Thanks for all the support on last Friday’s post: I’m A Serious Worry Wart, are you? I’m really humbled and touched by all the personal experiences and support you guys shared with me both through the comments and via email. Huge cyber hugs to each and every one of you!

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One of the reoccurring questions I’ve been getting all week relates to “when I realized my anxiety was a problem” and “how it all started”. Guys, I’m sorry if I haven’t properly explained how this all came to be because I didn’t realize how confusing this may sound to all of you! I’ve decided to start writing anxiety related posts once a week or so  both from my personal experiences and yours. If you want to share your anxiety story with me whether it be anonymously or not then please feel free to contact me via email at jenn@mylifethroughwords.com

Let’s get this party started okay?

Let me start off by saying that anxiety can manifest itself differently in different people. What happened to me is proof that anxiety issues don’t always come knocking at the door in the form of panic attacks and heart palpitations.

Let’s go back in time, circa 2004 shall we? I was in my last semester of undergrad at Concordia University and gearing up for graduation. I was taking 4 classes, working a 20 hour a week part time job and hitting up all the happening clubs, events and parties with my handsome boyfriend Sam on weekends.

Do you know that I can remember precisely when the anxiety started? Yep, it’s going to be etched into my memory forever. It was a Thursday night in the month of February and roughly 2 hours into my shift at work, I got a searing pain in my back between my left shoulder blade and spine. I actually remember reaching over with my left arm and trying to massage the spot that hurt.

The two weeks that followed were a nightmare. That pain started to radiate to the front of my abdomen and I started having shortness of breath. Advil and other over the counter medication provided no pain relief and I was terrified of what was going on in my body. Instead of visiting the doctor, I got online and started googling the symptoms. Heart attack, lung disease, gall stones, pancreatitis… the list went on and on.

My compulsive symptom checking, googling and worrying led me to confine myself to my bedroom. I couldn’t bring myself to go out because of the fear that I would need emergency medical attention and I was not eating because I had convinced myself that consuming food aggravated my “issue”.

By the end of February my mother decided that my “pain” was abnormal and decided to force drag me to the emergency room. The trip to the ER was the most terrifying experience of my life. I knew that I was in excruciating pain, I knew this was not normal and I was terrified to find out what was happening to me. Yet, I still didn’t want to go – I was trying to avoid the inevitable!?!

Have you ever been to a Canadian ER? Well maybe it’s similar to the American system but I couldn’t tell ya. So as an aside, I’ll explain the process. In Canada, Québec specifically, a trip to the ER can take up to 24 hours depending on the reason for your visit. Generally, you check in and visit a triage nurse to explain your “issue” and are subsequently asked to wait in the waiting room until it’s your turn. Your turn can take anywhere from 4-24 hours depending on how serious they assess your problem to be.

So there I was, facing my biggest fear: finding out what was going on inside my body that was causing me so much discomfort and pain. I walked into the triage room with clammy hands, palpitations and a voice that was panicked breathless as I explained to the nurse what was wrong with me. She took my temperature, blood pressure and filled in a questionnaire jotting down all the “symptoms” I was experiencing. At that point, I thought she would shuffle me off into the waiting room but instead she decided I needed an EKG. I was flipping my shit, thinking to myself I knew it “I’m having a heart attack, my heart is faulty, I knew it I knew it I knew it”.

I never made it back to the waiting room. After my EKG which I later learned with abnormal I was set up in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart rate monitor, stabbed with an IV and told that a doctor would soon visit with me. There was crying, hysteria and absolute mental breakdown as I laid in that bed awaiting my fate. When the doctor finally came, he did a physical examination asked a couple of questions about aunt flow, lifestyle and school and then ordered a slew of tests that freaked me the hell out.

After a boat load of tests including x-rays, ultrasounds, urine samples and blood work the doctor walked into my little curtained off area and asked me the strangest question “Are you a med student?” I guess he caught on to my displeasure at what I thought was a silly question by the disgusted and irritated look on my face because he then proceeded to explain to me that it looked like I was experiencing an acute episode of Med School Syndrome or Hypochondriasis.

My reaction was abrupt and very angry and went a little along the lines of “What the fuck are you talking about, I’m experiencing REAL pain, my EKG was not normal, there’s something wrong with me”.

Turns out I was experiencing an episode of Hypochondriasis. There was absolutely nothing wrong with my body but my fears and excessive worries essentially created physical symptoms that had no underlying cause. To this day, I still wonder if I actually felt the pain or simply imagined it. That I’ll never know.

That ER doctor sent me on my way with some sedatives and a referral to a therapist and a request to see my family doctor. I can’t say that I’m cured although I can say I’m recovered. Every so often, I get “flare” ups which I’ve learned to control and manage through awesome coping techniques.

Tune in next week because I’m going to be discussing my recovery, anti-psychotic medication and how therapy helped me down the path to getting better.

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