Gah!

This is a reprisal from a an entry dated February 26, 2011.  I am repeating it because the same thing happened to me today:

Something I might not have shared with you in the past is that, in the past, I have suffered from crippling panic attacks. It has been a while since I feared them but, this past week, that has changed.
Out of the blue, this past Tuesday I had a full blown attack. It popped up, seemingly, out of nowhere. I was so thankful that Isabella wasn’t with me as I have no idea how she might have reacted to her Booboo freaking out.

What does one of these attacks look like for me? The pressure in my chest makes me fear a heart attack. Sometimes some pain in my left arm almost convinces me. I tend to feel very hot. I believe I said out loud, “Oh, dear God, help me!” I left my seat in the living room and walked to the kitchen where I held on to the counter for dear life and remembered my training from the Claire Weekes book Hope and Help for Your Nerves .

Self talk:
You are having a panic attack
You have survived them before.
Accept that you are having this panic attack
Your heart is a very strong muscle and it will not explode.
Breathe and float through it.

Sounds too simple, right? Well, it took years for me to be able to work through this. Still, it is a horrible experience.

Why am I talking about this? Why do I talk about most things? To get the word out that we are not alone with our ills and heartaches. I could write about only rosey, wonderful things happening in my life and you could say, “Oh, what a lovely life she has!” Well, I do have a pretty good life but it is not all flowers and butterflys! It has ugliness in it. However, I always have hope.

Hope. How glorious is hope?! I know that this earthly shell is temporary and that I have a heavenly home being prepared for me. When I get there, I will not have panic attacks or fibromyalgia or weight issues. My Isabella will join me there and her autism will be left behind (Or maybe not because her autism is part of what makes her so special). My grammy, whose Parkinson’s stole her expressive face, will greet me with her smile. Oh, what a wonderful hope!