Saturday, May 16, 2015
The Flavor of Panic
It starts with a spot of pressure, a presence in my chest. It's more of an irritant at first. I'll ignore this. It's nothing. The spot grows. It somehow has grown to engulf my lungs. They're tight. They won't pull in air. The pressure is now a hungry fire. I cough to clear my throat. It accomplishes nothing. Icy daggers now prod from within my stomach. Nauseous, shaky, dizzy, and wobbly ... it's not going to let me ignore it. Every muscle that forms this confounded body tries to fight back. It takes all I have not to crumple into a ball. Frustration, fear, anger, and confusion battle for precedence in my exhausted mind. Heat and cold wrap around me in waves. Being soaked in sweat makes me feel even more sickly. It isn't going to stop. Don't try to stand ... my knees will not hold. Speech will not happen. It only results in idiotic noises and nonsense. Black shadows steal away my vision. That's ok, I don't think I'm seeing all that well anyway. It's best not to fight it. It will pass more quickly. The post-spaz aches will be the same either way. I can only hope someone is near and that they know what is going on. No paramedics or doctors. They can only ask the same questions over and over again as if my answers will change. Just open the pill bottle. Thank goodness it's a tiny tablet. There would be no way of swallowing anything the size of a jellybean. But my fingers cannot find the little pill. My hands are as flimsy as a bunch of two week old bananas trying to pick up a melting ice cube. By this point, sound is nearly nonexistent. All I can hear is muffled voices and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I have to catch my breath to try down a mouthful of water. Don't drown. If I can get my throat to cooperate, bring on the pill and more water. Please, not a glass. I cannot control my trembling and spastic movements. Let's not crack a tooth on the cup or bite a chunk out of the glass. That will only lengthen the life of this party. Now all I can do is wait. Wait for the meds to kick in. Wait for the panic to calm. Wait for air to fill my lungs. Wait for my stomach to stop tearing itself apart. The flames and ice crawling through my body eventually fade into a warm tingling sensation. This is where the nick name I've given these pills comes from. Warm fuzzy. Like an over-sized blanket fresh from the drier. Soak it up. Rest. Perhaps sleep will erase the discomfort that has wracked this body. Stillness is perfect. My ears hum. That's better than the ringing. I can handle the hum. It lulls me to sleep.