Wound Tight

I have a confession to make. The last couple of days have been a little rough. It's frustrating when I can intellectually recognize “symptoms” as the byproduct of stress and anxiety, and feel them all the same. I was a wreck on Tuesday when I had to trade in my old car and pick up my new one. Driving in to work in the morning, I was so concerned about having panic attacks one last time in that old junker, that I was constantly on the verge and it took more than one spray of ”rescue remedy” to get me across long stretches of road with no shoulder to pull over on. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. I worry about having one of these lightheaded can't-catch-my-breath attacks, and in so doing so I cause them. Instead of relaxing and listening to the radio or thinking about what I have to do at work, I focus on every minute physical sensation. I learned four years ago when this problem first developed that fighting it makes it worse, and only when I give in do I relax and breathe normally. I've never actually passed out from this condition.

What was particularly bad about Tuesday, was even when I was at the safety of my desk I still didn't feel right. I had a strange tugging in my back around my right shoulder. I didn't feel like I was getting enough air. My ears were ringing, and I was starting to get a bit of a headache. My daily walk at lunch helped a lot. More and more I find that I feel lousy when I first start walking, but after I've had lunch and some exercise I feel like my old self. By Tuesday afternoon I realized I must be feeling apprehensive about the car. I began to have crazy, irrational thoughts. What if my old car wouldn't let me go? What if it knew I was giving it up? The back road leading to the dealership was winding and had no shoulder. It led into an area with bumper to bumper traffic, notably by a train station where hordes of Met fans were disembarking. I felt very claustrophobic, trapped and squirmy. I arrived at the dealer fifteen minutes late for my 5:30 appointment. At least my dad was already there, with the banker's check I'd sent him to get while I was at work.

I was too occupied signing a million forms to even think about how I was feeling. Before I knew it, I was handing over my old keys and getting new ones. My new car sat outside the showroom, shiny and ready for a new master. This then would be the least stressful task, driving a fresh new vehicle home. There were no bad memories with this car. I'd never had an attack in it. I'd never been in an accident with it. I'd never been dumped by my girlfriend in it. It was a clean start. But my brain, my greatest asset and biggest curse, had to ask “what if?” What if I had an attack? What if I started with a bad experience which I'd forever associate with this beautiful new acquisition? What if I turned something great and positive into something horrible and frightening?

Traffic was rough still at that hour. I let my dad get ahead of me as I took my time. I felt comfortable, and the air conditioning was refreshing. Halfway home I pulled in to a parking lot to take a break. I didn't freak out or have an attack, and instead focused on programming my radio presets. Soon I was on my way. Soon I was fine. When I got home, I took my mom for a ride and stopped to fill up the gas tank. I knew I needed to get comfortable with the new vehicle, to nip any anxiety in the bud before it blossomed into a serious problem. Wednesday morning, though not as bad as Tuesday, was still rough. I didn't resort to the spray, and managed to either focus on the radio or talk myself through various parts of my journey. It caught up to me by the time I got to work though, and a headache I woke up with worsened as I felt a little dizzy. Ironically, crisis pulled me out of this condition. A flyer I designed wasn't going to fit in an envelope the way the marketing team wanted me to fold it. I had several options, some of which involved more redesigning than others, but managed to sell them on a solution that would involve minimal changes to ads. Before I knew it, lunchtime had arrived.

I guess a challenge or a task at work falls under a category of “good” stress. Instead of worrying about sensations that may or may not be real, or may or may not be as bad, I had something to focus on outside myself. Distraction is the key, and I just need to get back to the point where I can do this unconsciously. Most of my life, I've only focused on a portion of driving. It's not that I'm not watching cars or traffic lights, just not consciously thinking about it, and suddenly I'm where I have to be. The time always passed. I need to get back to that point, and each day this week has been slightly better than the one prior. But I'm still not right. I know I will be, and that I made it through this in the past, but it's still tough. My headache on Wednesday was real, and I actually had to stop in a pharmacy and get some aspirin before a meeting after lunch.

I'm doing all the right things for stress. I walk every day, and though it's not the full workout I was used to at my old job, it has to help. I've eliminated fast food entirely at lunch. I've given up caffeine, and I drink only tea, especially green tea. I've even started going to bed a little earlier, getting 6 or 7 hours instead of 5 or 6. By Thursday my headache was gone, though I did feel slightly feverish in the afternoon. From what I've read, it is possible for stress to cause a lot of these coldlike symptoms. Who but I would have stress about stress?

I realize I sound like a hypochondriac when I fall into these depressing musings on my strange sensations. A portion of you might be thinking the opposite, that I probably should check with a doctor instead of browsing the internet to find things I might have. Sometimes knowledge can be dangerous. Historically, I've been the opposite of a hypochondriac, but after I ignored something life-threatening in my mid-20s, I started taking my health more seriously. It seems like every couple of years since my surgery, I've had some kind of inexplicable crisis that probably has its roots in stress. First there were stomachaches for months with no apparent cause. My stomach checked out fine as did my gallbladder. I was on medication that helped at first, then seemed to cause the symptoms I was initially complaining about, then when I stopped taking them I got back to normal. Then four years ago I had an apparent panic attack on a treadmill, went through a barrage of tests and months of difficulty behind the wheel, and eventually got back to normal, at least until recently.

I made a decision this week, hopefully a rational one for the right reasons, and called a doctor. I switched doctors on my insurance a few years ago after numerous bad experiences with my old one. He wasn't the problem, but he was so busy I always ended up seeing someone else in his office. I've never been to my new doctor as a general practitioner, but he's treated me in the past as a specialist, and he's been my mom's regular doctor for some time now. I found the receptionist remarkably pleasant compared to the rude people at the other office who were terse and always put me on hold, and it was very easy to make an appointment for a day I was taking off next week. She asked if it had been more than a year since my last physical, and I realized I didn't remember the last time I went to a doctor without a specific complaint, real or otherwise. I guess it was 1996 when I started at my first company and had my own insurance for the first time. I'm not sure at what age people are supposed to visit the doctor annually, but I am in my 30s now. I go to the dentist twice a year; it can't hurt to visit a doctor.

I think there's a good psychological component to getting a checkup as well. I can go online and try to diagnose myself, or I can hear from a professional that I'm fine. Or perhaps he will find something, maybe say that my back pain is related to a mole in that vicinity and not to poor posture or a bad chair at my new job. I can guess and theorize all day but it won't do me any good, physically or emotionally. Either I'll get a clean bill of health and feel better, or I'll find out there is a real problem that can be fixed. I'm not going down that same road I went four years ago, not going to waste my time getting tested for everything. I don't have time for that. But I've wound myself so tight without realizing it these past few months that it's getting hard to function. I need to be able to drive from Point A to Point B. I need to sit at my desk and get work done, and go to meetings and interact with my coworkers. I need to drive myself and several band members to a gig in Queens this weekend. I need to get back to normal. Good things are happening, and this week should have been better than it was. It's time to start feeling better.