Note To Self: Just Breathe

The absolute worst time to have an anxiety panic attack is while you are sitting in a chair with a needle mere millimeters from the vein it is about to puncture. How do I know this? I know this from first hand experience this morning. But, before I get into that and what happened next, y’all might need to catch up a bit by reading “An Attack Of Aichmophobia” which was written by me on 19 December 2013 and can explain a little more why I was having blood drawn in the first place. The blood was to serve a two fold purpose, one to do my Hemoglobin A1C panel for diabetic medication prescription renewals and also to see if I had anything weird going on which might explain me really freaking out around needles. I know, made no sense to me either. Why stick someone with a needle that has been freaking out about being stuck with needles here lately. Needless to say, the blood could not be drawn as requested because I threatened to stick the needle where the sun don’t shine to the technician. I ended up back in my doctor’s office where I was introduced to Klonopin or at least the doctor thought he was introducing us for the first time. I’m real aware of this drug as it is one of the drugs my son takes to try to “control” episodes he has because of being bipolar. I have tried to use some humor in the last post because it has been my way of dealing with the fact that I’m pretty fucking scared at this point in my life. I mean, ask yourself, how can a diabetic get away from sharp objects?

Meanwhile, while sitting in the doctor’s chair, figiting and sweating like a whore in a Catholic confessional, the doctor went over my “symptoms” and any known allergies. By this point I’m agitated, I want to go home, I want to get the hell away from all of this to sort it out. The doctor offered me a small pill and a small sip of water in a very small paper cup. He said to take it so we could continue our conversation. So, I complied, I took the pill. Within a few minutes my mind was clearing up, my focus was coming back, and it seemed like I just might be coming back to my senses. A quick check of my pulse, my blood pressure, and a tiny flashlight in my eye revealed to the doctor that my anxiety attack has come to it’s conclusion. Wow, now that was impressive, it worked almost as well as the calming effects my wife’s cold hands have when she places them on my neck when comforting me. He went on to explain that what I had just taken was 2mg of Klonopin. Within a few minutes I was back in the lab chair with a needle in my arm drawing blood and I could really care less. The only thing I could think of is where is my pain, where is my fear, am I dead. I’m a very firm believer that fear and pain are two very basic elements that ensure our safety and remind us that we are indeed still alive. I felt neither but I did feel scared. I imagine how my son must feel, what must be going on inside his brain as he watches what happens around him. Does it have the same effect on him.

That is that. A short walk down the hallway to meet my wife in her office. After seeing she was in there alone I walked thru the door, closing it behind me, where I sat down in one of the chairs at the front of her desk, all I wanted to do is just breathe. She made no comments about what had happened. If I know her the way I think I know her then nothing will ever be said. She did mention that she would pick up my new prescription on her way home with all the instructions. I leaned in to give her a kiss, not saying a word, and I left. I got into my car and found myself going to work. I have spoken to her since because she called to check up on me. She tried to explain that from now on I will need to take this medication prior to testing and prior injecting until I feel it is all under control like it once was. Will it ever get back under control? Will it ever be the same again? Have I lost what I thought I had control of just days before? I have come to the point that I really have grown to dislike this whole diabetes thing. Seems everyone has a way to kick it’s ass. I wish I could find my way to kick diabetes square in the ass and right out the door. Is this the part when someone tells me that we reap what we sew? Unfortunately I can’t go back in time, nor do I want to either, tomorrow is another day, to be dealt with like any other day I suppose. I just need to remember to breathe.

An Attack Of Aichmophobia

An attack of aichmophobia is not something a diabetic ever wants to have. I have a real healthy fear and appreciation of needles because as much as I hate them I know I need them day to day. For those of y’all who didn’t already know that I’m diabetic then this will be a little peek into my personal life for you. Before this morning I have never suffered from any kind of needle anxiety since I first found out I was diabetic. In the beginning I told my wife she will just let me die in peace because I will NOT be jabbing needles into my body on purpose. Fuck needles! Now, I still feel the same way, but I also know that needles are that necessary evil bitch that must exist in my personal life. So, I was forced to suck up my dislikes for needles, grow a pair of nuts, and suck it up because this is the way it was going be. Fine. Whatever. Let’s rock this bitch.

This morning at o’ darkthirty I went to test my glucose level, something I do everyday, three times a day, and I was on the verge of blacking out. I had my very first anxiety attack ever in my life and this was not the fucking time for it to happen. It is not a good time when you are millimeters away from your fingertip with an extremely sharp object. First came the tunnel vision, then the instant cold sweat, the shakes, and then finally I felt myself blacking out so I just sat down on the kitchen floor so it wouldn’t be such a terrible impact to the floor. As I sat there, hunched over, looking at my lancet on the floor beside me, I realized that I needed to put some distance between me and it. But I couldn’t move, I was frozen, I was stuck with this extremely sharp object inches away from my skin. Fuck! Here we go again, it was a good thing I was already on the floor.

I guess it was a good thing that something hit the floor real hard and broke because it woke my daughter who came to see what it was. She, in turn, goes to get my wife after seeing that I was too coherent about my surroundings. I felt the coolness of my wife’s hands on the back of my neck, I could hear she was talking to me, but I don’t know what she was saying. After a few minutes I did understand it when she told my daughter to get her phone so she could call 911. I told her not to call, just bring me some water and I will be fine sitting there for a bit. After about 15 minutes everything seemed to go back to normal with the exception of the big headache I had. My wife and I talked about it while I was getting dressed as she explained to me that I still needed my shot. She has never, and I mean never when I say never, given me a shot before but says she will if I need her to. She collected my testing bag and tested my sugar to get my dosage right. I looked away after showing her where to inject me and she did it for me. In a way, for a reason unknown to me, I felt a bit embarrassed because I couldn’t do it for myself.

I have thought about this damn thing all day and still can’t figure out what happened. Yes, I hate fucking needles with absolute passion and will do almost anything to avoid being in their presence. However, I had kicked that little thing in the ass I thought. Maybe I fell off the wagon. Maybe my defenses were down because I have been working as many overtime hours as I have regular hours the last month. Maybe I was just tired. I will know the answer later tonight when it comes time to inject again. I just hope it is a different answer than this morning. I spoke with my doctor and he said that maybe it was a one time nerves type thing. He also said that if it continues that he will be forced to put me on anxiety medication. I don’t see that happening personally.