Panic Attacks - Before they were Famous.

Nineteen years ago, before panic attacks were a household word, I was driving down a busy highway, and suddenly I couldn't seem to catch my breath. The more I tried to take a deep breath, the more panicky I became.

Luckily I was close to home, as soon as I got there, I jumped out of the car and stood there just trying to take in a lungful of air. Eventually it got better. I didn't tell anyone about it, because even to me it sounded nuts. A few weeks later, it happened again, much in the same way. I had my car checked for some kind of fumes or something. I left it with them for two days. They couldn't find anything.

The next time it happened, I was in an office meeting. One of those corporate ones, with the long table and everyone dressed to kill. Just as the meeting got underway, I started having breathing problems again, then I felt sweat on my upper lip and forehead. Everything around me started to look a little weird.

I excused myself and went to the ladies room at the first opportunity. I got a paper towel and let some cold water run on it. Then I put it on the back of my neck, my forehead, patted my face. I could see that I looked pale and my pupils were dilated. Feeling shaky, I went back into the meeting. I just tried to avoid eye contact with everybody. After the meeting I went straight to my office and called my doctor. He told me to come right in.

After a lot of testing, including a EKG, he said he couldn't find anything wrong with me and he thought I was having episodes of anxiety. "What"? I had never heard of anything like that before. He asked me about my personal life, and I told him that I had a new baby at home and about some of the stresses at work. Just normal stuff. He said maybe it was hormones from post par-tum.

One day, my heart started skipping a beat. It would beat twice, then stop, over and over again. There happened to be an ambulance on the street, I'm not sure why. It was a brand new neighborhood so I guess they were checking something. My friend ran out and got them. They came in and listened to my heart and ended up taking me to the hospital. On the way there they hooked me up to some monitors and one of them kept saying, "Uh-oh, there it is again." Let's just say, that didn't help me calm down at all.

When we got to the hospital, to my chagrin, my husband and Mother and some of my sister's were already there. Everything felt surreal. They were all looking at my with concern and questions in their eyes. I didn't know what to say.

They took me to the emergency room and hooked me up to stuff, another EKG. My family was kept in the waiting room. Finally a young Doctor came in. He looked at me with disdain and said, "There's nothing wrong with you. You're just scared to death." He made me feel like a fool. I wanted to say, "Yeah, I got scared because my heart kept stopping." He just told me to go home and get some rest.

We didn't have computers in every home at that time. So I went to the library and started doing some research. One book in particular seemed to describe me to a tee. So I checked it out and took it home. I was consumed with it. By this time, my husband and family and some friends knew about "my episodes". Until then, I was always the one everyone turned to when they had problems or needed advice. I was the go to person. Now I felt liked people looked at me differently. I was mortified. I no longer had control.

The book I read said that when your nervous system got blown up and out of proportion too often, it was kind of like a balloon, that had been blown up too much. I spoke to my doctor about it. He said what I really need was about a month vacation. To just go away and not worry about a thing for a whole month. Well, unless he could write me a prescription for that and insurance covered it, that wasn't going to happen.

Over the many years to follow, I tried different kinds of medication. They kept wanting to treat me for depression. I told them I wasn't depressed until I started having these attacks. I hate taking pills. They also gave me what I thought of as a wonder drug, it was called Xanax. It REALLY helped. Somehow, just knowing it was in my purse helped. Things were good again for a while. Then, 90 days later, they jerked the rug out from under me. They made me feel like a junkie and said the medicine was addictive. Well, wasn't that just great?

I got fired from my job. Oh-My-GOD! I thought the embarrassment and humiliation might kill me. I got another job, got fired again. Over and Over again. I think I might hold the world's record for getting fired.It's hard to keep a high powered job when you were afraid to make eye contact with people and hated office meetings. I no longer felt like myself. I didn't want to go to friends party's anymore or even out to lunch. It got to where I didn't want to leave the house.

My family had to make extreme adjustments without my income. Just about that time 9-11 happened, my husband works for American Airlines. His paycheck was cut, big time, along with the loss of a LOT of benefits.

One day at the grocery store, another attack hit. This time, the large vein, or artery in my neck, started beating so hard it hurt. I just left the cart of groceries in the middle of the store and left. I went straight to the doctor's office. He put me on Xanax again. He advised me to see a psychiatrist. Okay, I just wanted to find a hole a crawl into it. How did this happen to me?

Reluctantly, I went to see a shrink. As a matter of fact, I saw a few, until I found one that was right for me. This man was wonderful. He understood me. Really understood me. He put me on Zoloft and another drug. They really do help. He even got me to admit long ago, hidden secrets that I had never told anyone. And I still haven't. But at least now I understand. Now I can admit some things to myself.

I'm not saying I'm cured or anything like that. I still hit some rough patches. But I can deal with things a lot better now. My husband and kids know I take the medicine. I'm not as ashamed of it as I used to be. And now Panic Attacks are even famous and popular, a house hold word. I think I read that over five million people in America suffer from some kind of anxiety disorder. It's a nightmare to live through. My heart goes out to each everyone of them.

All the Best,

1/2 of KT Banks