My worst nightmare, basically, has come true. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just blankly blurt it out as if it doesn’t twist my insides into a million knots.
“Is this a panic attack?” you ask yourself. You know that a racing heart and a woozy head usually signify an intense head-on collision with panic is just around the corner — or is something else amiss?
Have an anxiety disorder? Hate being sick? Throw some cold meds into the mix and you might really end up feeling bonkers.
Why overload my body with a medicine that might be just as effective at half strength?
I’m dumping out my “nausea bag” for the world. Here are six more of my remedies for anxiety-related nausea.
I’m deathly afraid of the stomach virus to the point where I have a legitimate phobia of throwing up. Believe it or not, this fear is incredibly common, and it has a name: emetophobia.
The scene: a small road off of a two-lane state highway in the woods. The cell phone coverage: first none, then a single bar. My panic state: full blown.
I was laying down in my car, following the EMT-in-training’s instructions to avoid sitting up or moving around, and I was scared nearly to death. I shook, I gasped for air, and I palpitated.
I hated every single second that slowly and dreadfully crawled by. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t even conjure up the energy or the clarity of mind to reach for my Ten Rules for Coping With Panic worksheet that lives in my wallet. I was in the middle of nowhere, I was stuck, and I couldn’t escape without help. Not only was I about to receive medical help, but I’d had to call my husband and ask him to drive 40 miles to be with me.
The word kept repeating in my head: failure failure failure.
Maybe I am having a legitimate medical problem instead of a panic attack. Maybe there’s a problem with my heart or my blood pressure. Maybe there’s a problem with my brain. Did I have a stroke? Maybe I’m having a stroke RIGHT NOW OH GOD WHAT THE HELL.
When your limbs are shaking uncontrollably, the gas pedal is a nightmare to control. My car heaved in fits and starts, thanks to my spasmodic right foot, but I didn’t make it far before I started to feel very cold and prickly.
Twenty minutes in: rocking out to Modest Mouse and eating a peanut butter cup. Thirty minutes into the drive: nausea, a racing heart, and a vivid expectation of death.