walking pneumonia, the boogie woogie flu, and widespread panic 3/8/12
PHYSICAL BACKGROUND After being in bed with the flu almost a week and going on day 11 with no voice, I finally went to my primary care doctor yesterday. And I have bronchitis. He gave me a mega-dose steroid shot, along with antibiotic and oral steroids, and promised I'd be talking by today. He asked if I had ever had any negative reaction to Prednisone and I replied, "No, well, actually I can't sleep much and feel a little crazy when I'm on it, but that's normal when taking those, right?" It's the day my voice is to return, but no voice yet at only 6:24 AM which seems early except I have been awake since four!
SPIRITUAL MINDSET I'd just finished a fantastic morning Bible study from a book on the Psalms written by Kathleen Nielson (getting to hear her speak a couple of weeks ago one thousand gifts #53).
My assignment for this morning is to read Psalm 37 and write down five observations. Read it through several times, aloud at least one time if possible--not possible, no voice--and the insights I received were wonderful promises and serious instruction (Trust in the LORD --find safety; Delight in the LORD--have the desires of your heart; Commit your way to the LORD--your righteousness and justice will shine like the noonday sun.) I was feeling secure in God's love for me and in His giving me the desire to please Him in all I do today.
I also reviewed my memory verses from the previous chapter:
How could I not be ready for today?
SPECIAL OLYMPICS
I took my prescribed medicine and began to get all the boys ready: Mom was taking Ben on his field trip, Knox was going to school, and D had to have a change of clothes for the competition. I was a little nervous as I am when I am around D's father who, along with his dad, D's grandfather, come to Special Olympics every year. I tried on every pair of pants I owned --no exaggeration-- and none fit. I went with the least tight and double-checked my mental list. It seemed I always left something out. After going back in the house twice and finding 2-3 objects I had not planned on bringing before, I was loaded up and ready to get there. I had wanted to be early, but alas, I was right on time. The ceremony was running late and I was meeting friends there. I was waiting for their text and for the ceremony to begin and began pacing along the fence. Waving at D, taking some pictures that weren't even really in focus, just moving, constantly.
As the Games began, I missed D's finish in the wheelchair race. I had been talking to someone and was distracted. By the time I stood up, it was over. Because I had no voice, I just clapped. I thought about congratulating D but I couldn't figure out how to get to him over the fence. Then I began to feel nausea. A friend gave me a cracker and my husband brought me a Coke from concessions. D didn't have a Coke. I always give him one first at SO to give him energy and it's not something we usually drink and he loves the treat. All I could think of was to hand him his water bottle and the chips I had packed.
I missed his next event because I was talking to an adult athlete (my voice was a whisper at this point), and I began frantically looking for my camera which I did not find until we were leaving the field. I had a phone camera from someone but could not work it, so still missed getting the picture.
THE AWARDS CEREMONY
This is almost my favorite part of the day. Everyone is so excited to get their ribbons; the cheerleaders pass them out; everyone cheers for athletes; the newspaper takes their picture. And the joy on each face is priceless. But this year, I passed my camera off to someone and stood my son out of his wheelchair so I could sit down. Not only had the nausea returned, but my chest felt tight, and my lungs were on fire. My friends decided to go and I sat and sat and sat for what seemed like forever. D missed getting onto the podium for his first award and I missed seeing it altogether. Then for the second, I took him by the arm (we were both a little wobbly) and made sure he got up on the platform to receive his award. He did, but I missed the picture because I had forgotten who had my camera. Someone went to get his extra wheelchair and I sat in one and he in the other. Several young athletes would point at me and say, "THAT'S D'S MOM!" And I would muster a smile. . .even as one told me how she had met Santa Claus, I felt I was becoming sicker and sicker. Another handsome young athelete stood in front of me, inches away from my face, and said, "My name's ________; I been knowing D since I was five. Look at my ribbon." My son was stuffing his face with chips, so the young man said, "Aw go on then. I see eatin's more important to you."
Finally it was time to leave, I briskly wobbled out of the stadium--that's how it felt because my knees were weak and I hung my head as tears leaked down to the frame of my Jackie-O sunglasses, pooling so that the rivulet went into my nose and down to my mouth. I just kept walking, but then I couldn't any longer and I began to cry, heaving my shoulders, hiding my face, slumping down on a step behind the stadium. The next thing I know there is a sharp stabbing pain in my chest followed by a slow burn. Stan gets the car, calls my primary care doctor, and rushes to the ER.
THE EMERGENCY ROOM
Before we have to time finish the paperwork, they've set me up in the supply closet because there aren't any beds available and they don't want me to wait. By now I was shaking all over and nearly hyperventilating. They have me hooked up to three monitors before Stan finished signing the intake papers 4 times. The nurse who draws the blood, asks why I was crying. I didn't want to say because I feel like I'm dying, so I just whispered, "It hurts." Then she said she liked my bracelet. It was a mother of pearl my parents brought me from Mexico when I was a little girl. That helped calm me somewhat. Then a normal EKG calmed everyone down. But I couldn't get my breathing to slow down to normal. The chest X-ray they had taken the previous day showed nothing, so no pneumonia though I insisted I felt like I couldn't breathe. There was something obstructing my throat. My oxygen was 100% so contrary to how I felt, there was nothing wrong with me.
Except the mind--that tricky thing--had given me a rush of adrenaline and prompted by the steroids, my body's defense mechanisms were in full swing. If I were going to die, my body wouldn't let me.
The doctor came in and with a "I-will-calm-you-with-manner" smile said, "You're NOT having a heart attack." I thought, "I never said I was; I just said I felt like I was dying." And then he asked if I experienced anxiety when I was a teenager. What kind of question is that? Where did the term "Teen Angst" come from anyway? I laughed and croaked, "No!"
After conferring with my primary care doctor, he said, "You are a perfectly normal, healthy woman. But you have suffered a panic attack. What is making you anxious?"
I thought about it and considered maybe laryngitis which was preventing me from teaching my classes was the culprit because I had tried every trick in the book and on the internet to heal my voice, and nothing was working. So I had my husband explain it to him since I couldn't be heard or understood, and my husband knew all too well what was at stake with my job.
He sat down on the bed and said that we were trying a different tactic. You are going to receive sedating drugs. I felt like the narrator of Girl, Interrupted. I was not sure I wanted to be sedated. But my hands were still shaking and my breathing had not yet returned to normal and I had no voice. I needed to try something. The drug was administered and 15 minutes later he returned.
"How do you feel?" "I feel calmer," I squeaked, requiring much effort to get air through my vocal cords.
"Well, our little experiment didn't work. I thought if you calmed down, your voice would return. The amount of steroids you received yesterday should have made your voice return. There is a serious problem with your voice."
I felt dazed: a panic attack. I just thought that was when someone was anxious about something and couldn't think straight. I had no idea the symptoms were so real, so visceral, so frightening.
FINAL DIAGNOSIS: Prednisone-induced panic attack fed by short-term triggering causes--losing my voice and being unable to teach. My discharge papers merely read the much less dramatic problem: laryngitis.
Why had I never heard about the symptoms of a panic attack? I know those of a heart attack, signs of a stroke, diagnostic criteria of depression and autism. Why had no one warned me of the symptoms of panic attacks? Are they that uncommon? I can name seven people, not including myself, who have had them. Why are there no commercials for panic attacks? Is the medication to prevent them not profitable for the pharmaceutical companies?
WHY WRITE ALL THIS?
I am writing this to raise awareness and to apologize to anyone reading this who has had a panic attack. I thought you needed to just chill, trust in God more, divert your attention away from your problems, pray, go see a movie, anything to center yourself, whatever it takes to find peace.
But panic attacks aren't about a lack of peace. A panic attack has its own pathophysiology. If you want to read more about that, here's what my good friend Wikipedia has to say:
SPIRITUAL MINDSET I'd just finished a fantastic morning Bible study from a book on the Psalms written by Kathleen Nielson (getting to hear her speak a couple of weeks ago one thousand gifts #53).
My assignment for this morning is to read Psalm 37 and write down five observations. Read it through several times, aloud at least one time if possible--not possible, no voice--and the insights I received were wonderful promises and serious instruction (Trust in the LORD --find safety; Delight in the LORD--have the desires of your heart; Commit your way to the LORD--your righteousness and justice will shine like the noonday sun.) I was feeling secure in God's love for me and in His giving me the desire to please Him in all I do today.
I also reviewed my memory verses from the previous chapter:
- Psalm 33:20 (NIV) We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield.
- 33:19 (The Message) He's ready to come to their rescue in bad times; in lean times he keeps body and soul together. This especially stuck out since I was worried I had no voice and wouldn't be able to teach my music classes and that I had lost my voice completely for six weeks last year and couldn't sing for an additional two months and history COULD NOT repeat itself.
- 33:22 (The Message) Love us, God, with all you've got--that's what we are depending on.
- 33:22 (ESV) Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.
How could I not be ready for today?
SPECIAL OLYMPICS
I took my prescribed medicine and began to get all the boys ready: Mom was taking Ben on his field trip, Knox was going to school, and D had to have a change of clothes for the competition. I was a little nervous as I am when I am around D's father who, along with his dad, D's grandfather, come to Special Olympics every year. I tried on every pair of pants I owned --no exaggeration-- and none fit. I went with the least tight and double-checked my mental list. It seemed I always left something out. After going back in the house twice and finding 2-3 objects I had not planned on bringing before, I was loaded up and ready to get there. I had wanted to be early, but alas, I was right on time. The ceremony was running late and I was meeting friends there. I was waiting for their text and for the ceremony to begin and began pacing along the fence. Waving at D, taking some pictures that weren't even really in focus, just moving, constantly.
As the Games began, I missed D's finish in the wheelchair race. I had been talking to someone and was distracted. By the time I stood up, it was over. Because I had no voice, I just clapped. I thought about congratulating D but I couldn't figure out how to get to him over the fence. Then I began to feel nausea. A friend gave me a cracker and my husband brought me a Coke from concessions. D didn't have a Coke. I always give him one first at SO to give him energy and it's not something we usually drink and he loves the treat. All I could think of was to hand him his water bottle and the chips I had packed.
I missed his next event because I was talking to an adult athlete (my voice was a whisper at this point), and I began frantically looking for my camera which I did not find until we were leaving the field. I had a phone camera from someone but could not work it, so still missed getting the picture.
THE AWARDS CEREMONY
This is almost my favorite part of the day. Everyone is so excited to get their ribbons; the cheerleaders pass them out; everyone cheers for athletes; the newspaper takes their picture. And the joy on each face is priceless. But this year, I passed my camera off to someone and stood my son out of his wheelchair so I could sit down. Not only had the nausea returned, but my chest felt tight, and my lungs were on fire. My friends decided to go and I sat and sat and sat for what seemed like forever. D missed getting onto the podium for his first award and I missed seeing it altogether. Then for the second, I took him by the arm (we were both a little wobbly) and made sure he got up on the platform to receive his award. He did, but I missed the picture because I had forgotten who had my camera. Someone went to get his extra wheelchair and I sat in one and he in the other. Several young athletes would point at me and say, "THAT'S D'S MOM!" And I would muster a smile. . .even as one told me how she had met Santa Claus, I felt I was becoming sicker and sicker. Another handsome young athelete stood in front of me, inches away from my face, and said, "My name's ________; I been knowing D since I was five. Look at my ribbon." My son was stuffing his face with chips, so the young man said, "Aw go on then. I see eatin's more important to you."
Finally it was time to leave, I briskly wobbled out of the stadium--that's how it felt because my knees were weak and I hung my head as tears leaked down to the frame of my Jackie-O sunglasses, pooling so that the rivulet went into my nose and down to my mouth. I just kept walking, but then I couldn't any longer and I began to cry, heaving my shoulders, hiding my face, slumping down on a step behind the stadium. The next thing I know there is a sharp stabbing pain in my chest followed by a slow burn. Stan gets the car, calls my primary care doctor, and rushes to the ER.
THE EMERGENCY ROOM
Before we have to time finish the paperwork, they've set me up in the supply closet because there aren't any beds available and they don't want me to wait. By now I was shaking all over and nearly hyperventilating. They have me hooked up to three monitors before Stan finished signing the intake papers 4 times. The nurse who draws the blood, asks why I was crying. I didn't want to say because I feel like I'm dying, so I just whispered, "It hurts." Then she said she liked my bracelet. It was a mother of pearl my parents brought me from Mexico when I was a little girl. That helped calm me somewhat. Then a normal EKG calmed everyone down. But I couldn't get my breathing to slow down to normal. The chest X-ray they had taken the previous day showed nothing, so no pneumonia though I insisted I felt like I couldn't breathe. There was something obstructing my throat. My oxygen was 100% so contrary to how I felt, there was nothing wrong with me.
Except the mind--that tricky thing--had given me a rush of adrenaline and prompted by the steroids, my body's defense mechanisms were in full swing. If I were going to die, my body wouldn't let me.
The doctor came in and with a "I-will-calm-you-with-manner" smile said, "You're NOT having a heart attack." I thought, "I never said I was; I just said I felt like I was dying." And then he asked if I experienced anxiety when I was a teenager. What kind of question is that? Where did the term "Teen Angst" come from anyway? I laughed and croaked, "No!"
After conferring with my primary care doctor, he said, "You are a perfectly normal, healthy woman. But you have suffered a panic attack. What is making you anxious?"
I thought about it and considered maybe laryngitis which was preventing me from teaching my classes was the culprit because I had tried every trick in the book and on the internet to heal my voice, and nothing was working. So I had my husband explain it to him since I couldn't be heard or understood, and my husband knew all too well what was at stake with my job.
He sat down on the bed and said that we were trying a different tactic. You are going to receive sedating drugs. I felt like the narrator of Girl, Interrupted. I was not sure I wanted to be sedated. But my hands were still shaking and my breathing had not yet returned to normal and I had no voice. I needed to try something. The drug was administered and 15 minutes later he returned.
"How do you feel?" "I feel calmer," I squeaked, requiring much effort to get air through my vocal cords.
"Well, our little experiment didn't work. I thought if you calmed down, your voice would return. The amount of steroids you received yesterday should have made your voice return. There is a serious problem with your voice."
I felt dazed: a panic attack. I just thought that was when someone was anxious about something and couldn't think straight. I had no idea the symptoms were so real, so visceral, so frightening.
FINAL DIAGNOSIS: Prednisone-induced panic attack fed by short-term triggering causes--losing my voice and being unable to teach. My discharge papers merely read the much less dramatic problem: laryngitis.
Why had I never heard about the symptoms of a panic attack? I know those of a heart attack, signs of a stroke, diagnostic criteria of depression and autism. Why had no one warned me of the symptoms of panic attacks? Are they that uncommon? I can name seven people, not including myself, who have had them. Why are there no commercials for panic attacks? Is the medication to prevent them not profitable for the pharmaceutical companies?
WHY WRITE ALL THIS?
I am writing this to raise awareness and to apologize to anyone reading this who has had a panic attack. I thought you needed to just chill, trust in God more, divert your attention away from your problems, pray, go see a movie, anything to center yourself, whatever it takes to find peace.
But panic attacks aren't about a lack of peace. A panic attack has its own pathophysiology. If you want to read more about that, here's what my good friend Wikipedia has to say:
While the various symptoms of a panic attack may cause the person to feel that their body is failing, it is in fact protecting itself from harm. The various symptoms of a panic attack can be understood as follows. (Click here for more).
THANKSGIVING
I conclude this narrative with thanks: thankful for such a kind, helpful staff at Highland Community Hospital and a calm husband (one thousand gift#54and 55); John, the hospital's chef, bringing me food which was the ONLY thing that actually made me feel better (one thousand gift#56); my daddy and friend Laurie answering my texts (one thousand gift#57) and that my mama was already visiting and somehow I was able to refrain from letting her know about what was happening until she brought my little one home safely from the field trip (one thousand gift #58) And God has used yet another thing in my life to allow me to empathize with others' sufferings (one thousand gift #59)
I conclude this narrative with thanks: thankful for such a kind, helpful staff at Highland Community Hospital and a calm husband (one thousand gift#54and 55); John, the hospital's chef, bringing me food which was the ONLY thing that actually made me feel better (one thousand gift#56); my daddy and friend Laurie answering my texts (one thousand gift#57) and that my mama was already visiting and somehow I was able to refrain from letting her know about what was happening until she brought my little one home safely from the field trip (one thousand gift #58) And God has used yet another thing in my life to allow me to empathize with others' sufferings (one thousand gift #59)
Ginny Layton
All material on this site is property of Virginia Layton.
What a roller coaster ride. I could feel the panic in your writing as I was reading!
ReplyDeleteMy husband has an uncle who suffers from panic attacks and is on medication for life to control it. I know from seeing him what a physical and scary thing it is. But you are right -- why aren't there more commercials about it? It is not just run of the mill anxiety and I also think people would feel better knowing they weren't alone. Kudos for you for writing about your experience. It does sound horrid to live through.
I hope you get your voice back soon soon soon!
And I love how you organized all this info!
Thanks for reading Anne Katherine. So there is medication to control/prevent them from recurring? That's good news! I pray this will only be a one-time thing with me.
ReplyDeleteI wrote this a couple of days after and since the episode, I've had trouble organizing my thoughts; it helped to separate the experience into chunks for me.
The funny thing now is the one thing I hate most about the experience is that I missed Special Olympics (though I was there in body)!!!
Well, Ginny, I know it took him quite awhile to get a firm diagnosis and to figure out the right type of medication. The last time I talked to him he did tell me that it was a life long thing - that he just can't go without it. I remember when he was younger (in his early 30's) and it was just such a struggle for him to figure out what was going on - and there was less awareness than even now.
ReplyDeleteI do hope yours is a one-time thing brought on by quite a bit of stress. And yes, I, too, was so sorry and frustrated for you that you did not get to enjoy the Special Olympics!
Hope you are in singing shape very soon!
It is so, so difficult to explain a panic attack to someone who has never had one. I had my first panic attack when I was 4, but I was 21 when I finally had shrink tell me what it was. I've been on and off medication since then. I'm currently not on any meds because I hate taking them and every so often I have to try to function without them. I'm lucky to only deal with the panic attacks once every few weeks or so. There was a time when I was getting them several times a day.
ReplyDeleteOver the years, I have come to understand most of my triggers and I know how to calm myself (even if it's just enough to keep me functional). I am in the process of talking with my doc though about getting a script for lorezepam (Ativan . . . similar to Xanex) for those times when I can't calm myself on my own.
I am terribly sorry that you weren't able to really experience and enjoy the Special Olympics. I remember seeing post of yours asking for pictures - were you able to get any?
I'm happy your panic has passed and I definitely pray this was a one time thing for you! But knowing the signs can make a huge difference if it ever reoccurs. Different things work for different people - I need a quiet room to just sit, close my eyes, and breath. A cold wash cloth on the back of my neck helps as well. It certainly doesn't make it go away completely, but it at least subdues the "I'm going to die" feeling.
::HUGS::
I've been thinking about your response all day. . .that must have been terrifying for a four-year-old! Glad you have it under control now!!!
DeleteDayle, Ativan is what I was given and it certainly helped that day and since.
ReplyDeleteLast night, I developed the pictures I had taken and there were about five really good ones though none of the second event. I had 2 disposable cameras and the the second camera you can tell is when I started feeling so bad because those pics are not in focus and cut off almost everyone's heads. Of course, when the tech asked me to look over the pics, I started boo-hooing in Walgreens! :) She was like, "Are they not OK?"
So when I got home, I needed mindless TV and saw SMASH for the first time. The lead in the play loses her voice and has to take Prednisone to keep her part and starts hallucinating and basically losing it. It made me feel better to know I am not alone even though they were making fun of it.
All I know is there's nothing funny about a panic attack!
Ginny - I am so sorry for your experience and found myself racing through the blog to ensure you were okay at the end! Although okay is of course a relative term! What a day you had. While your panic attack does sound clearly induced by the Prednisone, if you do encounter them again (I hope you don't!), a friend of mine who has terrible panic attacks (when she flies, especially, which she has to do in her job), recommends the book called, "When Panic Attacks." She says it has some great behavioral techniques. Here's to you feeling better and having your voice return! -A
ReplyDeleteThanks for the well wishes! My voice is returning slowly and I even enjoyed an hour of reading Shelter Me in the sunshine today! I do hope it was a one time thing--not fun! It's taken me nearly a week to get over--feeling normal around people and not getting anxious in a check-out line. My heart goes out to your friend and those who suffer from panic attacks regularly.
Delete