I had made the mistake of eating dinner late the evening before then going to bed. In addition to panic/anxiety, I also had developed esophagitis, an unpleasant condition that would require beta 2 blocker antacids for several months. I found out the hard way, I would need to use them. Without them, the discomfort level was high and the ability to eat was very low. Lesson learned: it is never wise to eat late at night, especially if you are going to go to bed quite soon. Your food cannot digest properly.
I was sent home from the ER with medication for both ailments. That would be the last major panic attack that would send me to the ER. I have an aversion of using medicine and I tried to get by without using any of the meds prescribed by the doctor. In addition, when I did use them, I found that I couldn't tolerate the side effects of the beta-2 blocker. I went to see my personal physician, whom I had never seen, and picked sight unseen. I believe it was providential that I picked the one I did, as she quickly had a grasp as to what was going on. She was the one who told me about panic attacks. By then, I wasn't having panic attacks, but had developed anxiety disorder. The best way to describe it is that my body was always in a fight or flight mode. It was as though I was on a constant state of high alert. Tests revealed that even my thyroid had malfunctioned to some degree, but it went back to normal. I was unable to sleep without medication, I couldn't concentrate, I was constantly "nervous" and felt like I was going to fly apart. I had worries that I knew were irrational, but was unable to stop. Some days were better than others and I was calmer. Other days were terrible. The one thing that soothed me was sacred music. Because of the flood, I had to dig to find some audio tapes that I could play in the clock/radio/tape player. The CD stereo had been ruined. I played a tape of Del Delker's over and over that I had recorded from my mother's old LP's. I couldn't tolerate anything like rock music. If a car went down the street with a booming radio, it would set my teeth on edge.
I did my best to cope and began cleaning up muddy items that could be used again. I spent a lot of hours outside with cleaners, scrubbers, rubber gloves, bleach, and the water hose washing muddy items. I tried sewing, but it was more difficult. I couldn't concentrate well enough to read for more than a minute or two. My doctor was trying to convince me that I really needed medication but I resisted for several weeks. Finally I reached a point where I knew if I was going to become a normal person again, I would have to take something, so I finally relented. It took several more weeks for the medication to finally bring things back to normal, but oh, what a relief. To finally be able to sit down and sit, peacefully, quietly, for awhile, to be able to read and comprehend, to not feel like I needed to jump up and run, to not have feelings of fear and panic and worry constantly with me, to be able to lie down in a bed and sleep was joy. I had been sleeping for weeks in a recliner, when I could actually sleep. My body was wearing out from being in the constant state of alert. I could finally rest normally.
Working with my doctor, I remained on the medication for 16 months, and finally came off it more than a year ago. Since them, I have used the herb St. John's Wort with good results. During this time, I would realize that the incidents that had been occurring occasionally during the night for several years that I had referred to as panic attacks really were nocturnal panic attacks. It has taken me a long time to reach a point where I am willing to talk about being affected with a disorder that I don't want, don't enjoy, but have learned to cope with. I disliked not being able to gain control of the situation and had to resort to medication to bring it under control. I have long believed what Sister White wrote: "Drugs never cure disease." Panic disorder is considered to be part psychological in nature, and part chemical imbalance in the brain. The medication didn't cure my panic/anxiety disorder, but it brought things under control, allowing me to become normal again. Most of all, I believe that God used it to teach me some new things about myself, to draw me closer. I spent time walking and talking to God. He is the One who got me through those dark days.
P.S. As I was preparing to post this, I remebered something someone said right after the flood. I went through a few days when I was rather distraught by the thoughts of what kind of damage I would find when we finally got home. Then I got philosophical. I figured if it was gone, it was gone and no amount of crying would bring anything back. No, it wasn't easy loosing all my wedding pictures, but no flood could wash my memories away. They were still intact. What the person said was something about my keeping my sense of humor even with what we had gone through. Laughing is sometimes better than crying.
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For I know that my redeemer liveth,
and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.
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Linda
[This message has been edited by Linda Sutton (edited March 16, 2001).]
