncomfortable. I just want to go back to normal. I don't have my paper bag...or my son's asthma pump. Nothing to help me breathe. I'm gasping for breath. I grab a paper cup off the table. I shove it over my mouth and breathe. I feel a bottle of water in my hand and a reassuring arm on my shoulder. He's talking to me but I can't focus. Every time I try to raise my head the room spins faster. Have any of the other customers noticed me? I must have been like this for 10 minutes already. He's talking to me. Telling me to focus on my breathing. Tells me to breathe in and out with him. I do it. I'm fighting a cloudy head. Trying to focus. Some time passes. I feel like it's lifting. I drink more water.

30 minutes have gone since we first sat down. We go to leave when our new plates fall off the trolley and smash. Assistants come over to us and tell my boyfriend to go and fetch a new box. I'm left alone with my children. I think, I don't want to be left alone, I'm fragile, I just had a panic attack. My head starts to spin again. I sit down, head in my hands. I'm in full view this time. An assistant comes over. "Are you alright? Can I help?" she takes out her walkie talkie "Send over a first aider straight away." They're trying to get me to talk. I find it so hard to move my jaw. I manage to tell them I'm having a panic attack but no one can hear me. My boyfriend comes back. He explains. I'm put in a wheelchair and taken to the first aid room. I spend 30 minutes there trying to come out of it. I think of how much I want to be home but I'm scared if I get in the car, it'll get worse and we'll be on the motorway, unable to stop, unable to cope. I get in the car. I get back out again. I'm back in the first aider's room.

I'm crying now. I sob about how scared I am about my x-ray and the possible outcome. I tell the first aider about what the doctor said about a collapsed lung. She tells me that her sister has panic attacks and it helps her to just sit quiet and wait for them to pass. I ask her to tell me more about them, but her words are empty, unconvincing. After another hour, my children have been pushed from pillar to post. My boyfriend is losing his patience. I know I must get in the car quickly and go. It's the only way. So I go. On the motorway I roll the window down and feel the cold air on my face. It's distracting. I make it home. I go upstairs. I lie in bed. My body is exhausted. I ring my brother. I apologise I can't meet him tonight to go and see the greyhounds race. I send my boyfriend instead of me. I get bad heartburn. I struggle through the rest of the evening and can't wait to go to sleep. I want to wake up normal tomorrow.

The drugs don't work

I'm in the doctor's office. He's tapping his pen on the green prescription pad. He's thinking. He looks at me. "What do you want me to do?" he asks. "I want you to tell me that it's just an infection and that I will get better with some antibiotics." I said and smiled hopefully. He blew out through his mouth. "I still think if there's anything there at all, it must be a virus. But I'll prescribe you some antibiotics anyway. If nothing happens and there's no change, you have a virus and must wait it out." He tears off the green slip of paper. "Thank you doctor". I take it and leave. That was weird. He listened to my chest, he took my temperature, he checked my ears and throat. He found nothing. No sign of anything wrong with me. I must be in the early stages of an infection and that's why, I reasoned. So I congratulated myself on being proactive with my health. By next week I'll be able to sing as usual.

But things didn't get better. After the antibiotics ran out I went in to see another doctor. "Have you had any pains in your legs?" he asked. "My legs? No. Why?" I start to worry. "Well I can't find anything wrong with you." he says. I've heard this before. "But I feel pains in my chest, just here. Is it pleurisy?" I ask while touching my left upper breast. He shakes his head and writes me out a 3 day prescription of extra strong antibiotics. "If there's anything there at all, these'll get rid of it." he says. I thank him and go home. All evening I'm aware of my legs. I feel cramps in my thigh muscles. What's wrong with me?

I'm back in my doctor's office again. The second presciption of antibiotics didn't work either. I'm still short of breath, I still have chest pains, I'm still not able to sing. My gig is tonight. I'm pleading with the doctor now. I tell him I'm scared. Singing is my life. I tell him I've suffered from panic attacks in the past when asked about my medical history. He tells me he's referring me to the hospital for a chest x-ray. He says he can't find anything wrong with me but the symptoms I describe are similar to those of a collapsed lung. Shit. I can't contemplate that. This is not happening. It's my worst nightmare. My career as a recording artist flashes through my mind. Over before it's barely begun. I take the referral and go back to my car. The x-ray isn't until Monday. He's written the word "panicky" on the paper next to the x-ray request. So he thinks I'm over-reacting. Great. I have to go to my gig now. I'm tired, emotional. I start to cry. I drive home like this.

More chest pains

I've been on the cross trainer for 5 minutes. I'm meant to stay on it for 10 to reach my target, but I've just felt a sharp pain in my chest. I'm going slower now because I'm a bit worried. I've never had pains in my chest while exercising before. I have low blood pressure, been working out for 4 weeks now, eat healthily, get enough sleep, so what's wrong with me? There, I've felt it again. What is that?

I get off the cross trainer, cool down, do my stretches and go to the changing room. My workout is over. I feel that I should investigate my chest pains before doing any more vigorous exercise. I'm concerned. I think about mentioning it to my personal trainer next time I see her. I collect my two year old from creche and go home for lunch. I'm due to meet my close friend this afternoon (she has decided to speak to me again although hasn't let me forget what I did and so I've been treading on eggshells for the last 4 weeks trying to make it up to her).

Over tea that afternoon, I mention to my friend that I had chest pains in the gym. "It sounds like pleurisy." she says. "Pleurisy? What's that?" Just the sound of the word scared me. I didn't think there was anything seriously wrong with me. Until now. My friend is an acute asthmatic, she knows all about the various respitory illnesses from first-hand experience. She gets me to blow into her peak flow monitor. "Woah, you're only up to 300. I'm asthmatic and I just blew 550." I start to worry. Chest pains, short of breath. Maybe I'm coming down with another chest infection. I got one last year that was so bad I couldn't even stand. I had to cancel 2 gigs, let down a lot of people, couldn't take my boy to school, my boyfriend had to take time off from work to nurse me back to health (I'll never forget the giant knot in my hair from being bedridden that took him half a bottle of conditioner and an hour to work out) and even my friend had to help out. If that was what was happening again I was in trouble. I was conducting a carol concert in 3 weeks, had the school musical to help out with every day, had my come back gig next week. A lot of people are relying on me to sing. I can't get ill now! What's pleurisy? I need to see my doctor straight away.

The camel

I had my first attack in April, but by the end of June it was all forgotten. When no more came I got on with my life. My first attack had been the worst. The other two had not been as bad and from that I should have gained a very important clue - ignorance and fear are my worst enemies. Just knowing what was happening to me stopped the first one.

But the worst was yet to come. As autumn came and merged into winter I took on more responsibilities and things changed. My son started full time school, I began to teach piano and guitar lessons from home, assist the classroom teacher every afternoon with the children's Christmas play and agree to a second carol concert undertaken solely by me. I had booked my comeback gig in December after 6 months off and all this, once again, on top of a busy social life and running a household with two small children. Was I mad? I didn't think so. To me, multi-tasking was something I was good at and enjoyed. The rewards were great if I pulled it off. There was absolutely, absolutely NO room for error.

My boyfriend thought it was a good idea, at this time, to join a gym. We had once belonged to a health club and both felt that exercise was a good stressbuster. What I didn't anticipate, was how a simple comment to a friend in the playground would initiate world war three. My close friend had mentioned once how she had wanted to join a gym with me. I agreed it sounded nice, but we took the idea no further. When I told the same friend that my boyfriend now (6 months later) wanted to join a gym, she said it wasn't a good time for her financially and that after Christmas was a better option.

So my family and I went and looked at our local gym over the weekend. We all liked it and thought about joining. When I told my close friend in the playground the next day she was livid. She shouted at me. She screamed at me. She pointed her finger at me. How dare I join a gym with my boyfriend and not with her! She told me it felt like I had "slapped her in the face". Did I see a person over-reacting? No. Did I hear the ridiculousness of it all? No. I took it. Every word. I let her do that to me and I never once stuck up for myself. Didn't utter a single word in my defence. Why? Because I was shocked. Completely stunned into silence that someone I thought I knew so well had been so hateful. I lost all trust and respect for her that day. I think subconsciously I must have known I was losing my best friend. But I didn't admit it to myself. These things usually take time to sink in. This is what they call the straw that broke the camel's back. Less than a month later, life was going to be very different...

Misinformation

All of the stressful events that I've described so far - losing a friend, losing a cat, losing my drummer, having to re-record 6 hours of work, the bathroom flooding, my son being diagnosed with asthma, are things that I would have normally taken in my stride. Yes, life WAS stressful. But so are other people's. I'm sure people who have bigger responsibilities like running a company, head of an organisation etc are under much more pressure than I am. So why did my coping mechanisms fail me? Why now at 28? Why when I was happy and relaxed? It was like throwing my life up into the air and watching it fall down around me in pieces. It changed how I viewed myself, my life. I began to question my strengths, weaknesses. My happiness, was I really happy? The two main causes of panic (according to the NHS website) are drug abuse and deep seated childhood fears. So what about if I had neither? What was causing the attacks?

Nothing that I had read or been told up until that point had given me a satisfactory explanation. That was part of the problem. My fear-adrenaline-fear cycle was being fuelled by misinformation, misunderstanding and probably a lot more misses of different kinds. The doctor I went to see less than 24 hours after my first panic attack prescribed me Tamazipam - a tranquiliser - to use next time I had one. Those fateful words again - next time! I never got the prescription and threw it away. I knew that treating the symptoms instead of the cause was not the answer.

I was already avoiding everything that I associated with my first panic attack; finishing my Dan Brown book, drinking Pepsi, sitting on the sofa and Domino's pizza. After I had my second one, I didn't read anything, eat any fast food, drink any caffeine, go in the living room, take stimulants of any kind - even chocolate, I quit my birth control, didn't take medicines of any kind, not even vitamins and didn't make travel plans. I was changing my life because of them, but changing all the wrong things. I was seeking the cause in a physical place because I didn't trust the answers I'd been given.

But then some time passed...

More bad news...

I tried to find out more about panic attacks. I needed answers. I had already read the info my friend had mailed to me and had looked up what little the NHS had on their website. My brother told me about his experience with panic. He explained that I was probably in a fear-adrenaline-fear cycle. In other words, I was scared of when I would have my next panic attack and it was this fear that would bring on my next one. It all made sense.


My friend who's little boy was in hospital sent me an email. She told me that my turning up in hospital and telling her about my panic attack was a selfish act. She had not wanted to hear about my cat being run over (which I told her about in the email she was replying to) when her son was facing a life threatening illness. She told me that pondering my panic attacks was self indulgence. I was not a true friend. She didn't want to hear from me ever again. Once more, I was made to feel that a person who has panic attacks has a weakness. I had just lost my first friend because of them.

Summer droned on, the lazy days came and went and I was anything but. Keeping up with my hectic social life was forcing my music project on the back burner. This was causing me stress. My close friend wanted to spend every day together so that our children could play while we chatted and sun bathed. This was nice in small doses, but in doing it every day I was beginning to feel off balance. I needed to feel in control of my time, but instead I was letting her dictate how much free time I had instead of the other way around. I remember making excuses so I could stay in one morning and complete the artwork on my latest album. My friend was not pleased that I was putting her on hold. It was a lovely day outside. But I had spent £600 on recording it and the sooner it went to print, the quicker I could start selling it. I rushed through the artwork and went along to meet my friend for our afternoon committment. She didn't say much when I showed her the finished product I had slaved over all morning. I guess this was a blow to my ego. I shouldn't have put so much weight on her opinion. But her opinion mattered. I valued the input of others. Perhaps because I didn't trust my own.

How could I trust my reactions when my body was letting me down by having panic attacks?

My second attack

But no other panic attacks came. The summer holidays were on the way and days were spent enjoying the sun, taking the kids to various parks. I had a lot of things to juggle. I was in the midst of recording my second album, trying to promote myself as a musician, I had lost my drummer to another band and was taking a songwriting sabbatical from performing. I was a full time mum, recording at the weekends, managing housework, school runs and a busy social life during the week. It was a lot. It was too much. But I liked it that way. I felt a sense of accomplishment when it all went my way. Which it usually did. But I left no margin for error. One Saturday I spent 6 hours in the studio with my producer. I sang my heart out. Played to perfection. Three tracks semi finished in one day. I had truly got my money's worth. It was costing me £15 an hour for the priviledge. I had to budget for this well in advance as I didn't work. I was tired, but satisfied. My children would most likely wake me up in the night as usual. I wouldn't have as much energy tomorrow, but it would all be worth it in the end.

Then I got a phone call. There had been a computer error. All my work that day had been lost. There were ample apologies. I would get another 6 hours free. But I had to do it all again the next day. This would set my project back a weekend. And weekends were precious. I would have to give 110% again tomorrow when I was already exhausted. I took the news. I was in the kitchen. Water started to drip from the ceiling. My children were upstairs in the bath. Where was my boyfriend, was he watching them? I ran up the stairs. The bathroom floor was flooded. I dumped towels on the floor, called to my boyfriend to help and ran down the stairs to survey the damage to the ceiling. It had got worse. Water was pouring out of thin cracks at least 1.5 metres in length, right onto my brother's stereo which we were looking after for him. Right onto his treasured cd collection. Right onto some hand made jewel case inserts. Shit. More towels. Shit. What would he say? Shit. I sat down. I can't take any more bad news today. I go to bed. I get up the next morning. I'm still exhausted. I try to eat breakfast. All the while thinking about my day ahead. How my recordings would be less than brilliant because I was so tired. I scooped some fried egg into my mouth. My mouth was dry. My stomach tightened. I began to have a panic attack. I got up, found my paper bag the paramedics had given me and started to breathe into it. This was it. I was having my second panic attack.

The next day

It's the next morning. I'm tense. I have a lot to do today and still haven't got my head around what happened yesterday. I'm on the school run, smiling at friendly faces and chatting superficially to aquaintances. I walk alongside a good friend. I have come to trust her over the last year and therefore I confide in her what happened to me yesterday. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't hug me when I start to cry. I feel then that what happened to me must have been a weakness on my part. Something to hide, to not talk about. So I tuck my emotions back under the surface. Go to her house for tea, chat about my holiday. Feel inwardly tired and longing to be back at home, to rest, to not make the journey with two children and a pushchair through London, on the Underground up to Great Ormand Street hospital this afternoon. But I won't let my friend with the sick child down. Just as I haven't let my friend down who is talking to me now over tea. I know how much she enjoys our morning chats. We go back to the school and collect our sons from nursery just as we always have.
But things are not the same. I'm different. I have had a panic attack and it has shaken my very foundations. I am not an anxious person, have perhaps looked down on those who have phobias and nervous disorders. I love to be on stage performing. I don't get stage fright or butterflies. I've always been a doer, an overdoer. Ambitious, a dreamer. Not strong or terribly self-confident. But active and in control. I've suffered from depression and low self-esteem in the past. But not anxiety. Not panic attacks.

It's the afternoon. I have sweated and heaved and got that pushchair and my two children into London's Great Ormand Street hospital. I have even managed to buy the little boy a gift, something for him to do while confined to his room. He is two, the same age as my daughter. I met his mum on a playground when our boys were just learning to walk. She has been my friend for four years. I am trying to be there for her in her hour of need. Her worst fear has come true, she may lose her son to cancer. I listen. My children entertain her children. I can only stay for 2 hours, then it will be rush hour and it will be hell on the public transport system. Her husband makes me a cup of tea. I keep my panic attack news to myself. I tell her instead how my son was recently diagnosed with asthma. How he has been coughing at night for the best part of a year. Now he has two inhalers twice a day - one for prevention, one for treatment. My friend starts to cry. I didn't even cry when I heard the news and he's my son. I realise she feels we have some misery in common. Misery loves company. This seems to comfort her. I drink my tea.

My heart starts to race. Oh crap. It's the caffeine, I think. I had drunk caffeine (Pepsi) right before my attack happened yesterday. I start to cry. I'm scared. My friend comes over to me. What's the matter? I can't talk, I'm so choked up. She takes me out of the hospital, leaving her husband with instructions to mind the children. I tell her about my panic attack. She sympathises, tells me she once had one while driving her car. She promises to mail me out some information about panic attacks. I thank her. I am amazed she would do this for me when her time with her son right now is so precious. I am grateful that she has listened to my story. Relieved that she has experienced a panic attack too. That I am not as alone as I had thought I was. However, what she described was a ten minute incident. From start to finish mine had lasted 2 hours. I don't think she fully appreciates the hell I went through. It was as close as I have come to a near death experience. I only say this because my mind was so sharp at the time, so clear - I saw what my true priorities were in life - my children. Nothing else. Zip.

Questions

It's been several hours now since the incident. I'm trying to make sense of it all. Words keep running through my head. Questions that need answers. I rang my mum. "What were you doing right before it started?"she asked.

That's a very good question. I had just returned from a beautiful and peaceful holiday in Normandy, France. We had had unprecedented hot weather for April, 30 plus degrees. Days were spent on the beach, having barbeques, relaxing. Minutes before the attack I had been munching on a Domino's pizza with Pepsi. I had then opened up my latest Dan Brown book to the last chapter. I was so close to finishing and finding out 'whodunnit'. Life was good. Just before curling up on the sofa with my book, I had cast a glance at our still full suitcase and thought of how I had yet to do the laundry for the school run the next morning. My feeling was one of dread. But minor dread. More of an annoyance. A chore. Then I had begun to read. Then I had begun to feel dizzy. You know the rest.


The paramedics had told me it was caused by my busy life as a mum. But that doesn't tie in with my relaxed state of mind at the time. Maybe they didn't know what they were talking about. The information they gave me was pretty vague anyway. Perhaps they had missed something. Maybe there IS something wrong with my heart. But there's another thing - they had said there will be a 'next time', '"If you feel another one coming on"' they had said.

I still don't know what happened to me today. Didn't manage to get through to my brother as his phone was switched off. I need answers. I didn't get the laundry done and it's late now, bedtime. I have to meet up with a friend in the morning for tea so I won't get it done then. In the afternoon I'm going to visit another friend in hospital because her little boy has been diagnosed with leukaemia. No time for anything else. Can't let them down. Won't let them down.

...the aftermath

I'm 28 years old, female, active, two children, only ever had minor medical problems. So what just happened to me?

I'm sitting in the ambulance. I've never been in an ambulance. I look around. The two female paramedics are talking to me. "Breathe into this." says one and hands me a paper bag. I do as she says. I am put on a heart rate monitor, blood pressure taken, temperature taken, all the while they are talking to me. "How old are your children?" "Do you work?" "How old are you?" "Any family nearby or help with the children?" I answer their questions then ask one of my own, "Are you sure it's just a panic attack...I mean...I thought I was having a heart attack. What is a panic attack?"

They look at each other and then at me. "You should consider going out to work like us, drop the kids off in the morning and pick them up in the evening - it's far less stressful then being a full time mum!" They laugh. "All your vital signs are normal. Take these paper bags with you. If you feel another one coming on, just breathe into it like you're doing now."

"Ok. Thank you. I feel bad for calling you out to a panic attack".
"You did the right thing." says one "They can be frightening when you don't know what's happening to you." I feel grateful to these two women. I don't know what they did, but with the simple words, "You're having a panic attack", the symptoms began to ease. By the time I was in the ambulance they had stopped. I'm aware of panic attacks, my brother suffered from them when he was a teenager. But my God, if that was what he went through each time... I must call him. Talk to him about it. Must call my mum, my sister. I need to talk to my boyfriend. Hold my children. Cry.

In the beginning...

I'm feeling dizzy. Not the okay kind of dizzy, but the swooning type. I sit up. I notice my heart is pounding. The room is spinning so fast it's uncomfortable. I stand up, call to my boyfriend to help. Tell him I'm not feeling right. I think that I should get upstairs to the toilet. I notice I'm staggering up the stairs. I have chest pains in my left upper breast. What's happening to me? Feeling hot and faint. In the bathroom now with my wrists under cold running water. This will help to cool me down won't it? Chest pains... Ok, I'm really scared now...am I having a heart attack? My heart is really racing, thumping. My boyfriend is concerned. He's asking what he should do. I'm splashing water on my face now. Trying to cool down...so hot. My children have come to see what the commotion is about. My boyfriend ushers them into their room. I try sitting down. No good. I try lying down. No good. I feel so faint. Musn't lose consciousness. Chest pains... I start to pace. Whatever it is, it feels like it's coming in waves. Food poisoning does that. But the chest pains, I must be having a stroke or a heart attack. My worst fear is coming true. I'm going to end up hospitalised, a vegetable, or worse still, dead. It's been 40 minutes and the symtoms have come back even worse. Boyfriend calls an ambulance. I tell my children to be good for their father. I think it might be the last time I see their faces. I think of my mother and of my sister and my dear boyfriend - the love of my life. I get angry, it's not my time! This isn't fair! But the chest pains...and the heat, and the racing heart, and the dizziness. By now I am soaked with water, continually splashing my face and arms to stay conscious. The paramedics are running up the stairs. They both look at me, they look at each other. "Describe your symptoms" says one. So I do. "Why are you all wet?" says another. So I tell them. The first one speaks again, "You're having a panic attack".