Living With Anxiety
Anxiety has been a toxic friend my whole life. In many ways, it’s helped push me to be better, to not settle on just good enough. Because of anxiety, I finished things early, double checked my answers, reread my emails, and generally acted like a perfectionist. But all of those things can and have edged into the toxic realm, especially my perfectionism. Anxiety stops me from taking chances that might be meaningful to me. Anxiety keeps me quiet in large groups, and it stresses me in situations where I should be enjoying myself. Toxic anxiety drags on me, but I’ve been able to balance it for most of my life. Sometimes, it’s higher than others, and sometimes it’s non-existent. I’ve learned methods for dealing with it. Writing, reading, and martial arts top the list, but it doesn’t stop there. Breathing and visualization have played their roles as well. While my anxiety remains high, it’s never crossed the threshold of needing medication. Deep down, I love my life, even the stressful parts of it, but I may now be at that threshold. My emotions, my life, and my love of it haven’t changed, but my anxiety has increased. Why? Well, let me tell you a little story.
Leaving Early
On the Friday (11/16/2018) before Thanksgiving, I was at work, set to leave early, and talking to a co-worker. About ten minutes before I planned to leave, my right arm felt numb. This had happened before as a symptom of my poor posture and the thoracic outlet syndrome that pinches my nerves and veins. So, I shifted my stance, corrected my posture, and dropped my hand down to get the blood to flow back into it. But that didn’t work, and all of the sudden, I felt faint. It wasn’t just a feeling of being light headed but a full blown fear of passing out. I sat down at my desk and continued to talk to my co-worker. Inside, I was spinning. My chest constricted; it felt as if a sumo wrestler stood on my chest. My heart beat so rapid and hard that my whole neck pulsated. I began to feel very hazy, like decisions were very difficult. I got up and went to the restroom, where the symptoms abated a little. My breathing was still difficult, but the chest loosened. The sumo wrestler took a rest for a moment. I decided to drive myself to an urgent care when my boss called. I tried to talk to him, but soon even keeping track of the conversation was difficult. I told him I had an emergency and left. The urgent care took my blood pressure – 210/124 well in the stroke range – took my blood-oxygen levels 99%, and then they sent me to the emergency room (ER). To calm me, they gave me some oxygen. At the ER, I got a bunch of tests, EKG, blood and urine, x rays, neurological tests, and more.
After the EKG, my wife and I sat in the waiting room, waiting to be called back. While there, whatever had happened, had passed, and I felt fine. Embarrassed. I knew they were going to call it a panic attack. They would tell me to contact my doctor about anxiety medication, again something that I’ve never taken before. The doctors asked me what had changed to cause the attack. What new stresses in life had come about? None, in fact, I had good career news that very day. I had passed 20,000 words on my NaNoWriMo adventure, and I was leaving work early because I was ahead of schedule. Life had been going pretty well. The only change, the only change, was that I had been prescribed an antibiotic for an infection. My sister wondered if I had been exposed to some sort of chemical, but I couldn’t think of any. The ER doctors said that was unlikely as I had no other symptoms of such an exposure. After a couple hours of monitoring, they saw no indication of a heart attack and released me. The diagnosis was a panic attack, and that is the correct diagnosis. But what caused it?
A Possible Explanation?
The next day, as I sat at home, my sister sent me a research article about the antibiotic that I was taking. Mindie is a hematologist/oncologist specialist in Shreveport, LA. She’s a smart and wonderful doctor; so, she knows where to look for credible, non-sensational information about medicine and health. The article suggested a link between the antibiotic and acute anxiety in people. It turns out that this medicine, levaquin, is part of the fluoroquinolone family of antibiotics. It’s a strong, aggressive medicine with some very nasty side effects. In fact, certain variations of quinolone’s were “black-boxed” by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA). There are indications that this antibiotic is neurotoxic to some people. While the chances of this happening are small according to the FDA and drug companies, I believe this happened to me. The ER doctor told me to complete the schedule of antibiotics, which I did. In reality, I should have called my primary physician and requested a new antibiotic course. But I can’t change that now. I finished the antibiotic on November 21st. Every day after the ER visit, I had a panic attack. Every. Day.
When I had the first panic attack, I was five days into the antibiotic course. I was also halfway through the NaNoWriMo schedule, close to having a holiday, and ready to start a fun weekend. But all that changed on Friday. In order to lessen my anxiety, I quit the NaNoWriMo challenge. (It’s fun and pushed me to be better than ever, but the added stress, while helpful pre-attack, became too much post.) I took three days off work and cut out all anxiety inducing events. Still, I had panic attacks. They tended to happen after taking the medication. But was that psychosomatic? Or real symptoms? Did my expectation of the pill’s side effects cause the symptoms? I don’t know. It’s beyond my knowledge to say for certain either way. All I can say is that my life right now is fundamentally different than prior to taking this pill, and the only change that makes sense is the pill.
So What Now?
When I stared righting this, I was 120 hours past taking the last dose of Levo. Five days after finishing the pill, and I still exhibited anxiety symptoms. Six months later, I’m still having panic attacks, smaller, not as frequent, not as devastating, but terrifying. Potentially, these could continue to diminish, and I could return to pre-attack levels of anxiety. Or I could be permanently altered. It could have unearthed generalized anxiety disorder in me. I don’t know yet. All I can do is hope and be patient. Since the panic attack, I’ve faced three choices:
- Give into despair and hide from the world in my home.
- Fight back through mindfulness and patience.
- Fight back with the help of medication.
The first is a non-starter. That’s just not who I am. To my last breath, I will fight back. So, that leaves options two and three. Right now, I am at option two. I’m not ready for medication yet. My history is one where I’m poor at taking regularly scheduled medication, and with anxiety meds, they need to be taken as scheduled. Therefore, I’m holding off because I know I’m bad at taking pills over the long term. But option three is the fall back position, and I’m willing to take it if that means relief. There is no shame in seeking help through medication. If people approached infections the way they approach mental health meds, everyone would be dying from the first sinus infection they caught. If my situation comes to that, I will proudly ask my doctor for that prescription. For now, that’s plan B.
In the next post, I plan to list some of the weapons in the war against anxiety. I’ve been researching and exploring how to win this war because living this way is exhausting. At the start, I attempted to deal with the problem through reading and exercises that I’ve found. About two months after the panic attack, I started to seek out therapists with a specialty in anxiety. Due to missed calls and scheduling issues, my first appointment ended up being this month (April, 2019). Finally, therapy began, and by the time this posts, I’ll have been through three sessions. I’m optimistic that this will help because I like this therapist. So far, she’s given me some excellent grounding exercises; she’s provided mindfulness training and an outlet for life’s cumulative stresses. Between my research and the therapist’s help, for the first time in months I have hope that I can and will regain control of my life.