Temporary? Insanity

It began with a cough.  Not one of those Ahem!-Please-Pay-Attention-to-Me throat clearing sort of coughs.  Rather, it was a deeply rasping phlegmy cough.  The sort that inflicts upon those around the cougher a suddenly intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the cougher’s larynx.  The convulsive coughing lead to mucus snuffling, which lead to low but somehow loud groans of distress as tears spurted forth from my dewy and distressed eyes.

I was sick, and as always upon such occasions, I made dang certain that everyone around me knew it.  My children were rather concerned, tempering my coughing fits somewhat by insisting on asking, “You okay?” after each and every cough.  My husband was unsympathetic bordering on cruel, having long ago adopted the philosophy that being nice to me when I’m sick only encourages me to continue being so.  Despite my obvious suffering, and my slightly exaggerated wobble whenever I managed to get up off the couch, he was a rock who would not be moved.

Not till the panic attack started, that is.  Suddenly I felt the room spin, some unseen force sucking the oxygen out of it like a child slurping chocolate milk up a straw.  My chest tightened painfully and I bolted for the nearby window, hyperventilating like mad at first then forcefully slowing my breathing, drawing in the sweet night air in gasping gulps.  Then the room started to fuzz around the edges, splotches of black encroaching on my vision.

I promptly sat down and put my head between my knees.  Neil asked what was wrong and I told him between gasps and shudders, slowly feeling my composure return.  He got up off the couch and came over, giving my neck a little tickle and asking did I need anything.  One of the grand things about not getting sympathy very often is that a little dose is more than enough and I was instantly comforted.

The tightness in my chest slowly relaxed, leaving only a slight ache, and I was left to puzzle out the cause of the sudden attack.

Now, I’m no stranger to medical jargon and whatnot.  Besides having married an eye doctor in training and helping him through school, I’ve watched several seasons of several medical dramas, and have been self-diagnosing myself via the internet since fall of 1996.  I feel I should confess that I giggle whenever I say the word spleen and when looking at pictures of medical operations tend to comment vapidly, “It all looks like raspberry jam.”

I think my choice not to enter the health profession was probably a good one.

At any rate, having a very active mind and a very empty social calendar for most of my adolescence and adulthood, I’ve often taken up the hobby of hypochondria.  It’s an amusing way to pass ones time and is a great way to get attention and sympathy.  If not because people believe there’s actually something wrong with you, then because they think you’re absolutely mental and perhaps that’s even more to be pitied than a physical malady.

I’ve had my share of odd looks, furrowed brows, and heart-to-heart-for-your-own-good chats.  Being that I’m pretty much the human equivalent of camouflage fabric, I rather enjoy such encounters.

The sudden panic attack had me stumped though, and I became increasingly worried over the course of the evening as the slight ache in my chest increased to the point of acute pain.  It began to throb a bit and my upper chest was tender to the touch.  My mind began to race with all the things I wished I had in order.  Last will and testament, the drawer in my desk where I’d stuffed the chocolate bar wrappers, the cobwebs on the dining room chandelier.  It was a good thing I was wearing clean underwear or I’d likely have set off another panic attack.

All sorts of scenarios began playing out in my mind.  My girls having to go through life motherless because I hadn’t been in better health.  Neil marrying sooner than was decent and setting everyone to shaking their heads and wondering whether he’d been glad to be rid of me (the nerve of the man – I nearly didn’t make him dinner the next day).  The ladies from church coming to help out and discovering the bag of mushy potatoes under the sink I’ve been meaning to deal with. 

I went to bed that night and had the oddest dreams.  Multiple disjointed fragments that seemed to have nothing to do with each other.  In one I was an accountant, which makes no sense as I think math is right up there with certain other four letter words.  In another I was a taxidermist.  Again this makes no sense, being as I’m rather allergic to most hairy creatures (the squirrel I was stuffing in the dream was worryingly sweet looking too).  And then in the last fragment of dream I was a boxer, which didn’t make sense for about two minutes.

And then suddenly it did make sense.  A whole lot of sense.  And I sat up in bed wide awake suddenly and started laughing so loudly and uproariously it’s a wonder I didn’t wake anyone up.  Neil did mumble something in his sleep that I won’t repeat because I’m nice and forgiving like that.

Anyway, what I’d realized was this.  That I’d spent twenty minutes that afternoon doing Expert Boxing on my Wii Fit system, despite being sick and sleep-deprived. Then, I’d gone and done another round a few hours later.  The pain in my chest was that of little used and sickly little muscles bursting into (metaphorical) flames.  I had pushed my poor wobbly body past its endurance level and my body, as petulant and easily overwhelmed as the person inhabiting it, had given one huge push back.  To the point of literally knocking me over.

Now there are all sorts of lessons I could learn from this experience.  I could learn about being better prepared because next time it might not be something quite so innocuous.  I could learn to be kinder to my body.  I could learn not to assume and to just lay off the hypochondria already.

What really sticks in my mind though?  Is that drastic measures are required to get any sympathy around here.  Next time I’m stepping things up a notch.  Anyone know how to fake convulsions? 

Hmm…yes, that might be going too far.

Maybe if I just twitch a lot…

Disclaimer: For those who’ve recently felt the need to point out my many flaws, please notice that this post has been filed in the Humour? category. Thanks much.