I wonder if I'd be feeling this way now.
Naming the artifacts in front of me.
Last night: 2:17am
I awoke. It felt as if I'd not slept at all, like someone sucked strength from me while I slept.
I feel weak, shaky, my heart is fast.
What is wrong with me? My mind begins a list.
Some of my fiber realizes I have a chance to be more than I could've imagined a decaded ago. When I was 19, I was scared, as now, but for different reasons. Fear has ruled my mind for as far back as 4th grade.
What if?
So I find myself under enormous pressures. Keep up with the material in medical school, that barely gives you a day between tests to regroup. And it gets worse, right? Clerkships that are burtal, long days, bordes and the months of studying. People will expect things from you, great things. People will talk if you are not there, if you need time, if you don't "cut it".
So I worry about it all, and in the deep recesses of my brain doubt lies in wait for night.
hence I am up at 2:17am. I listen to podcasts of Car Talk and Living on Earth, and dip in and out of conciousness until 4am when I sucome to my exhaustion. 5:45am, up again with that same feeling of sudden wakefulness, weakness, something being wrong. I got 6hrs of choppy sleep.
So is something physically wrong with me? What is happening when I sleep? Am I sick? The answer to all that is No, apparently. I have a heart murmer, I have beta-thalessemia, but I am healthy. I think.
What makes me sick is worry. I really is an amazingly potent agent.
So what do I do? It gets worse and then what?
I think that reevaluating my reasons for pursuing a degree in medicine will by therapeutic. I know I am putting myself through this for a good reason.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Better.
I still have a basal level of fear, still cannot rationalize my thoughts, widdling them down to harmless rounded stumps. They are still sharp to a point that pierces my mind and scares me into doing what I otherwise might not, or preventing me from doing what I know I should.
The study of medicine as yeilded a new understanding of what is fragile. "Fragility, thy name in woman." the famous line in Hamlet reads. If Shakespeare were only able to know what I do: that fragility's name should be human.
Everyday in school I am confronted with new malaties and little reverence for the normal homeostasis of the human condition. The is so much wrong with our environment and some much to go wrong with our bodies. How can I be hopeful? Is this all we are? Sick or destinted to be sick. Souless and existing but to die? The natural world may be as simple as an answer could be, displaying a response in the commonality of every living thing: to reproduce. Though, for me this offers no sucker. This world seems to be dying, so my seed will not count. It is sad, but it seems to all be dying.
So what to do? I hear, in the same sour and defeated breath that utters death and hopelessness, whispers of life. What do you do with your time here, Matt? Lament your morality. Who told you that wrong tales about life. No cycles, no natural cycles in these storiesL: I was raised to see dying as unnatural. I was raised Christian. What haunting, yet enticing oft repeated line was "Thou shalt now parish, but have ever-lasting life."
The study of medicine as yeilded a new understanding of what is fragile. "Fragility, thy name in woman." the famous line in Hamlet reads. If Shakespeare were only able to know what I do: that fragility's name should be human.
Everyday in school I am confronted with new malaties and little reverence for the normal homeostasis of the human condition. The is so much wrong with our environment and some much to go wrong with our bodies. How can I be hopeful? Is this all we are? Sick or destinted to be sick. Souless and existing but to die? The natural world may be as simple as an answer could be, displaying a response in the commonality of every living thing: to reproduce. Though, for me this offers no sucker. This world seems to be dying, so my seed will not count. It is sad, but it seems to all be dying.
So what to do? I hear, in the same sour and defeated breath that utters death and hopelessness, whispers of life. What do you do with your time here, Matt? Lament your morality. Who told you that wrong tales about life. No cycles, no natural cycles in these storiesL: I was raised to see dying as unnatural. I was raised Christian. What haunting, yet enticing oft repeated line was "Thou shalt now parish, but have ever-lasting life."
Monday, April 13, 2009
Peace
I want peace. Real peace.
Not the peacefulness that comes with ignorance, from sweeping the hard questions under the rug, by dissolving them in alcohol, by clouding my mind with drugs. That peace is only borrowed. You are made to pay with chaotic mind and wasted days.
I want to know the truth. Real truth.
Not the superficial slogans of the pseudo-religious. Not the oblivion ministries of the agnostic.
I want true peace.
Not the peacefulness that comes with ignorance, from sweeping the hard questions under the rug, by dissolving them in alcohol, by clouding my mind with drugs. That peace is only borrowed. You are made to pay with chaotic mind and wasted days.
I want to know the truth. Real truth.
Not the superficial slogans of the pseudo-religious. Not the oblivion ministries of the agnostic.
I want true peace.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Couch Talk
Today started out like most of my days lately. I was up until 4am getting half-sleep on the couch. Somewhere in between tandem episodes of Arrested Development and a documentary on Hulu, I fell asleep... then had awful dreams. In one I was picking through my own body, as in dissection. I had uncovered a bunch of arteries, long and red, running inferior to superior (or vice versa). They made no anatomical sense. I remember hooking a couple smaller ones with a probe, like we used to when idenifying structures on the cadavers.
The rest of the day was filled with anxious pulses and depressions, typical of these periods in my life. I'll obsess about an irrational rare vascular event that ends with my exsanguination then convince myself it is rediculous to live in fear of something like that. What follows is a deep despair, a sort of feeling of self betrayal. The cycle continues and each turn leaves me feeling more helpless.
It was coming to a head around 8:30pm. The day's worries had been quietly bubbling inside. I was on the couch with Tara next to me on her laptop, appearing abiguous about my level of stress. I got up and did some stretches, trying to get this damn thoughs out of my brain for enough time to wind down. I returned to the couch and turned to Tara.
The next 2 hours I will not forget. I told her that I felt unstable, that I worried about my ability to become a doctor who struggles with this sort of anxiety. I spilled all my doubts. What if I made a mistake? Whould I be able to maintain in a stressful environment? Why am I feeling this way again, does it meant something is out of balance?
Over a couple glasses of Pepperwood Cabernet-Sovengion she quelled my every doubt and fear. She told me I deserved to be where I am. In her eyes, I was stable and capable of seeing this through.
I wish I could say that I slept like a baby after that. I was up an hour after I fell asleep. It was an awful night
This situations never get better overnight, and I always forget that.
The rest of the day was filled with anxious pulses and depressions, typical of these periods in my life. I'll obsess about an irrational rare vascular event that ends with my exsanguination then convince myself it is rediculous to live in fear of something like that. What follows is a deep despair, a sort of feeling of self betrayal. The cycle continues and each turn leaves me feeling more helpless.
It was coming to a head around 8:30pm. The day's worries had been quietly bubbling inside. I was on the couch with Tara next to me on her laptop, appearing abiguous about my level of stress. I got up and did some stretches, trying to get this damn thoughs out of my brain for enough time to wind down. I returned to the couch and turned to Tara.
The next 2 hours I will not forget. I told her that I felt unstable, that I worried about my ability to become a doctor who struggles with this sort of anxiety. I spilled all my doubts. What if I made a mistake? Whould I be able to maintain in a stressful environment? Why am I feeling this way again, does it meant something is out of balance?
Over a couple glasses of Pepperwood Cabernet-Sovengion she quelled my every doubt and fear. She told me I deserved to be where I am. In her eyes, I was stable and capable of seeing this through.
I wish I could say that I slept like a baby after that. I was up an hour after I fell asleep. It was an awful night
This situations never get better overnight, and I always forget that.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Masks
I've made this plan before: it is redrafted every time my life falls out of balance and I forget to be happy with my station. I've neglected my spirit and forgotten my way.
Medical school is stressful and draining. More than the constant onslaught of information you must struggle to absorb, you must make peace with the mortality of which your learning material is entirely made from. I'm talking about case studies to actually gross pathology specimens from long dead individuals.
During these periods of anxiety I am exceptionally sensitive the morality presented to me. I do an imagining module in where a CAT scan of a 32 year old man's abdomen showing cancer of the head of the pancreas that has metastasize to the liver. This man is as good as dead at the time of seeing this. The odds of this happening to any given person in the United States escapes me, or I've ignored it, probably cause I just want to obsess on the horrific nature of the situation.
I wonder if medical school is the right endeavor for someone so sensitive. Though, I think it is the only way for me to conquer the disjointedness I feel when it comes to death. People, my fellow people, can live happy productive lives in harmony with the world around them. I hope that whatever I do in medicine, I can make that a reality for those I care for. Though, because of my research track, my affect on patients maybe only through research.
There have been many small disillusionment since I've started med-school, and I've become negative. I am, unfortunately and all too often, of the glass-half-empty school. Having divulge that, I feel like every time I turn around a staple of medical treatment is under fire for some unforeseen morbidity. That and the many aliments that we can offer only palliative care.
In truth though, we have entered a golden age of medicine since the advent of antibodics. In this contury commuicable diseases have all but disappeared, thanks to sanitation and antibodics. We still struggle with some viruses, and they can be particularly frightening because or the ripidity at which they can change and infect (e.g. bird flu).
The good news is ( and I have to tell this to myself often) in this country you can eat whole local foods (unprocessed) and exercise, not smoke and drink too much, not have sex with hundreds of people, and you'll practically live forever. There are though outliers that scare me, and everyone with a nervous disposition.
So here I am 3 weeks into another self corrective cycle of anxiety and reflection. Once I rule out those pathologies which would cause me to die suddenly, I need to search my soul for the reasons why I wake in the middle of the night feeling like I do. I need to find the root of this anxiety. It is much like unmasking the ghost in Scooby-Doo, but often the ghost has many maskes. Each one can be a frightening as the one covering it, and, if I don't die of fright, I remove the next one. It will happen that I give up and turn away, as I have I the past. The ghost will wheel me 'round in time and I will resume removing the masks, always hoping I will uncover the face of my fear.
If I troll the deepest part of my heart, fear comes to death. I do not fear suffering or pain. I do fear a loss of control. I fear the unknown. No matter how much time I spent ruminating on this subject, I will never come up with an answer. No one in all of human history has, though there have been many claims. All I can do is take cues from the universe around me. Perhaps its vastness, its forces and cycles, its manifold variety holds some clues to what will become of us.
Medical school is stressful and draining. More than the constant onslaught of information you must struggle to absorb, you must make peace with the mortality of which your learning material is entirely made from. I'm talking about case studies to actually gross pathology specimens from long dead individuals.
During these periods of anxiety I am exceptionally sensitive the morality presented to me. I do an imagining module in where a CAT scan of a 32 year old man's abdomen showing cancer of the head of the pancreas that has metastasize to the liver. This man is as good as dead at the time of seeing this. The odds of this happening to any given person in the United States escapes me, or I've ignored it, probably cause I just want to obsess on the horrific nature of the situation.
I wonder if medical school is the right endeavor for someone so sensitive. Though, I think it is the only way for me to conquer the disjointedness I feel when it comes to death. People, my fellow people, can live happy productive lives in harmony with the world around them. I hope that whatever I do in medicine, I can make that a reality for those I care for. Though, because of my research track, my affect on patients maybe only through research.
There have been many small disillusionment since I've started med-school, and I've become negative. I am, unfortunately and all too often, of the glass-half-empty school. Having divulge that, I feel like every time I turn around a staple of medical treatment is under fire for some unforeseen morbidity. That and the many aliments that we can offer only palliative care.
In truth though, we have entered a golden age of medicine since the advent of antibodics. In this contury commuicable diseases have all but disappeared, thanks to sanitation and antibodics. We still struggle with some viruses, and they can be particularly frightening because or the ripidity at which they can change and infect (e.g. bird flu).
The good news is ( and I have to tell this to myself often) in this country you can eat whole local foods (unprocessed) and exercise, not smoke and drink too much, not have sex with hundreds of people, and you'll practically live forever. There are though outliers that scare me, and everyone with a nervous disposition.
So here I am 3 weeks into another self corrective cycle of anxiety and reflection. Once I rule out those pathologies which would cause me to die suddenly, I need to search my soul for the reasons why I wake in the middle of the night feeling like I do. I need to find the root of this anxiety. It is much like unmasking the ghost in Scooby-Doo, but often the ghost has many maskes. Each one can be a frightening as the one covering it, and, if I don't die of fright, I remove the next one. It will happen that I give up and turn away, as I have I the past. The ghost will wheel me 'round in time and I will resume removing the masks, always hoping I will uncover the face of my fear.
If I troll the deepest part of my heart, fear comes to death. I do not fear suffering or pain. I do fear a loss of control. I fear the unknown. No matter how much time I spent ruminating on this subject, I will never come up with an answer. No one in all of human history has, though there have been many claims. All I can do is take cues from the universe around me. Perhaps its vastness, its forces and cycles, its manifold variety holds some clues to what will become of us.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
These past days
It has been an intense week and a few days. I guess from the outside it would appear that I am losing it.
A few months ago I started to become nervous while it worked out at the gym. All of a sudden, my heart rate and forcefulness of its contraction while exercising became very noticeable (only 15 minutes in to a workout usually). Having the type of impressionable and creative mind I have, I immediate developed many potentially fatal explanations for these phenomenon. The only way I've adapted to deal with such potential hazards of life is to worry the shit out of them. As you can imagine, nervousness turns any cardiac abnormality into an amplified abnormality. The other permutation is that nervousness turns any regulate cardiac response into a completely inappropriate cardiac response. Oh dear.
I like to think in terms of hunter/gather a lot. That is, if I were a hunter/gather would I have this problem. In short, no. I wouldn't be alive, no doubt. Since even the most mild of myopias prevent you from hunting effectively, I'd have starved to death sometime around eighteen, which is only five years from the average life expectancy anyhow.
So did ancient man worry about random heart defects, sudden vascular events and other abrupt and fatal maladies? No. They didn't know about them. And even if they did, who'd have time to obsess over these unworthy thoughts?
One does not have to go so far back to find people who would find this worrying thoughts I have a complete waste of time. I suspect in this world only a fraction of a fraction of people ever entertain a thought about dying when they are completely healthy and safe (as I am). It is embarrassing to admit that I have worked myself up to the point where this interferes with my life.
Indeed it has. In mid-February, I began to seek help for the exercise anxiety by self-medicating with an SSRI I used to take, but discontinued in January due to weight gain. Four days into starting it I had a severe night-time anxiety attack during which I drove to the hosiptal. I woke Tara out of a sound sleep and she was understanably terrified. It seemed purdent to discontinue that drug. I continued to have my exercise anxiety, so I went to the health clinic for a consult. I was seen by a PA who I recognized from a previous visit years ago went Samatha, my college girlfriend, requested I get multiple STD tests before embarking on a sexual relationship.
He is an excellent care provider, this PA. He prescribed me Lexapro, which I'd taken before and told me to drop about fifteen pounds. After that visit, things became worse. Everytime I attempted activity I found myself concentrating on my apparently overworking heart. I stopped the gym altogether. Out on a bike ride I noticed my heart rate was unusually high for the amount of activity I did. Then it was happening as I was climbing stairs. I was becoming both scared and frustrated.
I have a problem, however, that prevents me from distinushing real from mind-made. I've found over the years of dealing with this anxiety disorder that my mind can make just about any symptom appear short of coughing up blood...and actually dying. I feel that I committed to something with out ever knowing it, like a pact with the medical gods--the mean and indifferent medical gods.
"Take this head. You'll know all symptoms to all rare and fatal diseases", say the gods to me at the primorital lowering of my skull onto my body.
"Sure!", I say, "That sounds useful!"
"Oh yeah, hey, there is kind of a catch", on of the gods say to me over its immoral togaed shoulder. "You'll think you have every last one of them and it will eat you up."
"Yeah? Thanks. Can I have some rational thought to deal with that?"
"No. We gave that to that calm fellow over there."
And so, every so often, I cry wolf. I've never visited the ED for any phantasma affliction, that is until last Friday. This was a huge blow for me. I thought that whatever my anxiety through at me, I would not make it so real as to visit the ED and expect them to save my life. In other words, I made it real enough to myself that it became real. That has never happened.
There is an addition diminsion to this disorder of my neural wirings. I have cried wolf long ago when I was a child with anxiety and I feel I will not act quickly enough, or at all, if something is actually wrong with me. That is the price I pay, I suppose. Worrying is as addictive as heroine, and I can't seem to kick it.
As I deepen my medical knowledge, I pray that some power helps me to become rational. I hope that I can except with peace the truths of this life: that I will die, that ones I love will die and that it is not a source of worriment or hand-ringing. It is the way life has cycled on this earth for billions of years. I would think it would feel as natural as living.
A few months ago I started to become nervous while it worked out at the gym. All of a sudden, my heart rate and forcefulness of its contraction while exercising became very noticeable (only 15 minutes in to a workout usually). Having the type of impressionable and creative mind I have, I immediate developed many potentially fatal explanations for these phenomenon. The only way I've adapted to deal with such potential hazards of life is to worry the shit out of them. As you can imagine, nervousness turns any cardiac abnormality into an amplified abnormality. The other permutation is that nervousness turns any regulate cardiac response into a completely inappropriate cardiac response. Oh dear.
I like to think in terms of hunter/gather a lot. That is, if I were a hunter/gather would I have this problem. In short, no. I wouldn't be alive, no doubt. Since even the most mild of myopias prevent you from hunting effectively, I'd have starved to death sometime around eighteen, which is only five years from the average life expectancy anyhow.
So did ancient man worry about random heart defects, sudden vascular events and other abrupt and fatal maladies? No. They didn't know about them. And even if they did, who'd have time to obsess over these unworthy thoughts?
One does not have to go so far back to find people who would find this worrying thoughts I have a complete waste of time. I suspect in this world only a fraction of a fraction of people ever entertain a thought about dying when they are completely healthy and safe (as I am). It is embarrassing to admit that I have worked myself up to the point where this interferes with my life.
Indeed it has. In mid-February, I began to seek help for the exercise anxiety by self-medicating with an SSRI I used to take, but discontinued in January due to weight gain. Four days into starting it I had a severe night-time anxiety attack during which I drove to the hosiptal. I woke Tara out of a sound sleep and she was understanably terrified. It seemed purdent to discontinue that drug. I continued to have my exercise anxiety, so I went to the health clinic for a consult. I was seen by a PA who I recognized from a previous visit years ago went Samatha, my college girlfriend, requested I get multiple STD tests before embarking on a sexual relationship.
He is an excellent care provider, this PA. He prescribed me Lexapro, which I'd taken before and told me to drop about fifteen pounds. After that visit, things became worse. Everytime I attempted activity I found myself concentrating on my apparently overworking heart. I stopped the gym altogether. Out on a bike ride I noticed my heart rate was unusually high for the amount of activity I did. Then it was happening as I was climbing stairs. I was becoming both scared and frustrated.
I have a problem, however, that prevents me from distinushing real from mind-made. I've found over the years of dealing with this anxiety disorder that my mind can make just about any symptom appear short of coughing up blood...and actually dying. I feel that I committed to something with out ever knowing it, like a pact with the medical gods--the mean and indifferent medical gods.
"Take this head. You'll know all symptoms to all rare and fatal diseases", say the gods to me at the primorital lowering of my skull onto my body.
"Sure!", I say, "That sounds useful!"
"Oh yeah, hey, there is kind of a catch", on of the gods say to me over its immoral togaed shoulder. "You'll think you have every last one of them and it will eat you up."
"Yeah? Thanks. Can I have some rational thought to deal with that?"
"No. We gave that to that calm fellow over there."
And so, every so often, I cry wolf. I've never visited the ED for any phantasma affliction, that is until last Friday. This was a huge blow for me. I thought that whatever my anxiety through at me, I would not make it so real as to visit the ED and expect them to save my life. In other words, I made it real enough to myself that it became real. That has never happened.
There is an addition diminsion to this disorder of my neural wirings. I have cried wolf long ago when I was a child with anxiety and I feel I will not act quickly enough, or at all, if something is actually wrong with me. That is the price I pay, I suppose. Worrying is as addictive as heroine, and I can't seem to kick it.
As I deepen my medical knowledge, I pray that some power helps me to become rational. I hope that I can except with peace the truths of this life: that I will die, that ones I love will die and that it is not a source of worriment or hand-ringing. It is the way life has cycled on this earth for billions of years. I would think it would feel as natural as living.
Monday, April 06, 2009
My love
Before I retire, though I might be up to write more if my condition drops by, I want to write about my love.
There has been a huge amount of my life left out of this already chronologically patchy narrative. I finished the lifecyle in 07, and was in the finest shape of my life. I spent the remainer of '07 out in SF and part of '08. During fall of '07 I finally convinced a woman that I was worth knowing and maybe even having a relationship with.
This woman, Tara Bates, is by far the most lovely girl I've ever known. I'm not sure what happened in my life that has led to such beautiful experiences, certain something super-natural. Stoppop
There has been a huge amount of my life left out of this already chronologically patchy narrative. I finished the lifecyle in 07, and was in the finest shape of my life. I spent the remainer of '07 out in SF and part of '08. During fall of '07 I finally convinced a woman that I was worth knowing and maybe even having a relationship with.
This woman, Tara Bates, is by far the most lovely girl I've ever known. I'm not sure what happened in my life that has led to such beautiful experiences, certain something super-natural. Stoppop
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Why are you doing this?
There is a reoccurring theme of my life is a violent return to balance from imbalance. Just like a collapse of a society or a forest fire, an unsettled, anxious wave pulses through my veins during the times when I have lost my way and I must atone.
I've always been an anxious person. From as early as I can remember, I felt like the world was a chaotic and random place. And it appears to be, at first glance. So, I feared nature because I was isolated by society and society because it lacked nature. I fear the human condition because it is frail and fragile. I seems strange to fear the workings of your own body will fail you. No one ever promised me complete control. Yet, I feel entitled to it.
This is one of those times when I am feeling those pulses of anxiety. In the past these episodes corresponded with a changes in my life: my parent's divorce, my return to Maine from a brief stay in Maryland, my mother's move to Vermont for medical school, the end of high school, the end of college.
My first clear anxiety episode was when I was in fourth grade. At the time we were living in Greene, Maine. It is a solid half-hour from town. I remember watching Loony Toons one night when my parents were out. I had a cold at the time; I don't even need to remember it specifically. Odds dictation that, if you were a kid in Maine in the winter, you had a cold. Anyhow, all of a sudden I couldn't breath. I remember gasping and gasping, taking in huge gulps of air. My hands and feet began to tingle. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to die. I don't know if I called the neighbors or my sister, but Kathy Pepin came to my rescue. Upon arriving she immediately ran the shower as hot as it would go, put a towel over my head and told me to breath the steam as deeply as I could. I was a miricle. I got my first entoxicating dose of the afterglow of anxiety.
This afterglow is as addictive as any other drug. Not to mention the sick pleasure one gets from obscessing contastly about these issues.
I've not slept through in going on 8 nights. I hope tonight I can.
I've always been an anxious person. From as early as I can remember, I felt like the world was a chaotic and random place. And it appears to be, at first glance. So, I feared nature because I was isolated by society and society because it lacked nature. I fear the human condition because it is frail and fragile. I seems strange to fear the workings of your own body will fail you. No one ever promised me complete control. Yet, I feel entitled to it.
This is one of those times when I am feeling those pulses of anxiety. In the past these episodes corresponded with a changes in my life: my parent's divorce, my return to Maine from a brief stay in Maryland, my mother's move to Vermont for medical school, the end of high school, the end of college.
My first clear anxiety episode was when I was in fourth grade. At the time we were living in Greene, Maine. It is a solid half-hour from town. I remember watching Loony Toons one night when my parents were out. I had a cold at the time; I don't even need to remember it specifically. Odds dictation that, if you were a kid in Maine in the winter, you had a cold. Anyhow, all of a sudden I couldn't breath. I remember gasping and gasping, taking in huge gulps of air. My hands and feet began to tingle. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to die. I don't know if I called the neighbors or my sister, but Kathy Pepin came to my rescue. Upon arriving she immediately ran the shower as hot as it would go, put a towel over my head and told me to breath the steam as deeply as I could. I was a miricle. I got my first entoxicating dose of the afterglow of anxiety.
This afterglow is as addictive as any other drug. Not to mention the sick pleasure one gets from obscessing contastly about these issues.
I've not slept through in going on 8 nights. I hope tonight I can.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
All of a sudden
It has been nearly a week since I've slept through the night.
12:30am 4/4/09
I wake to nothing; no sound brings me out of slumber. Dreams are light and benign, barely resonating as I am brought out of sleep. I wake. My heart is posed and ready to go. It is not beating fast yet, but I can feel adrenaline floating in my blood, waiting for the moment I stir. I'll roll over, or sit up and my heart starts to pound, really pound. I have no idea how fast it is going, but it shows little signs of slowing. The shaking starts in my legs, and then spreads to my whole body. "Nothing is wrong with you." I tell myself. My body, my mind seems unconvinced.
What could this be?
Friday morning I went to the ED for the first time since I got stitches in the 6th grade. I was told to go by my mother, who consulted a cardiologist about my symptoms. So, upon waking at 7am with the same presentation as tonight, I left Tara asleep, and, all nervous stumble, I put on clothes and drove to the ED. It is painfully close, this ED, no more than a 1/2 mile away.
I was a patient in the ED from 7:30am until about 1:30pm on Friday. Tara had slept lowsely and had her phone on vibrate. I didn't get a hold of her until 9:45. She appeared at my bed side 15 minutes later.
The Physician's Assistant who attended to me was a man in his early 30s with curly brown hair and square, hip glasses. I calmly explained what had been happening over the past week. I told that I had been wake in the night, up to three times, with extremely high heart rate, this got worse if I moved around. I was unable to calm myself. The high heart rate subsided after 10 minutes or more.
A cardiology fellow came in to see me and listened to my heart. Not more than 30 seconds in, he told me I had a murmur. This was no new. Since I was a child, various health care works would
pick it up, but the vast majority that listen to my heart never do.
I had blood work, an echocadiogram and EKG. All of them were find. They sent me home with a halter monitor, which I was to wear for 24 hours and keep a diary of my activities.
And so I did. Yesterday at 5:30am I had a similar event from which I recovered from pretty quickly.
Yesterday afternoon I napped, and woke with mild symptoms of the same nature. But this evening... this was the worst thus far. I woke. It began. I took 0.5 mg of lorazapram, which was prescribed to me for purposes of quelling anxiety. That did little to came me down.
Why is this happening? What can't I calm down? What if something is really wrong this time? How could I know with the gusting winds of andernaline and the pounding of my heart creating ill-definable symptoms. Was I bleeding? Why would I do that tonight, rather than all the other nights I'd done this. Just the prospect of this happening made my anxiousness build. More warm floods of adrenaline in my stomach and back. My heart increased its pounding. I can't move, for it makes it worse. I'm not dressed or I would run out side and shiver against the rainy cold morning to ward this off. I just can't think about it. I try, but my mind turns to the worst. The though that I could miss my chance to get help for my symptoms and in a few moments I would be beyond saving.
Saving. I have always thought I would need saving for some reason. I would have a medical emergancy and would need a team of 5 people to keep me in this world. What do I do or fear that would result in such a grim medical senario? Car accident? Bike accident? No. Just a spontaneous bleed. That has always be a source of anxiety.
There is something about dying suddenly, without purpose or farewells, that I find extremely troubling. Why think about it? What will worrying do? I'm not sure. I've always worried as a way to occupy my mind and try to make sense of my world. Death is the one thing you can worry about, worry all the day long, and you will never solve it. You'll try to reason with it, but you cannot. It just is. It is as if I could worry about the sun coming up today to the point where it would not. No amont of my obscessing over my health and rare spontaeous vascular problems is going to pardon me from my morality. It is coming. So why fear it?
But I do. I need sleep
12:30am 4/4/09
I wake to nothing; no sound brings me out of slumber. Dreams are light and benign, barely resonating as I am brought out of sleep. I wake. My heart is posed and ready to go. It is not beating fast yet, but I can feel adrenaline floating in my blood, waiting for the moment I stir. I'll roll over, or sit up and my heart starts to pound, really pound. I have no idea how fast it is going, but it shows little signs of slowing. The shaking starts in my legs, and then spreads to my whole body. "Nothing is wrong with you." I tell myself. My body, my mind seems unconvinced.
What could this be?
Friday morning I went to the ED for the first time since I got stitches in the 6th grade. I was told to go by my mother, who consulted a cardiologist about my symptoms. So, upon waking at 7am with the same presentation as tonight, I left Tara asleep, and, all nervous stumble, I put on clothes and drove to the ED. It is painfully close, this ED, no more than a 1/2 mile away.
I was a patient in the ED from 7:30am until about 1:30pm on Friday. Tara had slept lowsely and had her phone on vibrate. I didn't get a hold of her until 9:45. She appeared at my bed side 15 minutes later.
The Physician's Assistant who attended to me was a man in his early 30s with curly brown hair and square, hip glasses. I calmly explained what had been happening over the past week. I told that I had been wake in the night, up to three times, with extremely high heart rate, this got worse if I moved around. I was unable to calm myself. The high heart rate subsided after 10 minutes or more.
A cardiology fellow came in to see me and listened to my heart. Not more than 30 seconds in, he told me I had a murmur. This was no new. Since I was a child, various health care works would
pick it up, but the vast majority that listen to my heart never do.
I had blood work, an echocadiogram and EKG. All of them were find. They sent me home with a halter monitor, which I was to wear for 24 hours and keep a diary of my activities.
And so I did. Yesterday at 5:30am I had a similar event from which I recovered from pretty quickly.
Yesterday afternoon I napped, and woke with mild symptoms of the same nature. But this evening... this was the worst thus far. I woke. It began. I took 0.5 mg of lorazapram, which was prescribed to me for purposes of quelling anxiety. That did little to came me down.
Why is this happening? What can't I calm down? What if something is really wrong this time? How could I know with the gusting winds of andernaline and the pounding of my heart creating ill-definable symptoms. Was I bleeding? Why would I do that tonight, rather than all the other nights I'd done this. Just the prospect of this happening made my anxiousness build. More warm floods of adrenaline in my stomach and back. My heart increased its pounding. I can't move, for it makes it worse. I'm not dressed or I would run out side and shiver against the rainy cold morning to ward this off. I just can't think about it. I try, but my mind turns to the worst. The though that I could miss my chance to get help for my symptoms and in a few moments I would be beyond saving.
Saving. I have always thought I would need saving for some reason. I would have a medical emergancy and would need a team of 5 people to keep me in this world. What do I do or fear that would result in such a grim medical senario? Car accident? Bike accident? No. Just a spontaneous bleed. That has always be a source of anxiety.
There is something about dying suddenly, without purpose or farewells, that I find extremely troubling. Why think about it? What will worrying do? I'm not sure. I've always worried as a way to occupy my mind and try to make sense of my world. Death is the one thing you can worry about, worry all the day long, and you will never solve it. You'll try to reason with it, but you cannot. It just is. It is as if I could worry about the sun coming up today to the point where it would not. No amont of my obscessing over my health and rare spontaeous vascular problems is going to pardon me from my morality. It is coming. So why fear it?
But I do. I need sleep
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