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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Yeah, I could've anticipated it. I was writing last night and I didn't get to sleep until 4:30 AM. Then when I woke up at 7:45 with the alarm (in order to leave at 8:30), I felt scared and weak all over and my heart was beating too fast. I turned the fan on. I told myself to breathe slowly, even putting my ear to the alarm clock and breathing in for eight seconds, and out for eight seconds. That didn't seem to work. I wasn't really breathing in slowly, just holding my breath, now that I remember it.
I went to the kitchen to get almonds out of the freezer (why are the almonds in the freezer? I guess they last longer there but it makes their skins peel off) but I felt dizzy and I stumbled to the phone and called 911.
When someone answered I took the phone and lay down. There was a blanket nearby on the floor (don't ask) and I rested my head on it. What followed was mildly amusing: me admitting, "I'm having a panic attack," the woman saying, "Do you need an ambulance?" and then me saying, "No, I don't think so, I was just afraid I'd faint if I didn't talk to somebody."
"I'll call an ambulance if you need one."
"No, see, because this happened before in Ontario" (I tried to think how many years ago, but I couldn't remember) "and the ambulance costs two hundred and fifty dollars."
Then I asked if she had a phone number she could transfer me to, someone to talk to, and she said, No, only emergency numbers: ambulance, police, and fire, and this clearly wasn't a fire or a crime, but she could call the ambulance if I thought it was a medical emergency. (She was sounding a bit exasperated. I don't blame her.) Then she had an idea. I could call the Info-Sante number at 811 for non-emergency health information.
I confirmed the other number, said thank you and I don't think this is life threatening, very sorry for bothering you, and we hung up.
"It's not an emergency because the ambulance costs two hundred and fifty dollars" indeed. That's the attitude.
Then I had some almonds, started some cereal but didn't finish it because I was feeling a bit nauseous, called Dr. K (he was probably at breakfast), had some ginger tea, felt better, called him again and told him I couldn't make it. For a while I was feeling very pathetic. My parents and I had helped Dr. K move his books to the new senior's-home apartment last week (his daughter was concerned about his poor eyesight and then his hospitalization when a virus had affected his kidneys) and now I was thinking I couldn't live alone, I needed some kind of assisted living for young adults who couldn't do young adulthood very well. But that went away, and I'm feeling better and eating the rest of the cereal now.
Anyway. Work: I have to edit a manuscript and I was assiduously avoiding it, thus the writing. But hey, I wrote 8,400 words (of rough-copy fiction) yesterday! That's pretty accomplished avoidance, isn't it? With Dr. K right now, my job is to triage his paper files: keep, send to an archive, or toss. He's putting off the index until later.
Note for the benefit of others who may skim the boring details: BREATHING SLOWLY DOES WORK. It reduces heart rate, which in turn helps quiet the panicking thoughts. It's helped me before, in that summer/fall of 2012, when these things were trauma-induced and not only the result of bad sleep. But you have to keep at it for more than a minute, which is hard when you are panicking.
Talking works too. I don't like being alone. My parents aren't coming back this time until Saturday. Living alone but in an apartment would probably make me feel less alone. With a phone. And scones. No, not scones, I don't like them that much. Otherwise I'm getting typical in the old age of my youth.
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