The day my brain broke.

My brain broke while I was driving to work last July.

There I was toodeling along, listening to music and singing at the top of my lungs, and in an instant...and I mean from one second to the next.. my life changed.

My vision skewed, I couldn't breathe and my mouth was dry.
I remember that it was dry, because I believe that 50 percent of illness can be cured by drinking more water....so when I was convinced I must just be dehydrated and tried to swallow some of my water, I couldnt.

At first I tried to ignore it and I turned the music up higher, but soon enough my hands were shaking and I started to sweat.

I had to turn around.
I hate turning around.
I hate not going into work.
But I was not okay.

I had made it to Atwater and pulled into the parking lot at Envy. I remember I went to get out of my car, but my legs were shaking too much, so I sat down and decided to get home as fast as I could.

I made it to Ceres before pulling over and dialing 911.

I don't remember talking to the operator, but I do remember the nice ambulance lady. I also remember that my blood sugar was great and so was my blood pressure.
Still...into the hospital I went.

My blood was taken as well as my pee.
An EKG showed clear and I tried to sell the EKG guy some massage oil from my passion party business.
Finally the doctor came in and after asking me a few questions, she declared that I was stressed out.
"I am not." I argued
"YES you are." She insisted

The accusation, really irritated me.
Possibly because I pride myself on my ability to maintain control of myself. My temper, my tears...I am the head of this household and must always, be in control.

"Fine. Tell me about your job." She asked
"My job is the best job in the world. I absolutely love it and I am not stressed out in any way..." I smiled. Because it was true.
"Okay, great. Mike told me you have another job too." Her eyebrow lifted.

Mike. That snitching EKG man.

"Look, I am a single mom too okay. I'm not trying to be insulting. But this...what we do. Its ALOT. And sometimes we need to rest."

My response? "Yeah, but it's Monday...I just rested for two days."

She sighed. "Alright Laureen, Your tests all came back great. I'm releasing you with the diagnoses of stress."
And she turned and walked away.

When my sister picked me up from the hospital, I felt shakey. But better.

Three days later found me in the back of another ambulance with my children following behind me in the car.
I had the same symptoms but worse.
I just knew that I was dying.

The tests all came back good.
The EKG was clear, but this time they took a chest X-Ray and it showed that I had 'interstitial lung disease.' 
I was sent home with some antibiotics and steriods to control the flair up and an inhalor.
It was horrible.
I couldnt sit up or walk around my house.
I couldn't even talk.
All I did for days was count my breaths and pray for sleep.
Because with sleep came time spent.
And with time spent comes healing.

But I would start to get better and then I would have the same symptoms that I had the first day.
Tight chest
dizziness
sweating
tingeling on my back
shaking limbs
dry mouth
tears.
tears.
SO many tears.
Tears in front of my children, which I never ever do.

Shane insisted that I was having panic attacks but I ignored him because I didn't believe in that.
He would tell every doctor that came in the many rooms that we went in and out of "My mom is having anxiety and panic attacks." but no one, including myself, bothered to listen.

One doctor looked at me and said "You have a lot of weight on you. That's why you cant breathe."
Only it was said in a thick asian accent.
"I'm sorry." I blinked at him "Did you just say that I can't BREATHE because I'm fat?"
He nodded and tried to explain that the weight on my diaphram would keep me from breathing.
"Mmhmm...mmhmm...and can YOU breathe doctor?" I asked him.
He blinked his eyes at me "Well...yeah."
"Well YOU'RE a fatty so why does your fat allow you to breathe, while mine is 'supposedly' strangling me?"
I clomped away from that appointment with a frown and a need for ice cream.

I went back to the emergency room a 3rd time and waited in the room with monitors pressed into my skin and air forced in my nose.
Shane sat and told me a story that he made up. He told me that story for over 3 hours, because only his voice calmed me down.

That day I had a CT scan and when I let go of Shane's hand I couldn't breathe again.
I shut my eyes when they pushed me in the machine and said the Lords prayer under my breath.

 It was over quickly and they delivered my hand back to Shane.

The CT was clear and once again Shane tried to talk to the doctor about his suspicions of panic attacks. He took out my binder that timed all of my physical behaviors and symptoms. But once again. Was ignored.

The antibiotics given were stronger and again I went home. But things were not okay and I was noticing that talking to anyone other than my children, would cause me to "freak out."

I couldn't talk to my sister on the phone because I would end up on my knees gasping for air.

One day, Dawn brought me Starbucks and cookies but as soon as she sat down, I couldn't breathe and I had to ask her to leave in a rush.
As soon as she left my house, I was stretched on the couch trying to catch my breath.

The next day I wanted to call the ambulance again, because I was dying.

I need to pause here and make you to understand that NORMAL ME, would NEVER call an ambulance and I hardly ever go the doctor before drowning my symptoms in water, heat or ice.

But no. I was dying.
I called Shane and he tried to calm me down and I finally gasped out "Call an advice nurse."

 I KNEW if I went back to the hospital, they couldn't help me because there was nothing WRONG with my body.
 Shane was right.
Something was wrong with my brain.

Shane spoke to the nurse and told her his concerns about anxiety and panic attacks and wouldn't you know it....she listened. She asked him to hand me the phone and then that nurse, as far as I'm concerned, saved my life.

When he handed the phone to me I was unable to talk and I was gasping for air. My sight was blurry and my legs were weak.

"Laureen, sit down somewhere comfortable and let me tell you that I am looking at your chart. You are an incredibly healthy woman." and she went through over chart and every organ in my body telling me how healthy it was.
I began to calm down a little.
She told me that she herself has anxiety and experiences panic attacks and she believes that I was having them too.

"Laureen, I'm going to give you a few tricks that can help you bring your panic attacks down okay?"
"okay" I whispered.

She had me go into my room and do 25 jumping jacks and she spoke to shane until I was done. Then she had me scream as loud as I could into a pillow until I felt myself be able to take a breath.

It worked.

I cried into that pillow as I screamed because I was hoping she was right.
I was hoping that someone SOMEWHERE could so SOMETHING to make me feel better.

When I was done hopping and screaming I thanked her and she made me a phone appointment that afternoon to get some medication to help and she also scheduled me with mental health.

She also told me to read or watch TV when I was feeling stress, because during those activities my worry brain would shut off.

I started taking medication that day.
Within 3 days Shane and I were having meetings with a psychologist who set me up in anxiety courses through Kaiser.

The holidays flew by and I barely noticed. We put a tree up, but that was all.
The New Year found much of the same and while I tried to go to work, driving became too dangerous with my bouts of virtago, which unfortunately are a side effect of my medication.

So I've been trying to work from home, which will be great if I can actually make money. (Fingers crossed!)

WITH medication, I can still feel when I have anxiety.
It's just a level 2 or 3 instead of  "CALL 911 I'm ganna die" 10
WITH medication, I still feel like myself. I'm happy,like normal. I just don't care so much about other things.
 Some days I am great and others, I have to scream into a pillow or hold on to Shane for a few moments (or more)

I can't go somewhere crowded unless it is a "good day" and I drive very little because I am always afraid that the road will spin again.

I've had two panic attacks while writing this blog,
because I  don't like to talk about what happened to me. But I promised several people that once I COULD, then I would.
And I can. It's just not easy.
(And please excuse any misspellings of run on sentences, because this is one blog, that I will not be re-reading. Ever.)

Some days people call and I literally don't have the energy to care about what they have to say...and then when they text me trying to make me feel bad. I don't.
That is the medication. I'm not that much of a dick.

I let only a few people know what happened to me, mostly because talking about it caused me to 'freak out'
 And while anxiety is a nightmare, panic attacks are absolutely terrifying.

But through those people, I have been assured that in this, I am not alone.
It was like the #METOO moment but with anxiety.

Strong, AMAZING men and ladies told me that they too have it or have had it.

I have received letters, presents and snap chats from people who love me and understand that now, sometimes I slip away from Facebook and phone calls because it is annoying. And when people complain about going to work it pisses me off, because I wish that I could go to mine.

This is just my life now and I'm taking it one panic attack at a time.