I had some trepidation about getting put on medications. Not while in the hospital, or sitting in the ER. At that point I was ready to swallow whatever pills they were willing to toss down my gullet. But before I knew what was going on, and even before that. Prior to the blood pressure situation, I had been anxiety-ridden forever.
As a little boy I had anxiety and panic, but back then it was just called being a worry-wart. Or just paranoid. “Mom’s bowling night! That means she’s drinking and will drive home!” I’d stand behind the curtain in the living room with my face pressed against the cold living room window looking if I could see headlights shining on the power pole across the road from our house. I’d be there perched after 9pm hoping she’d get home, my dad reading the paper or wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
Storm watches and warnings put me on alert, warnings more so. “Lose power? Oh man the big one is coming. Everybody get in the basement! Where’s the dog? We forgot Klaus upstairs! The twister is gonna get him!” And being home alone and some strange person starts knocking on the front door? I’m in my bedroom cowering on the floor remembering what happened to Adam Walsh, or some girl I heard about that vanished a couple towns away.
There are plenty of other examples of my weird paranoia and panicky fear, but I won’t bore you with more. I get this from my mom. She was always a worrier, too. Every time we’d leave the house it’d be “Drive safe, and watch for deer!”(we still get that one.) Maybe it was the fact that I was a very sick kid. If it wasn’t Bronchitis then it was ANOTHER ear infection. I was at the doc’s office a lot with chest colds, even spent the the week of Christmas of 1977 at Goshen Hospital with Pneumonia, part of which I was in an oxygen tent. I have very vague memories of lying in that, staring through clear plastic at docs and nurses in masks. I was the boy in the oxygen bubble. I still remember very clearly the smell of pure oxygen. It’s one you don’t forget. Or maybe it was the plastic tent I smelled.
I also had 5 or 6 surgeries(or maybe they were just procedures that included anesthesia) to put tubes in my ears. I had so many ear infections that would cause fluid build-up that the tubes were temporarily placed in my eardrums so fluid could get out of my inner ear. Fun, huh? I became very close with Mrs. Fly, the audiologist that would visit our elementary school each year.
Maybe it was the constant threat of your child being sick that made my mom so worried all the time. I, too, had a child that was sick a lot with asthma and chest colds. That put me on high alert for years, getting up in the middle of the night and going to her bedroom to hear how she was breathing. Hearing the crackle and wheeze of an oncoming Bronchial Spasm would send me running to the nebulizer, loading it with its magic potion, and then putting the fish-shaped mask over her face so she could breathe the life-saving vapors.
I’m sure being on high alert for so many years definitely went quite a ways in rewiring our brains to be always on guard. While this makes you a very alert and aware parent for your sick kids, it tends to make the rest of your life kind of miserable. You worry about everything, whether there’s something to worry about or not. Even ridiculous stuff like the weather. We have no control over storms, so just be cautious. Worrying yourself into stomach cramps and high anxiety does nobody any good, especially those around you.
Like I said, this has followed me well into my middle age, and at 52 I’m slowly entering that final part of my life. Only a few more years of work, then retirement. I don’t want to be a retired worry wart. Worrying when you’re young is one thing, but worrying in the elder part of your life only takes days, weeks, and months off of you. I didn’t work for 40 years only to retire into a state of panic and dread. I want to enjoy those Ensure years.
I’ve talked quite a bit about my recent health scare, but what I haven’t talked about is the fact I finally got on anxiety meds. Literally a week before I ended up in the hospital bloated and slowly drowning on fluids I got a prescription for Prozac from a psychiatrist online through my health insurance. While I’m not sure if the Prozac had quite kicked in by the time I was in a hospital bed, I did feel much less panicked than I would have imagined myself to be in that situation. I think a lot of that was just that I’d given in, and opened my head and heart up to the idea that I was where I needed to be. And I was there because of my own doing. I gave myself over to science and medicine and it worked out for me, thankfully.
But now having been on Prozac for well over a month I can say with much assurance that it works. I told my wife I feel both like the same person, but also someone very different. I’m calm with no tinge of worry or anxiety. My brain always felt on the verge of being on fire, some fresh Hell just waiting around every corner. I could never just pull myself out of a situation and just let it be. There was always a catch with life, in my eyes.
Now? I see things as they are what they are. I could feel this shift while at home on medical leave, but the real test was going to be going back to work. Not only going back to work, but working by myself as my great friend and longtime fellow partner-in-crime at work would be retired two days after I got back. You know what? It’s been an absolute breeze. No issues, no worries, and no problem. I nearly feel at peace here at work, just like I do at home or at the store or wherever.
I feel like the calm person that I think had been locked inside my head and heart all these years. That voice that I would hear in the midst of anxiety and worry trying to get his voice to the surface to tell me to just “Chill out. It’s going to be okay.” It wasn’t in fact life telling me to be cool, only to pull the football away like Lucy and I go flying and splat on the hard ground. It really was a calm version of me trying to get me to hear him. Well, the Prozac has unlocked that guy and has put the fire out inside the other guy’s head. I feel like this was who I’ve always been, hidden under layers of generational trauma, hardwired anxiety, and a need to always know what’s going to happen next and at what time.
My mom walked over to our house the day before I headed back to work. She wanted to drop off my wife’s birthday card, but also to check on her “baby” and make sure I was still getting better instead of worse. I had a long talk with her about the Prozac and how much it has positively affected life and outlook on life. She said something to the affect that maybe she’d say something to her doctor about getting on something. I know that this more than likely won’t happen, as we’ve had this conversation for years. I think she worries more now at almost 77 than she did when I was still her sick little kid. My dad feels she’d do well with some meds, but he doesn’t dare mention that. He is not wired for worry, but sometimes he can almost be a little too Alfred E Neuman(“What? Me Worry?).
I can’t make my mom get medicated, I can only share my experience. And my experience has been life-changing, to say the least.
Discover more from Complex Distractions
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
