I agree, though I’ve never had a panic attack that bad. The mind/body are so connected that any time you feel that sense of impending doom you need to get help, whether it’s for mental or physical reasons. I am so sorry if you get them like that, clairobsure. I’s a terrible feeling and not something anybody would want to experience if they can help it.
Dibbs things have improved so much it scares me. We finally lost our house to foreclosure for real (which we’ve fought in court for years now), auctioned off in March. Then found nobody would rent to us because of it, after taking our money each time for application fees… Some awful things happened and I spent a night in jail. (Ha! Bet y’all didn’t see that one coming!) Neither did I, and it happened soon after musing Well, as a writer, it’s an experience I could use somewhere down the line…
All I can say is, be careful what you wish for.
But now we have a fantastic rental home being cleaned and painted and waiting for us to move in. I have a “new” (to me) wheelchair (streamlined black, jack!) that I cracked up the valets about at the hospital today when I told them I was wondering how to pimp my ride.
(I was thinking decoupage the chrome with funny papers, but that might be a little much.)
But here’s what I really want to say to anybody reading this thread, and especially to those who fear death but seem to be ready to give up at the first (or second) major thing they might have to go through: don’t. I’ve had ARDS. I’ve mentioned it two or three times here on the board but nobody’s ever asked me about it. First off, who the hell as ever heard of ARDS? I sure hadn’t. All I knew was I was suddenly fighting for my life, and didn’t know why. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating to death and I knew it—but why? At first I thought I had finally, really, lost my mind. It was like waking up inside a coffin but I was in a coma (a medically induced one) while several (I learned later) medical peeps were freaking out because this was something they’d only read about in the books and they were fighting for my life, too, on the outside. I couldn’t communicate. I couldn’t tell them “I hear you, HELP ME.”
Three and a half weeks of fighting for any little sip of air I could get. My pulmonary doctor later told me that he had to “balance (?)” and pray that he wouldn’t blow out my then papery lungs (they freeze. you can’t breathe in and you can’t breathe out) with the tiny sips of air he was giving me, but I didn’t know it. He said it was like trying to force more air into a basketball that is already so inflated it would make it blow…
That was fourteen years ago. Do you know how many people I’ve got to annoy since then?
The thing is, I survived. Back then I think the fatality rate was 60/40. Now it’s 50/50. Never give up. Fight. Fight. Until you make it. There’s always a chance. That’s why, though I would never want to go through something like that again, I can’t sign a paper that says I choose DNR. Because there’s always hope. There’s always a way if you fight hard enough. And near the end I found peace even though I didn’t know which way it was going to go.
I’ll get off my soapbox now, but I just thought you all need to really know, you can live, even when you think you can’t. You can. You can. Go through it with a battle cry! I can!