I have regrets in my life. We all do. If you don’t have any, then you aren’t human. I suffer panic attacks when I ride in a vehicle. This has gone on for the past twelve years or so. I have no idea what caused it. One day I was driving my mom to work, since dad needed the car for a doctor’s appointment that day. Things were fine until we reached the half way point. My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest, sweat broke out on my forehead, and I was finding it hard to breath. Mom took me back home, and the moment we pulled into the drive way and I got out, the feeling passed. A few days later when we were going shopping, it happened again. Being uninsured, I’m unable to go to a therapist to get myself straightened out. Heh. Of course, how would I get there? Do they make house calls?
Heart palpitations, shortness of breath, sweating, fear. The panic grabs my heart and chest in a vise, refusing to let go. I have to fight the urge to open the door and jump out of the vehicle while it’s moving! Meds rarely work for me and when they do, I hate the way I feel when taking them. Thoughts are sluggish, my brain stuffed with cotton.
The only time I didn’t suffer a panic attack was riding in an ambulance after my appendix burst. I was in so much pain, nothing else mattered. Coming home from the hospital, the doctor prescribed Ativan so I could make my post op office visits.
Because of the panic attacks, I missed many family get-togethers — weddings, birthdays, graduation parties. What really hurts, and still brings tears to my eyes is not being able to attend the funerals of my aunt, my uncle…my mom and my dad. I wasn’t able to visit them when they were in the hospital, or say good bye to them at their funerals. I can’t visit where they are interred. I. Regret. This. Every. Single. Day.