THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY 24 - PANIC SAVED MY LIFE

Today’s prompt: 

Because breathing is essential for life, it touches every part of our existence. What does it mean to you to breathe? When was the last time you really noticed your breath? What were you doing? Was there ever a time when you realized you had taken your breath for granted? 

Panic Saved My Life

It was the week before my 39th birthday. My siblings had flown from the east coast to join me, my husband, and our two sons for vacation in San Diego. We shared a rented condo, ate fish tacos from Roberto’s, went to the beach and Legoland. It was pure bliss.

It was the morning of my 39th birthday. My husband woke up early to drive my siblings to the airport. The week of vacation, relaxation, and celebration was over. Soon, we’d be back in San Francisco getting ready for school and work – the daily grind would start over again. It was hard saying good-bye.

My sons went into the upstairs bedroom to play on their Gameboy, and I was left alone in the living room. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. It was as if the cells in my lungs had all collapsed. As I struggled for oxygen, I felt a fine mist of sweat cover my face and body. Is this what it feels like to die?

Just as suddenly, my lungs opened, and I could breathe again. But now my heart was racing; my mind too. Was I going crazy? What was wrong with me?

I lay on the couch, working hard to control my breathing, my heart, my mind. By the time my husband came back from the airport, I was almost recovered. I told him about what had happened, and he responded, “It sounds like you had a panic attack.”

A panic attack? I’d never had a panic attack before. The only thing I knew about panic attacks came from Woody Allen movies, and he always made them sound funny. This was definitely not funny.

We packed our stuff into our car and headed back to San Francisco. For the first part of the trip, I’d scream every 30 minutes or so, “Pull over now! I can’t breathe!”

“We can’t keep pulling over,” my husband said, patting my back as I dry-heaved into the ditch alongside I-5. “At this rate, it’ll take us a week to get home. And besides, you’re scaring the boys.”

And so, I sucked it up. I practiced deep-breathing. I practiced looking out at the horizon, even though that was for sea-sickness and not everything-sickness. I practiced applying pressure to the space between my thumb and wrist, even though that was for menstrual pain and not psychic pain.

By the time we got home to San Francisco, I was convinced I was going insane.

“Hello, UCSF Women’s Health,” the cheery receptionist answered the phone. “How can I help you?”

“Uh….” I said. “I’d like an appointment with Dr. X?”

“Sure,” the receptionist said. “Are you an established patient? Because….”

“I’m an established patient,” I said, cutting to the chase.

“OK, then,” the receptionist said, “the earliest appointment we have for established patients is six weeks from today.”

“I can’t wait that long,” I said, pressing my thumbnail into the space between my thumb and wrist. I felt my heart racing, my mind unmoored. Surely, I was going insane.

“Are you having a medical emergency?” she asked.

I felt stupid saying that I’d had a panic attack. A panic attack wasn’t a medical emergency – it was a Woody Allen punchline. Then I remembered something that had happened two weeks before my 39th birthday. Something that had sent a chill through me but that I’d pushed to the back of my mind.

“I found a lump,” I said. “A lump in my breast.”

Even in my state of temporary insanity, I knew this would get the receptionist’s attention.

“Can you come in this afternoon?” she asked.

That afternoon, I was diagnosed with invasive ductal carcinoma – commonly known as breast cancer.

From that moment on, I’ve been a cancer patient. I’ve experienced multiple surgeries, eight rounds of toxic chemotherapies, a year of intravenous targeted therapy, five years of daily hormone therapy, and innumerable blood tests and body scans.

I am lucky and so grateful to be alive.

But the curious thing is this:

I haven’t had a panic attack since.