my day at the hospital.

5 Apr

Today was supposed to be easy.

The plan was simple enough: stay in pjs all day and don’t leave the house. There was so much I was going to get done. Finishing up my Capstone short story. Getting a start on my heap of homework. Writing up a blog entry about the book vs. film of Jurassic Park. Catch up on TV. Y’know. The words.

But I’ve had a couple things ailing me the last several days. Shortness of breath. Some numbness. Chest pains. Pain all over. Trouble sleeping. Heart pain. Seeing as it’s been going on since Tuesday, I decided to pay a quick visit to the Health and Wellness Center on my college’s campus. I figured it’d be a quick trip that would last no longer than an hour. Boy was I wrong.

The HWC didn’t know what was wrong with me and told me, after about an hour and a half of questions, examining, and an EKG, that I should go to the hospital. This led to me breaking down in tears because – hah – I hate the hospital. It’s only ever brought about bad things for me, and going there is always something I dread. So I went. I had multiple tests done on me. Blood test. A second EKG. Lots of heart monitoring. An X-Ray. I was starting to get worried. The doctor mentioned something about the possibility of a blood clot early on, which scared the hell out of me. I’m a healthy, young girl. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to me.

At the end of it all, the doctor who was treating me sat down and gave it to me straight: I was not dying. I didn’t have a blood clot in my lungs. I was showing early signs of a stroke. I wasn’t at risk of blood poisoning. All the horrible results I had thought over weren’t coming true. All my tests came back positive, and I was still a very healthy person.

What I have is anxiety.

Now, I know I’m an anxious person. I get anxious over the stupidest things. However, I did not know I was this anxious. To actually have physical symptoms and need to go to the hospital. When the doctor first gave me the diagnosis I was highly skeptical, because I don’t feel anxious. My life has been going pretty well this week. It’s an easy term. What’s there to be anxious of? Then I talked to my dad on the phone and he pointed out a few things. I just got off a ridiculously hectic term, and on top of that I’m graduating in two and a half months only to then promptly leave the country.

Then there’s also the fact that I’m, quite frankly, not good at talking about myself. Oh I have no problem talking about the TV shows I’m watching or the classes I’m taking or the things I did over the weekend, but when it comes to my feelings and inner thoughts? Nope. I stay pretty closed off when it comes to that shit. So maybe keeping things bottled up, after all this time, is to blame? I recognized that I was having some pretty bad anxiety last September having to do with something, and I didn’t talk to anyone about it, so maybe that’s now coming back to bite me in the ass as well.

The point is, the doctor recommended I go see a therapist, so I guess that’s what I’m gonna do. Anything to get things back to the way they were. I’d like to not jolt up out of bed in the middle of the night because it feels like I can’t breathe and start crying because my arm is numb and I’m afraid I’m having a stroke. That’s just really something I don’t need in my life right now.

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