Navigating a Ship in Rough Waters: The Emotional Impact of Physical Illness

My mental state pictured in one convenient graph

For fun, let's take a look at a parenthetical slice of my life - say, the dates of 05.28.2013 to 06.01.2013, the present day. For many, any given five day period is mundane, but not unpleasant. Beds are slept in, meals are eaten, work is completed, fun is had, etc., etc. Hovering over the baseline of complacency is never a bad place to find oneself.


Prior to lunggunk, I would like to think that I established a pretty nice emotional baseline for myself. After the stress of being in a mental hospital had passed and I had once again become reacquainted with my routine, any point above or below my baseline was not a make-or-break event that would determine the overall climate of my day. If something unpleasant happened, I would brush it from my shoulder like I would a little ladybug who chose the wrong landing pad. If something good happened, I would bask in the happiness that a pleasant experience evokes and then return to the commonplace task with which I was previously engaged.  It was a relief to feel like a normal person again. And then...

....enter stage right (lung), my new best friend and bitterest enemy: BLOODCLOT.

The physical pain I have been experiencing has been documented in my previous posts. Right now, I want to get back to that parenthetical time period referenced above. Let's talk about 05.28.2013, my first day back to work after being off for approximately a week...

Consider the graph above, paying attention first to the baseline. On this particular morning, I awoke feeling indifferent. I groomed as much as necessary, ate my "breakfast" of anticoagulants and psychiatric medications, dressed, and began looking for my ID badge to complete my wardrobe. When I couldn't find it, it induced a state of panic that was disproportionate to the situation. In this game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, a little point can be marked on the graph below the zero degree baseline.

If misplacing a plastic badge can provoke my generalized anxiety enough to produce a panic attack, you, dear reader, can only imagine how a more "serious" event would make me feel like I was mired in quicksand, sinking into a whirlpool of anxiety that would require more than an ativan to free me. This five day period has been full of these moments - my moods have been cycling so rapidly and unpredictably that I am unsure how I will be feeling five minutes from now.

The pulmonary embolism diagnosis was completely out of the blue. I'm sure that my preexisting anxiety problems do not "help" the situation, but this experience has rendered me largely incapable of controlling my emotional responses to both positive and negative stimuli. I am now hyper-aware of my own mortality. Because of this, all of my emotions have become more intense.

My baseline has been re-calibrated. When it was previously complacency/indifference it is now stress/anxiety. I either feel positive stress (excitement, elation, etc.) or negative stress (impotence, incompetence, etc.).

I pine for peace. Indifference used to be odious to me - now I would welcome it with open arms. Eventually, my physical problems will pass and I'm sure I will feel "normal" again. As for now, I have to navigate these rough emotional waves the best I can.

***

When I was a child, there was a chinchilla for sale in a local pet store. A warning sign was placed on his cage imploring the shoppers to not "poke, prod or blow on" the little rodent because, presumably, his moods were unstable. Recently, I have been thinking about this chinchilla and feeling sympathy for him. I hope he found a good home.

What is an Anxiety?

So, it's ok if I am vomiting bile?

I have been the proud owner of an anxiety problem since I was old enough to think abstractly. Those cyclical thoughts - "I need money, I don't have money, I need money" - have been a good friend of mine since I've been on my own. When I was a kid, it was probably more like - "I want a Milky Way Bar, I don't have a Milky Way Bar, I need a Milky Way Bar."

Anxiety over money is easy to talk yourself out of.

1) I have none.
2) I am not a stone.
3) Even if I were, you couldn't squeeze coins, blood, water, mucus, etc. out of me.
4) If all else fails, a good "go fuck yourself" works quite well.
5) If you really need money or whatever, I will trade you my three goats for six months of deferment. My goats produce the best cheese, I am not lying.

Health anxiety is an entirely different animal (please read this sentence in a Sean Connery accent). You can beg, plead, cry, offer sexual favors, etc. but your condition is really up to the gods. My tongue is made of silver and I have been able to talk myself out of every major problem I have ever had, except this one.

The fact that I have to deal with some type of object in my lung that is completely unwelcome is five degrees above stressful. There is something inside of me over which I have no control. Anyone who knows me understands that I am a control freak and I would remove the offending substance with my own hands, if  I could. This is not possible without blooding my nicest outfit. And as of now, my nicest outfit is my only outfit because I have neglected laundry chores.

The point is that I freak out, start having trouble breathing, start having chest pain, and then everything becomes worse because of anxiety. Anyone who doesn't believe that anxiety is real needs to listen to my heart rate at 140bmp when I am resting. Perhaps then they would believe it. Anyway, this cycle continues until I can control my stress.

How do I do this?

Ativan. God bless the Ativan.