Panic Attacks(An Edited Repost)

I do not know how it all begins.  Out of the blue, a dreadful, churning nausea wells up in me. The air around me seems to have become viscous and I cannot breathe properly. My chest and throat feel dry and tight, as if constricted by a snake. Tiny balls of light flash before me.  Am I hallucinating?  A powerful surge of fear washes over me. My hands shake involuntarily. My forehead, armpits,  and palms are damp with cold sweat. My heart is throbbing fast and my head is reeling.  Holding my chest in anguish, I plonk myself down on the chair and ask my students to do their own work.

              The students let out an uproarious cheer. Most of them did not pay attention to my verb conjugation lesson and are thrilled to be left to their own devices.  The classroom is a cacophony of voices.  Nobody pays attention to me. I find myself being gradually sucked into a vortex of emotions.  I am trying to fight off a strong urge to cry.  With all my might I clench my fists-- but it does not alleviate my feelings of dread.

              I have been depressed for the past few months.  I am struggling with a newly assigned job which was foisted on me.   I have to stay up late almost every night to do my paper work.  I want to seek help from my colleagues but fear that they might ridicule me.  I also have another problem --- my chances of getting a promotion.  Being the lowest-ranked teacher at my school, I am desperate to end my state of abject humiliation.  I applied for the promotion last year but have  received no reply.  Day in and day out, I wait for the letter in vain and wallow in self-pity. I never expected that my stress would rise uncontrollably to the surface today.

              When my lesson is over, I teeter back to the staffroom like a drunkard. My head is light and my steps doddery.  Stuttering, I ask the afternoon senior assistant for permission to go to the hospital. Seeing that I am unwell, she grants my request.  I ring up my father, who comes to take me to the hospital.

              While waiting for a doctor to attend to me, I am fighting a futile war against my troubled emotions. My energy is gradually sapped by the debilitating coldness that pulsates through my veins.  I even find it difficult to sit upright on the low-backed chair in the waiting hall.  My back muscles are sore and my shoulders shake like leaves.   At one point I experience numbness in the upper right side of my neck.  I cannot look sideways for a frightening period of ten to fifteen minutes.  What is wrong with me? Am I suffering from a minor stroke?  

              After what seems like an eternity, I am called into the consultation room.

              “What is your problem, Mr Lo?” asks the doctor. 

              I want to tell him how unwell I am but words elude me.  I am too overwhelmed by the onslaught of my emotions.  The doctor puts his hand on my shoulder and asks me to inhale deeply before speaking.  I follow his instructions and in disconnected sentences,  manage to tell him about what I have been going through.  He smiles at me encouragingly each time I flounder as I seek the words to get my message across.
 
                "You are under tremendous stress, and you need to relax," says the doctor.
              "Do I have a heart problem? My heartbeat is fast," I ask, in a voice laced with
worry.
              "I am going to give you an injection to calm you down. Then, a nurse will monitor your heartbeat,"is the doctor's gentle reply.

             The doctor gets up from his seat and gives me the so-called nerve-calming injection.  I grimace in pain as the needle pokes the muscle of my upper arm. Then, a male nurse takes me to an emergency ward and asks me to lie down on a narrow bed. 

             “Take your shirt off,” instructs the male nurse. 

              I take my shirt off and lie down on the uncomfortable bed.  He rubs some ointment on my chest and pastes the long electrode plugs of an electrocardiogram on my chest.  He turns the machine and I watch the reading of my heartbeat being printed on a long piece of paper.  While waiting for the result, another nurse comes and takes my blood sample. She tells me that the doctor wants to see if my blood glucose level is within the normal range. 

                “What has it got to do with my rapid heartbeat?” I ask in bewilderment.

                   The nurse smiles and says, “It’s part of the procedure. Be patient.”

               The two tests are able to temporarily distract me from my suffering.   When I return to the waiting hall,  Papa asks if I am hungry and I shake my head.  He is hungry and decides to have dinner at the hospital canteen.  During his absence, I am seized by a sudden urge to retch. I rush to the toilet and vomit nothing but a watery liquid.  I look at myself in the mirror and find my face drained of colour. My eyes are bloodshot and my hair is a rumpled mess. On my way back to the waiting hall, I lose the swinging rhythm of my arms for no reason at all. I groan and cross my arms as hard as I can. My tinnitus-afected ear rings louder than usual.  I make a soundless cry to God:"Lord, drive the devil out of me. I can't stand it any more!"  My mouth is dry and bitter.  Is it the taste of depression?

                The doctor pronounces that I am alright. He advises me to take a good rest and forget about my troubles. I reach home at almost eight in the evening.  Papa cooks some porridge and insists that I eat it. I can only eat a morsel and go to sleep after having a hot shower. However, I can’t drift off into peaceful slumber. My suffocating workload and hard-to-get promotion come back haunting me again. A numbing sensation keeps coursing through my arms. I can also feel a great weight settle on my forehead. The more I want to shut my eyes, the heavier the weight becomes. The walls of my bedroom seem to be closing in around me. I want to shout but no voice comes out.  My consciousness slowly fizzles out into nothingness. Am I dead?

             I wake up the next morning feeling emotionally drained.  Worse still,my bed is wet with urine and I am filled with shame. Papa has to wash the mattress and dry it in the sun. I do not go to school that afternoon. I am both physically and mentally unfit to teach that day.

             From June to July, I have regular bouts of panic attacks. I make countless trips to the hospital.  As a result, I am absent from school for a staggering twenty-three days and many of my colleagues often gripe about having to take my lessons.

            One rainy day, I am having a panic attack as usual.  I am moaning and trembling in bed when Ah Hui, my eldest sister, rushes into my room, saying,"Tai-Tai, you can't go on like this forever. You have to find a different approach to dealing with your problems!"

            In a trembling voice, I say," I can't handle my newly-assigned job well. There's no one helping me. The deadline for my report has dwindled to 14 days but I have only finished 40 percent of it."

             "Why don't you seek advice from the head of your department?" asks Ah Hui.

             "No, I dare not,” I say. “ She might label me as useless and incompetent."

             Ah Hui furrows her eyebrows and replies," Don't be negative. Haven't you noticed that you are making yourself miserable with your pessimism? Don't keep everything to yourself."

              Saying nothing, I dissolve into tears.

             "If you are too scared to get help,’ Ah Hui hisses. “ I will go to your school  and ask your head of department to appoint someone to help you."

              Jerking up from my bed in shock, I say, "No, don't do it. I will try my best to get help."

              Ah Hui smiles and says, "Make sure you do. As for your promotion, wait patiently for the reply.  Telephone the National Education Commission if you are eager to know the result of your application."

             My sister's words knock some sense into my head.

            When I return to school the next day, I embolden myself to discuss my problems with the head of my department. To my surprise, she listens with concern and agrees to appoint someone to help me. I feel very much relieved when the appointed person comes and takes some files from me. Then, I telephone the National Education Commission and inquire about my chances of getting the promotion. To my delight, the officer tells me that my application is being reviewed. From that day onwards, my condition improves.

           One day, Papa suggests that I go to China to relax my mind. I heed his advice and go on a nine-day-tour to Hunan. I enjoy the year-end trip very much; It takes a huge load of stress off my shoulders. When I return to Miri, I am completely healed from panic attacks. 

  

           The terrifying experience with panic attacks has taught me the importance of talking out my problems with others.  I could have been spared the horrors of panic attacks had I handled my problems positively . I hope I will never be beset by panic attacks again.