In Your Mind, In Your Mind. (The Hard Road, Sam Roberts, We Were Born In A Flame, Rel. 2004)
Is it the end of September already? Good! Because with just about 98% of it - it couldn't be done fast enough. Stupid fucking September.
Ok - Who want's an anxiety attack? Thematically & mathematically I can only hope that there is either some crazy scholar, or 1000 monkeys reading Freud out there who will absolutely determine that somehow work = anxiety attacks.
In my entire life (before this September that is) I've had two. Both were 6 years ago - the first was 3 days after my Dad passed away, the second was about 2 weeks after that. Both were truly well deserved, to be sure. In the last 4 weeks though? I've had five. Two of these recent episodes were especially notable as one of them was in a plane, 35,000 feet up, about an hour out of Vancouver en route to Toronto for the film festival. It was NOT fun. For about 5 minutes there, I was seriously about to pull the trigger on landing the full plane (including both my boss, and Academy Award Winning Actor Jeffery Rush) in Winnipeg due to a medical issue. The great thing about Air Canada is that the Chief Steward actually found a doctor in business class, brought him back to me (I wound up camped out at the back of the airplane in the Stewardess's section) and after checking me out asked one of the flight attendants for a couple of scotches. Strong booze apparently, helps relax constricted blood vessels, plus with the altitude & pressure, allows the lungs to be able to feel like they are bringing in at least the bare minimum of oxygen. I remained in the kitchen area for the remainder of the 4.5 hour flight, the Flight Attendants all cooed and mothered over me, and poured as much free scotch down my throat as I could stand. (You know those National Geographic shows with the baby chicks in the nest, mouths agape anytime a parent flies by in the hopes of them stuffing some sort of bug-based mulch down their yappers? Then picture me with 4 matronly flight attendants with a hand-truck full of booze - you'll get the idea).
Notable Episode # 2 was last Wednesday after returning from Toronto. We've been having all sorts of problems at work, but Tuesday and Wednesday morning I was having problems trying to catch my breath. With visions of blood clots running through my mind, I called my Doctor and told him that I was having trouble catching my breath. He told me to hang up the phone, and go immediately to Emergency. I coyly said that I might just be having an anxiety attack - as they've been happening recently, and he said "GO to hospital - it doesn't matter if it is anxiety or not, rule it out, get checked out because it's medical malpractice if you don't - and we'll see you first thing in the morning at my office."
So off to emergency I went. It was kinda funny actually, because of all the days I should forget my wallet at home, that was the day. Dr. Johnson told me to bring a good book as I was going to be a while. Also, on the way back to my apartment from work, I took a couple of wrong turns - all from a route that I've taken every day for the last 2.5 years. (It's weird getting lost where you know exactly where you are). But I finally got home, dropped off my laptop, and knowing the wait time in emergency, I packed another bag with a tooth brush, a couple of books, a change of socks & underwear, and headed out (again) to the hospital. I could breathe, (well sort of anyway), I got through the rush hour traffic, arrived at VGH, entered the parkade, and just when I shut off my car, I realized that I had left my wallet in my lap top bag at home. "Fuck."I said to myself. So I had to leave the parkade, explain to the attendant that I'm an idiot, who isn't breathing well, who forgot his medical card, credit card, and cash in his wallet at home, and back home I went.
Well I didn't really forget; because the thing with Anxiety attacks is that you don't think totally quite straight. Sometimes vision is a little blurry, and little things like directions, finding your way home on routes that I take everyday become a little challenging. It's like you're there, but not really there. But I got home (again) ran upstairs, retrieved said wallet, then shakily drove BACK to the hospital to re-enter the parkade and start the whole process again. 8.5 hours, a CT Scan, lots of needles, blood tests and such later? Was pronounced clean as a whistle, smart like stick, sharp like marble, and I was free to go. I emailed my boss around 10:30 PM saying I was ok, and on my way home and was going to be at my doctor's first thing in the morning and would talk to the office after that.
A side note to all of this was after 5.5 months on the blood thinners to get rid of the clots in my lungs after my much beaten-to-death-surgery-stories, (which no-one needs to hear about anymore), is that I was also experiencing some fairly sudden, massive, and alarming hair loss. It was enough that 4 weeks ago I googled "warfarin" & "hair loss" and came up roses. (Well, that, and literally filling an envelope full of hair that had fallen onto my desk in the span of 4 short hours) that I went to my Doctor the next day, with said envelope of hair and pathetically showed it to him:
Me: Look at this! (extending envelope of shed hair)
Dr. Johnson: Hmmmm, Well I've never heard of that side effect before.
Me: Then just Google warfarin + Hair loss.
Dr. Johnson: (Googling warfarin + hair loss at his computer), "Well... It looks like there ARE some people who DO suffer a rare side effect of warfarin..."
Me: "I KNOW! and look at this again!" (pathetically again offering the envelope of hair that I brought in from Yesterday, cradling it gently like it contained the Dead Sea Scrolls). "I don't have much going on in my life! I'm single, don't have a lot of bank, I'm apparently middle aged, and all I've got going on for me is my hair! You HAVE to help me."
Dr. Johnson: It's fairly obvious, you have to leave your job. As your physician, I'm telling you that you need to leave your job. I'll even give you a note. Stress & anxiety are killers, and, well, you have to leave your job. Your body & more importantly your subconscious is telling you what to do.
Me: ... I know.
Dr. Johnson: Regarding the hair loss? It also seems that we have to find you a woman who is just as shallow as you.
Me: Tell me about it.
Is it the end of September already? Good! Because with just about 98% of it - it couldn't be done fast enough. Stupid fucking September.
Ok - Who want's an anxiety attack? Thematically & mathematically I can only hope that there is either some crazy scholar, or 1000 monkeys reading Freud out there who will absolutely determine that somehow work = anxiety attacks.
In my entire life (before this September that is) I've had two. Both were 6 years ago - the first was 3 days after my Dad passed away, the second was about 2 weeks after that. Both were truly well deserved, to be sure. In the last 4 weeks though? I've had five. Two of these recent episodes were especially notable as one of them was in a plane, 35,000 feet up, about an hour out of Vancouver en route to Toronto for the film festival. It was NOT fun. For about 5 minutes there, I was seriously about to pull the trigger on landing the full plane (including both my boss, and Academy Award Winning Actor Jeffery Rush) in Winnipeg due to a medical issue. The great thing about Air Canada is that the Chief Steward actually found a doctor in business class, brought him back to me (I wound up camped out at the back of the airplane in the Stewardess's section) and after checking me out asked one of the flight attendants for a couple of scotches. Strong booze apparently, helps relax constricted blood vessels, plus with the altitude & pressure, allows the lungs to be able to feel like they are bringing in at least the bare minimum of oxygen. I remained in the kitchen area for the remainder of the 4.5 hour flight, the Flight Attendants all cooed and mothered over me, and poured as much free scotch down my throat as I could stand. (You know those National Geographic shows with the baby chicks in the nest, mouths agape anytime a parent flies by in the hopes of them stuffing some sort of bug-based mulch down their yappers? Then picture me with 4 matronly flight attendants with a hand-truck full of booze - you'll get the idea).
Notable Episode # 2 was last Wednesday after returning from Toronto. We've been having all sorts of problems at work, but Tuesday and Wednesday morning I was having problems trying to catch my breath. With visions of blood clots running through my mind, I called my Doctor and told him that I was having trouble catching my breath. He told me to hang up the phone, and go immediately to Emergency. I coyly said that I might just be having an anxiety attack - as they've been happening recently, and he said "GO to hospital - it doesn't matter if it is anxiety or not, rule it out, get checked out because it's medical malpractice if you don't - and we'll see you first thing in the morning at my office."
So off to emergency I went. It was kinda funny actually, because of all the days I should forget my wallet at home, that was the day. Dr. Johnson told me to bring a good book as I was going to be a while. Also, on the way back to my apartment from work, I took a couple of wrong turns - all from a route that I've taken every day for the last 2.5 years. (It's weird getting lost where you know exactly where you are). But I finally got home, dropped off my laptop, and knowing the wait time in emergency, I packed another bag with a tooth brush, a couple of books, a change of socks & underwear, and headed out (again) to the hospital. I could breathe, (well sort of anyway), I got through the rush hour traffic, arrived at VGH, entered the parkade, and just when I shut off my car, I realized that I had left my wallet in my lap top bag at home. "Fuck."I said to myself. So I had to leave the parkade, explain to the attendant that I'm an idiot, who isn't breathing well, who forgot his medical card, credit card, and cash in his wallet at home, and back home I went.
Well I didn't really forget; because the thing with Anxiety attacks is that you don't think totally quite straight. Sometimes vision is a little blurry, and little things like directions, finding your way home on routes that I take everyday become a little challenging. It's like you're there, but not really there. But I got home (again) ran upstairs, retrieved said wallet, then shakily drove BACK to the hospital to re-enter the parkade and start the whole process again. 8.5 hours, a CT Scan, lots of needles, blood tests and such later? Was pronounced clean as a whistle, smart like stick, sharp like marble, and I was free to go. I emailed my boss around 10:30 PM saying I was ok, and on my way home and was going to be at my doctor's first thing in the morning and would talk to the office after that.
A side note to all of this was after 5.5 months on the blood thinners to get rid of the clots in my lungs after my much beaten-to-death-surgery-stories, (which no-one needs to hear about anymore), is that I was also experiencing some fairly sudden, massive, and alarming hair loss. It was enough that 4 weeks ago I googled "warfarin" & "hair loss" and came up roses. (Well, that, and literally filling an envelope full of hair that had fallen onto my desk in the span of 4 short hours) that I went to my Doctor the next day, with said envelope of hair and pathetically showed it to him:
Me: Look at this! (extending envelope of shed hair)
Dr. Johnson: Hmmmm, Well I've never heard of that side effect before.
Me: Then just Google warfarin + Hair loss.
Dr. Johnson: (Googling warfarin + hair loss at his computer), "Well... It looks like there ARE some people who DO suffer a rare side effect of warfarin..."
Me: "I KNOW! and look at this again!" (pathetically again offering the envelope of hair that I brought in from Yesterday, cradling it gently like it contained the Dead Sea Scrolls). "I don't have much going on in my life! I'm single, don't have a lot of bank, I'm apparently middle aged, and all I've got going on for me is my hair! You HAVE to help me."
Dr. Johnson: It's fairly obvious, you have to leave your job. As your physician, I'm telling you that you need to leave your job. I'll even give you a note. Stress & anxiety are killers, and, well, you have to leave your job. Your body & more importantly your subconscious is telling you what to do.
Me: ... I know.
Dr. Johnson: Regarding the hair loss? It also seems that we have to find you a woman who is just as shallow as you.
Me: Tell me about it.
1 comments:
I've had anxiety attacks since I was 14, so I sympathize - they're horrible. Not drinking caffeine helps a lot, and so do breathing exercises. Sounds dumb but if you breathe in counting to 10, then breathe out counting to 10, after a couple of times you'll feel more in control, and less like you're listening to your bell toll. Chewing on something crunchy helps too (crackers, rolaids...).
Gia
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