But I Like Big Dogs

I woke up to my mom calling me at 7:00am.  She likes to wake me up when I’m sleeping.  Maybe it’s payback from when I was a baby, but I’m pretty sure I was a perfect baby and slept through the night since day one.  She wanted to tell me that she bought her plane ticket for when she comes to Florida for my surgery.  It just keeps getting more real now!  Good morning, anxiety!

What’s on the agenda for today?  Work, chiropractor and a run.  I used to hate running.  I get awful shin splints and shortness of breath, but since I finally caved and bought a decent pair of running shoes and an inhaler for my exercise-induced asthma I really have no excuse.  Running allows me to clear my end, rid myself of any negative thoughts and gives me a outlet to unleash my frustrations.  Sometimes running hurts, especially when I’m pushing myself to go just a little bit further.  I can’t physically let out my frustrations and anger on my BRCA mutation, but when I run and fight through the pain I feel as though I am conquering my struggles.  And then I reward myself by having a piece of pie!

I began having anxiety attacks in May.  My days were consumed with fears of my BRCA mutation.  I would get dizzy and nauseous.  I began having headaches.  I couldn’t concentrate at work.  One night I went out to dinner with my mother-in-law, Marcia and Charlie.  On the drive home I found it hard to focus on the road.  I kept trying to shake my head to make the foggy feeling go away.  When I got home I l went on the internet (stupid idea) and typed in my symptoms.  Every scary scenario from strokes to thyroid problems to appendicitis to brain tumors and aneurysms came back as possible explanations for my symptoms.

Great, I thought.  Now I have brain tumor??  I better sit still and not move my head so the aneurysm doesn’t burst.  Let me practice my speech to make sure I can still speak and not having a stroke.  Wait, did I just stutter?  Someone needs to take me to the emergency room NOW!

My mother-in-law literally looked at me like I crazy.  “I think you’re overreacting,” she said.

Overreacting? I thought.  How dare she!  She doesn’t know what it’s like to have an 87% chance of getting breast cancer, and on top of that have appendicitis, a thyroid problem and a stroke!

I watched Charlie playing on the floor.  How am I going to take care of him if I end up in a wheelchair for the rest of my life because nobody would take me to the hospital in time to stop this stroke and brain aneurysm? I thought.  Since nobody believed me I decided to just go to bed.

The next day I decided to meet with Dr. Thompson at Moffitt for counseling.  Moffitt is a great cancer hospital here in Tampa.  I’ve never been there before except when I was walking in the 5k.  You drive up and valet attendants come out to greet you.  If your appointment is in a different part of the campus they will call a shuttle for you so you don’t have to walk. 

Dr. Thompson’s office had soothing music and one of those water fountains and zen gardens that are supposed to keep you calm.  Needless to say it didn’t work for me.  I scoped out the other patients in the waiting room.  Most of them were family members there to support a loved one.  It was a very somber atmosphere.  I felt selfish for being there. 

I don’t have cancer, I thought.  These people actually have cancer, and here I am healthy as can be.  I shouldn’t be here.

Before I could think twice about leaving, a very short woman with long brown hair came out and introduced herself to me.  When I stood up to shake her hand I felt like a giant towering over her at 5’3.  Dr. Thompson led me back to her office which had no windows, no calming art or decorations.  It was a room smaller than my bathroom with white walls, a desk, loveseat, clock and florescent lighting.  I felt more like a patient in a mental hospital than someone just trying to talk through my fears and anxieties.  All I needed was a straightjacket and I would fit perfectly in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”.

Dr. Thompson and I talked through my worries and fears.  She tried to give me analogies to help rid myself of anxiety.  She kept explaining how your body reacts to anxiety by using a dog analogy.  “If I was backed into a corner and there was a big dog in front of me, my body would start to panic and I would want to flee or fight back.  With your anxiety, your thoughts are cornering you but you’re not in an actual situation where you can flee.”  Hmm, ok but I like big dogs.

When I was explaining all of my fears to her, she would look at me and tilt her head and give me this sad smile and say, “That must be tough.  How does that make you feel?”  Umm… it makes me feel like crap, what do you think? I thought.

Here I am trying to explain to this stranger how much it sucks to have this BRCA mutation, but all I could think about was the fact that she doesn’t have this mutation.  She doesn’t really know what I’m going through. She’s probably thinking that she’s glad it isn’t her in my shoes (although my shoes would probably be way too big for her tiny feet).  Behind that empathetic smile is probably a real smile once she gets my $200 an hour for each visit.

I left that visit feeling as though I didn’t accomplish much.  Talking with a counselor wasn’t going to help.  I need drugs to get me through.  (No, not the illegal kind!)

I made an appointment to go back to the doctor that started this whole journey – Dr. Ram.  Except, he wasn’t available so I saw the nurse practitioner, Kris.  She a pretty cool girl.  She listened to my concerns about my anxiety, confirmed that I did have an anxiety attack (not an actual stroke or brain tumor or appendicitis) and prescribed me a low dose of Zoloft.  Zoloft became my new best friend.  My anxiety was still lingering in the background, but I was finally able to function again!  I heart Zoloft.