Out of My Mind

Around 3 PM on Thursday, I was feeling pretty good. I've been feeling a bit off the last few days, from a panic attack accelerated heartbeat during a big meeting to backaches, stomachaches, headaches, tiredness, and lightheadedness. Odds were I was dealing with a touch of some kind of infection coupled with my brain making things worse by running down all the things that could be wrong. A horrible diet and a complete lack of exercise these past six months haven't helped, and for the last few days I've managed to eliminate soda, caffeine, and fast food from my diet while reintroducing vitamins, energy drinks, water, tea and vegetables. Even if it was just psychological feelings from doing things to improve my well being, my being was well.

Caught up with all my work and feeling better, shortly after 3 PM on Thursday I felt like I couldn't catch a breath, like I needed to yawn but couldn't. It was a strange feeling, and only subsided when I distracted myself in an unusual manner, taking a pencil and a piece of paper and drawing an elaborate, mazelike design. Once I wasn't thinking about my breathing, I was just breathing. I really need to spend more time thinking outside of myself.

I arrived home to an empty house, which is not unusual. “Your mother always likes to go shopping late!” is a standard complaint from my dad, who generally has breakfast at 5:30 AM while my mom is more of an 11 AM person, taking time to leisurely read the paper and take a bite of a bagel or a sip of tea once every 20 minutes. Usually they leave a note, but not always, especially if they expect to get home before me. Having older parents with various health issues, I always think one of them is in the hospital when I come home to an empty house and find no note. Most of the time I'm wrong, but on two or three occasions one or the other has been in an emergency room. That's the thing with anxiety and fight-or-flight responses; the “what if” and slight chance your fears might be real are enough to keep them going.

There was a message on the machine from one of our fellow musicians about an upcoming job, but nothing from my folks. So, I sat down to check my e-mail and prepared to watch a DVD before Lost and Supernatural came on. Then the phone rang, and while I dismissed the possibility that it was what I normally fear, when I heard my dad start to leave a message, I knew this was one of those times my fear was real.

Earlier in the day, coincidentally around 3 in the afternoon, my mom started having some palpitations. She's had a cough and been a little achy for a few days, and probably had a bit of a cold herself. As I later learned, she was up on a ladder in the kitchen helping my dad attempt to change a light fixture, when lightheadedness and a rapid heartbeat made her swoon and climb back down. She called her doctor, who was booked for the rest of the day but who upon hearing her symptoms recommended a visit to the emergency room. My dad put her on the phone and she sounded fine, saying I didn't need to visit as though I could really stay home. After lowering the shades, feeding the cats, and putting some chicken away that she had started to thaw in the oven before rushing out, I raced to the hospital. She wasn't in the room they said she was in, but two rooms shared the same number and a nurse was able to help me find her.

I spoke with her doctor who said the x-rays and other tests seemed fine, though her pulse was way up and her blood pressure was erratic. He pointed out that a new medication she started over the weekend occasionally has this side effect, and if she does have some kind of infection that might be contributing as well. They soon moved her to the ICU where she would spend the night as a precaution, and he expected she'd need to stay a few days just to be safe. Meanwhile she seemed a little frustrated, even regretting calling the doctor if it meant staying in the hospital. She's in good hands with the ICU though; my dad's been there and I even spent a few days there a few years ago. They'll keep a close eye on her. I was given specific instructions on feeding the cats so she doesn't come home to “two little skeletons”. The cats meanwhile, when my dad and I finally came home a few hours later, clearly sensed something was amiss. Chirp, the last family member to go to a hospital on a Thursday evening, sniffed at her coat when I lay it on a chair, turned to me and asked, “Mah?”

I stop worrying about myself when I have reason to worry about those close to me. I get out of my mind, and get out of my mind with concern. The ICU, while a good place to heal, is mentally frustrating. There are no televisions or telephones, and machines are beeping constantly day and night. I told my dad to bring her some puzzles and newspapers when he goes back to visit Friday morning. Lying there amid rows of other sick people surrounding a nurse's station, I imagine my mom will need some distractions to get out of her own mind. All I can do is pray, and hope she returns sooner rather than later.