Coming Up Out of the Basement

 Florida homes typically don't have basements. But I was raised in Pennsylvania, and every home I was ever in growing up had that wonderful added space below ground. Most families use it for storage or an extra family room. Many laundry rooms are in basements. But people usually don't live in basements...at least not for long.

Well, for the last 6 months, I've been "living in the basement," so to speak. It is painful for me to write about it. It has been painful to live it. On February 16 of this year, I had a panic attack. Then another. Then another. 3-4 times a week for a few months. I dropped weight quickly. I stopped sleeping. I had no idea what was going on. In March I finally went to Urgent Care, and shook like a little scared rabbit as I waited to be seen. There were no answers that day. And there really haven't been any concrete answers for the 5 months since that first attempt to ascertain my health issues. After many months of strange symptoms, more weight loss, a "natural" attempt at recovery from what I deemed "adrenal fatigue"and my adapting to somewhat of an invalid-like lifestyle, I believe we are closing in on a diagnosis. Unless the endocrinologist's bloodwork I'll do tomorrow shows something, I believe somewhere in the chaos of 2023-early 2024, my body developed a panic disorder. 

I had, to my knowledge, only had 2 prior panic attacks in my life, and they were almost 20 years ago. I have been through some things in my life, but extreme physical challenge was not one of them. I literally could develop a panic attack just writing this now, that's how unpredictable and sensitive it is for me. Eating seems to be the biggest trigger, but sleeping has recently become one too. Basically, the most essential survival skills we practice as humans seem to trigger my attacks. 

Last week, after a terrible week or so of night-time panic wake-ups, mulitple times per night, and very little cumulative sleep, I couldn't take it any more. I went to the ER. They kept me under observation for 36 hours for my heart and that was another nightmare. I thought I would lose my mind in there, and at one point, my panic was so bad I thought my heart was going to explode. Turns out, nothing is wrong with my heart or esophagus, which though relieving, just left more questions. They put me on a heart-rate lowering med as well as an anti-anxiety pill. The combo enables me to (mostly) sleep through the night. 

Yesterday I had to face the news from my PCP that in all reality, there probably is no other explanation for my physical misery than that I have a panic disorder. While there is hope my body will settle down on its own, I will needs meds in the meantime. 

So where has God been in this dilemma, this "dark night of the soul?" Right here with me. Yet, he is also reigning on the throne. And let's not forget that he was also once hanging on a cross to accomplish for us what we could never do for ourselves...making payment for our sin. His love for us is sure, even when every circumstance in our lives screams at us that He does not. Friends and family have encouraged me to write again. I simply haven't had the mind to do so...until today. I don't know what God is doing in me, but I want to recount that He is faithful. I plan to do so here. I plan to tell of the ways he has answered prayer for the last 6 months. I am still alive, and that is evidence of his sustaining grace and that my days are all in his hands. It is enough.