Fears 

At the beginning of Lent, I pledged to write and post on my blog each day. In the beginning, I wrote about places I’ve lived, the beauty of spring, and indulging in small pleasures. I was planning to finish strong, but Monday morning I woke up with an aching, pressure in my chest.

Those two words: 

Pressure and chest sent me into a spiral that would twist and knot and plague me for the rest of the week. 

I talked it out with my sister, and when my symptoms mimicked a panic attack she had two years ago, she told me to breathe, to meditate, and try being still. 

I called her often. She picked up, listened to my spiral, and breathed with me. 

My body remained a tower of still, but my insides were a quaking mess. I inhaled. Then I got frustrated that maybe I wasn’t breathing properly. How did the Yogis learn to breathe deep? What is wrong with me? 

The questions spiraled.

My fears outnumbered my count.

I had ingested far too many articles and videos about Covid19. I was on overload. Every positive thought I had was trampled with the words and images I had seen weeks prior. There was a video of a young man, who had Covid19, nonchalantly walking around a supermarket. He said, “Like everyone else, I have to eat.” He was not wearing a mask and was uncaring of anyone with whom he came in contact. He even answered questions from passersby.   

My series of questions assaulted me:

Did someone touch the fruit I purchased?

Was I too close to that person in the other aisle? 

Do I have a fever? 

When the latter was no, I still couldn’t stop the panic that ensued.  

I called a young lady who had disclosed to me that she battled with anxiety. She too listened to me, and I cried a little. I knew I needed to weep, to bawl, and to let my tears move through the ache in my chest.

I just couldn’t muster the tears to move from chunks of ice to liquid. 

Friday morning, I stood in the shower. As the water washed over my body, a song from my childhood came to my lips. I whispered it at first, then an internal switch turned the volume up. There was an ease in my chest that day, and I was sure the hell was over, but instead, it intensified. 

The pressure pushed into my back, the heat spread across my chest, hitting my shoulders. I was sure I was dying. In the early morning, I sat on the bed and told Chris that I was heading to the Emergency Room.  I trembled with fear as I pulled up my pants and put on my shirt.  

I called ahead to the hospital to find out the procedure, and the nurse told me to just park in the ER parking lot. I arrived to see them already set up outside. She gave me a mask, asked a few questions, and took my temperature. With my temperature normal, I was allowed to go inside and register. 

Questions. Needles. Xray. Admin. Nurses. Doctor. Two hours later, I learned that my lungs were clear, blood work was normal, and my oxygen level — according to the doctor — was perfect.  I did not have Covid19. Instead, I was having a severe case of acid reflux.

Medicine in my body and a prescription to fill, I walked out of the hospital relieved–

And

Excited to kiss my husband,  hug my kids, and celebrate my 39th Birthday in peace. 

Be Safe.

♥

Kadine