After paying for lunch we got in the van and stopped by McDonald's to pick up some lunch for our kids who Kadee Joy had been watching just a few blocks away. And that's when it hit. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't talk. I couldn't lift my arms. I couldn't communicate. It was terrifying. Chris finished getting the food and then drove us home. He carried me up the stairs (I still couldn't walk or talk), and put me in bed. He called several medical professionals we knew at our church. The one thing I was adamantly able to communicate was that I didn't want to go to the hospital. I made horrible, animal sounds as I tried to communicate. Once I was able to talk I kept crying, saying "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!"
After about 45 minutes, Chris was able to convince me that we should go to the ER. They ran EKG's, did a CT scan, ran blood tests, and determined that I'd....had a panic attack.
But I was DYING. I COULDN'T TALK. I COULDN'T BREATHE.
I began seeing a psychiatrist shortly thereafter who prescribed me some sleep medication that complemented my antidepressant, and the panic attacks seemed to stop. I didn't really even think about them anymore. I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and continued major depressive disorder.
Things seemed better until October 1st, the morning of the Las Vegas shooting, the same day I also started a new medication. I experienced a level of anxiety that I hadn't experienced since starting at a new junior high at age 13. It was horrible. I had trouble teaching that day, but was able to make it through. The next few days were fine. And then it hit back with a vengeance that Friday. I barely made it through the day. I called both my psychiatrist and the doctor who had prescribed me the other medication. We immediately stopped the other medication, and then added an anti anxiety medication to my normal meds.
It helped....a little....but the panic attacks came back. I had two to three every single day after school as soon as I got home. I couldn't be with my family. I would just have the attacks, collapse, and wake up to go back to school the next day. We tried changing my other medications, but the panic attacks wouldn't go away.
It got really bad the Monday before my second grade program. I had one in front of students and other staff members. My medical team, husband, and principal determined that I would not be able to go back to work that week. I missed a program. That's a big deal. When I say it got bad...it got as bad as it can get for someone dealing with mental illness.
I started seeing a counselor on top of all of my other doctors. She was helpful immediately. I started seeing a family physician also so that we could get a better "whole" picture of my health instead of just bits and pieces.
I went back to school after Thanksgiving, pushed the Christmas program back a week, had a pretty successful last two weeks and program (got down to one panic attack after school per day), and than slumped into Christmas Break.
I have started painting. Chris, the one who has carried me through this, created a prayer station for me when I needed a quiet place to go. I journal my daily episodes. I have a list of reasons of why I should still be alive.
Mom came down for Christmas and is visiting. She's been wonderful about getting my house into order. She's had to drive me home a couple of times after I start having a panic attack in Michael's or in the celery section at HEB.
My sister is coming to visit in a couple of days. She's had her own run-in with mental health, and is good about finding things that are helpful.
I tried to go to church today for Christmas Eve. I only made it about 30 minutes. My church attendance is spotty because of it. And I'm a pastor's wife.
My daughter has been amazing. She calls when she knows I'm about to have one, helps me get into bed, puts the lavender on, stays with me until Chris can get there.
I worry about my kids. I worry about what they will think of me. I worry about what they are missing during this time in my life.
I cry a lot out of guilt. I cry a lot out of sadness. I cry a lot out of frustration.
I pray a lot. I pray for my kids. I pray for my husband. I pray for my students.
And I pray for healing. I pray for normalcy. I pray for a day where I don't have to even think about having a panic attack. I pray that I will get to a point I can focus on my kids and husband as much as they are focusing on me.
And I pray that God can help use my story one day for His greater purpose.
