The First Panic Attack

My first full-blown panic attack occurred on February 12, 1987. I was thirty-two years old. David was six and Laura was three. I had been talking on the phone to a friend early that morning when during our conversation I told her that my left arm was going numb, my neck and shoulder were stiff and my heart was pounding out of my head. At my friend Melanie's insistence, I called the doctor who told me to come to his office immediately, then called Phil and told him that I was bringing Laura to his office so I could drive on alone to see Dr. Burt. An EKG confirmed my heart beating approximately 160 beats a minute and not slowing down. Since it was a normal sinus rhythm, Dr. Burt recommended I spend the night in the step-down unit of coronary care, just to be safe. So I was admitted for observation. Later in the afternoon, the heart rate, which was on its way down, went to 186 beats per minute when one of the elders who had been visiting me left. (If you only knew the entire story, you would be smiling too.) Immediately the nurse rushed in, took me into the coronary care unit, hooked me up to the monitors, and gave me a shot in the back of my hand. I asked if I was having a heart attack. He said he didn't know but that I was in good hands, and not to worry. I asked if he would call my husband because I didn't want to be alone, especially if it was a heart attack. He said he would. Phil came shortly thereafter. At the end of a three-day, two-night hospitalization in coronary care, I was told to go home, take 5 mg. of Valium, as needed, and learn to say "no." I had had a panic attack.

I was born into a very conservative family, raised by a very strict father, who thought spanking was the only form of discipline, and who put the fear of God in me. He became an elder in our very little, very conservative church where everyone was related, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" in his thirties. We were fearful Christians saved by works, not by grace. I was never good enough, nor ever going to be good enough, for God to accept me "Just As I Am" even though we sang it regularly. I had to dot every "I" and cross every "T," making sure I did everything perfectly, all the while being judged by self-righteous people whose eyes were fixed on each other rather than Jesus. I was afraid to disappoint my f[F]ather -- both of them. I could never do enough or be good enough to be accepted or loved unconditionally. At least that was my perception. This is what I call "colon attack" "high blood pressure" or "ulcerated colitis" religion. Putting that much stress and pressure on anyone causes some sort of breakdown, eventually.  

In October of 1990, three years after the first attack, I saw Dr. John Tapp with severe colon problems and migraine headaches. During the new-patient consultation, I remarked that I had "split a gut" for my parents, especially my dad. Near the end of my visit, he asked,  "And what brought you here today?" And I answered "My colon." And he said, "And what did you say to me when you first came in? That you had split a gut for your parents? You believe there might be a connection?" And the penny dropped.

Having been raised the way I was raised, saying "no" was something I thought a Christian could not do. If I said "no" to you, I was saying "no" to God. So at the age of thirty-two, I felt I absolutely did not have a choice but to say "yes" to anything church related.  I was a busy mom with a part-time job working one week a month as a reporter hearing disability cases with the Administrative Law Judges who came down from Louisville to Bowling Green. I taught a large lady's Bible class at Greenwood Park where my husband was the deacon in charge of benevolence. Not only was it his responsibility to meet the growing needs within the church and community, but he and I also took it upon ourselves to personally help needy individuals who just crossed our paths. I kept a log of every person we helped, every meal I cooked, and every person we had in our home for fellowship. Eventually, keeping the log got as laborious as the jobs we were attempting to do. I was "yes" -ing myself to death, unable to say the word "no." I literally had to practice saying it out loud, if I did what Dr. Burt recommended.

I teach  a lesson called "The Four Seasons of a Woman's Life." The season I was in was the season of nurturing. It's during this time that the Mary/Martha syndrome surfaces and option overload comes into being. Mom has to learn to say "no" to something or go crazy. Since I never did, I over-extended myself. These are the words I used to describe myself when I wrote and delivered the lesson the very first time: wife, mom, lover, nurse, counselor, maid, teacher, taxi driver, cook, worker outside the home, entertainer, friend, daughter-in-law, daughter, mother-in-law, aunt, and sister. Add to that list, a Bible class teacher, soon to become a nationwide speaker. Now add to that a mind that was preoccupied with vomiting (you can read about it in my last post)and you get a frazzled individual awaiting her first panic attack.

Being raised by a very strict father, saved by works and not by grace; having expectations of perfection, all the while knowing I fell far short; being loved conditionally regardless of how hard I tried, along with my inability to say "no," we're all contributors and reasons I panicked.

"God made our bodies in such a way as to handle our stress until our minds are ready." This was the best sentence a doctor ever said to me, which would come five years after the first panic attack. My second panic attack requiring an ER visit would come in 1991. I saw Dr. Emsley, a gastroenterologist in 1992 continuing to have colon problems. He said the sentence I will always remember.

If you have headaches, the problem is not the headache itself; the problem is what's causing them. The pain is an indicator telling you that something else is wrong. If you have panic attacks the problem is not the panic attack itself. The panic attack is an indication that something else is wrong, MENTALLY. Hence the name "panic" rather than "heart" attack.