Time to Talk

On the first day of the Frosh Week activities that I begrudgingly was a part of, a girl who lived in a dorm room down the hall from me interrupted whatever lame ice breaker had us standing across from each other in a circle, to say, “I used to be just like you. Then I had a mental breakdown. Like, put me in the hospital breakdown. But, I’m not like that now. I’m better.”

I had looked at her, to see who the target of this ridiculous, Day One insight was and saw that that person was me.

Starting university generally, and Frosh Week specifically, was overwhelming for me. I am an introvert, so this makes sense. Aspects of all of that that make some thrive and be thrilled made me recoil. Meeting so many new people. Being forced to play so many inane games. Fielding so many ‘opportunities’ for going to the bar, parties, sports events where I knew no one. Exhausting.

These were the first words this person had spoken to me, besides our exchanging names. From the less than 24 hours that I had spent with her, she had struck me as generally loud, aiming for edgy but playing as more jagged. Her humour over-sharp. Her sarcasm too-bitter.

But I hadn’t claimed that I actually knew anything about her. Why did she launch such vitriol at me with an aim that seemed somewhere in the range of to shame, to hurt, to label, to set in place – a place from which she did not want me to budge?

It might be easy to imagine that her words struck me to the core and so I am plagued by them to this day. This was not and is not the case. Her words reached me, but quickly bounced off.

Even at that young stage of life, I did realize that introversion is not something that generally lands people in the hospital. Given the fact that this was the sole information that person could have had about me, I took her comments more to tell of her than they did of me.

Those words, however, stayed with me because that was the first time that anyone connected anything about me with anything to do with mental health. They bounced off me then because there was nothing in me for their message to sink its teeth into.

So, that was then. This is now. And today is Bell Let’s Talk Day.

And today I choose to talk a little bit about my story.

Let me first be clear that my story cannot hold a candle to that of many others in terms of intensity, pain, or hardship. It is simply the story I have to tell and so I will because that’s part of it, right? Everyone having the freedom to…just…talk.

For most of my life I have been someone who does not stress. Things used to roll off my back. Not prone to sweating the small stuff.

But, um, well... Let me tell you a story.

A few years ago I had pneumonia. It happened to coincide with a time where I had a lot going on at work and was feeling very stressed.

In the middle of this, we had a weekend away in Prince Edward County with good friends that had been booked long before and that I sorely needed. While the getaway was nice (just look at the photos from my Instagram post above) – even with pneumonia – when Sunday evening arrived and I lay back at home on the couch, I felt for the first time in my life an incredibly heavy dread. I just couldn’t fathom going to work in the morning. My fear was intense, total and non-specific. I couldn’t sort in my head how I would get through the office doors the next morning.

I wrestled with the dread as I sat in my truck in the office parking lot on Monday. In no way did I defeat it, but somehow I found myself walking towards the building. Mid-morning, in a meeting, my friend and co-worker broke the work-related conversation at one point to say, “Are you okay?”

My breathing was…not right. Things didn’t look…quite as they should. I was used to my breathing being sub-par – I was only on day five of my pneumonia medication. But this was different somehow. Akin to the pneumonia feeling, somehow light-headed, somewhat difficult to draw full breaths. But, also, somehow – other.

"No...no, I don't think I am."

“You need to go home.” My friend, again.

I agreed and did just that.

Once home I sat on my couch and felt a need to keep my phone right next to me, easy to use at a moment’s notice – and I couldn’t explain why. It took an hour for my breathing to relax a bit and the sense that things didn’t quite look right to subside.

I was concerned about my breathing and determined that I needed to get my oxygen levels checked and most likely get on a different course of pneumonia treatment. I decided to call Telehealth to, in my mind, get reassurance that this was the right thing to do. I don’t know why I did this – Telehealth has been largely useless to me whenever I have called them with questions.

One thing that has frustrated me about Telehealth is their script and the way they usually insist you just answer their questions so that they can give you the recommendation of either: seek medical attention in the next 48 hours or head to emerg fairly soon so that a doctor can have a look at you, just to be safe (a CYA measure, in my mind).

And, true to form, that is what transpired in my call. I tried to slip in some context, with repeated mention of my just needing validation that I really should get those oxygen levels checked.

But then, once all questions had been asked, I heard this: “Denise, I need you listen to me. Based on everything you have told me, you need to be seen by a doctor immediately. I am concerned about your heart. I am going to call you an ambulance right now to get you to the hospital as soon as possible.”

HEART?!?

I was blindsided. Shocked. And angry as hell.

“Ugh! You didn’t listen to me!! I have pneumonia. I am having trouble breathing. BECAUSE OF PNEUMONIA! I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Thanks for your help. I’ll go get those levels –”

“Denise. Please listen. I understand what you are saying. But what I need you to know is that problems with lungs and problems with the heart can very often present very similarly. Based on how you answered my questions…”

Damn questions.

“I want your heart checked out. Now. And that is why I am about to call an ambulance for you.”

You may not be surprised to learn that my breathing got wonky again at this point.

Long story a bit shorter: I got to the hospital within a few minutes. I entered triage with arrogance. And when I saw my oxygen levels nearly at optimal level, I slumped a little. Was that Telehealth nurse possibly not talking smack…?

And then my blood pressure read way, way too high. And an ECG was ordered right away.

Oh. Ohhhh.

Hours of bloodwork (x2 – they lost my blood the first time, which happened to be the time I passed right out in front of a crowd of people as it happened), chats with nurses and doctors, more blood pressure readings and x-rays all yielded…no answers of the physical realm. My symptoms relaxed, my heart calmed down and my breathing evened.

It didn’t even enter into my world of possibility at the time, but I have come to understand with absolute clarity that all of this was my body and mind’s response to stress. I know now that this was a panic attack.

I told no one about any of this but my husband.

And I experienced a milder episode just a few days later. That had me sitting, shaking, on my couch at 3:00 am writing an email to my boss explaining that I needed help with my workload. Apologizing, because I know that cries for help in the workplace should be accompanied with a set of potential solutions, but I just could not come up with a single one. I was drowning in my stress (I used those words, even) and couldn’t see a way through. This wasn’t simply a challenge of solving the how-to-juggle-competing-priorities puzzle, this was irrationality come to wreak havoc on it all, refusing to give up the pieces it held just out of reach.

I waited to send the email until a few hours later, and winced as I clicked ‘Send.’

I was utterly overwhelmed. Terrified. In need of understanding and compassion and clarity and guidance and support. And, I am so incredibly thankful to say that I got it all. My boss heard me and helped me through.

But I was shaken and in an entirely new place for me after that. A place where panic can – and does – live.

I have had mild panic attacks since that have thankfully not presented in as intense a way as those I’ve just described.

Things have changed for and in me in some ways since then. I am aware that this lurks and it does rear its head at times. I am committed to keeping balance as much as possible, and to eliciting help with this through and with those I love and trust wherever and whenever needed. To targeting stress reduction and developing coping tactics where needed. I aim to recognize warning signs and proactively advocate for myself through it as much as I can.

It’s important, on today of all days and also generally, to acknowledge that, when I have spoken to others of my state and my needs, I have been heard. I have been listened to. By the Telehealth nurse. By my boss. By my husband. By those to whom I have since relayed these experiences.

And I am so thankful.

Today I share all of this simply to be one to talk from my perspective. To tell this part of my story and, to say, I am – today and every single day – willing to hear those of others with care and tenderness and respect. And, also, perhaps to ask for willingness to do the same for others – including for me, should that moment come.

Let’s talk, indeed.