It's New To Me

Panic attacks. Never had one, Never understood one. Never knew anyone who had one to understand one. Now I do. Me.

I've worked in a hospital for the past thirty years. I work in the operating room. Some days it's a quiet normal do your thing day. Some days I'm up to my elbows in someone else's blood. I've had people die on my table and I've watched my surgeon call time on a patient. None of this, on any level, made me ready for what was coming in my own life. I've worn a mask on my face for thirty years. A duckbill, a sticky, a green tape. All masks I've worn one day or another. I never thought I'd be ripping one off my face to catch my breath.

I've seen it all H1N1, HIV, HepB, HepC and TB outbreaks. I've worked on all patients. I never refused. I would volunteer when they asked for volunteers during the HIV outbreak. I would switch cases with someone who was scared of working on these patients. I had a kid too. But, God protects fools and idiots. I don't know which one I was, but I felt protected. I was once stuck with a needle on a case. I was followed for six months and got a clean bill of health. Deep sigh and a thank God on that one. After every case I would make the sign of the cross. I still do. But, nothing would prepare me for #19. Covid.

I had friends who were in the worst of it back east. Thankfully, they all made it. But, everyone of them is scarred. Some physically from wearing masks. But all of them, including myself, are scarred mentally. My panic attack came one evening after finishing a case. Walking down the hallway with my supervisor, talking about the case we just finished. It had been long, the room hot and we were all sweaty after. I had started breathing heavier during the case, my heart had starting beating faster. I ducked into a supply room and ripped off my mask. I could not breathe! I found a chair and sat down before I passed out. I slowed my breathing and got it together.

I finished my shift. The next day I just could not put a mask on my face when I went out. I was getting angry. My stomach was starting to hurt and I was suddenly getting gas like crazy. I went back to my car and just sat. I just could not put this mask on my face. I went home. I just wanted to cry. I knew I was going to have to go to work but I really wasn't feeling well. Whatever, I had to go to work. With great difficulty I put my mask on. My heart started to beat faster. I got a little lightheaded and my mouth went dry. But, I got it on and headed to the break room. I eventually asked to talk to someone, but it took weeks. It seems everyone was having a hard time.

I was told that I was having panic attacks. Caused by Covid and the unknown. But, I was a thirty year veteran. I'm a fucking ROCKSTAR! Covid took over and I wasn't the only one. Panic attacks were normal now among us. There was just no way of knowing what our work lives were going to bring. I hid it. I forced myself to do my job. I wasn't going out like this, not after thirty years. But, I was angry. Everything made me angry. I desperately needed to release this. I needed to cry! I was so blocked up trying to protect myself physically and mentally and I was tired. It just came out as anger. Even my daughter and my colleagues noticed that I was just angry. I couldn't get rid of it! But, one day it all came crashing out.

My little baby doll was sick. My beautiful cat was very sick. It came on him so fast. We tried everything, medication, i.v's, an overnight vet stay, boiled chicken, chicken broth. I thought if I made him some food he might eat. Nothing helped. I cried for days. I stayed up with him holding him while I knew he was suffering. I was suffering to. I had made the decision on Friday to wait the weekend to see if the medicine would help him. I cried all night. My heart was just crumbling. On Monday, I sent my little baby to Heaven. He was an older cat, but was so gentle and loving. He just wanted to be in your lap cuddling or sleeping. I cried all the way to the vet. I cried as he went to sleep and left this world for a better one. I cried all the way home.

I cried off and on all day. I cried for my little baby. I cried for all the people who had left this world because of Covid. I cursed the devil in the White House for letting this happen. And, I cried for my little baby and the brother he left behind. I went to sleep. The next morning I felt better. Seems I cried it all out. Are my panic attacks gone? No. Are they better? Yes. Will they ever go away? I'm told they won't. Every time I have to put a mask on its a deep sigh. I'm looking for a way to transition out of the hospital as so many of my colleagues have done. New nurses and technicians are disillusioned. Old nurses and technicians are just tired of trying to fight the good fight when there is no support. I remember when all you had to do was ask for help and people came. Where did those days go? How do we get them back?