Getting Sick

During the very first week of school I caught what I thought was a minor cough. I could not let that stop me from experiencing University. I was attending classes, going to grueling track and field practices, and getting involved in anything I could. I came to accept the fact that I had a cold and would just have to fight though it. But it persisted and two months later I was still sick.

It was Halloween weekend and I was excited to get dressed up and go party. (FYI: Halloween in University is almost as important as when you were six, so start thinking about your costumes now). However, by this time, I was feeling very sick. With a pounding headache and my first-ever earache I decided to forego Halloween. As much as I wanted to go, I knew I should rest. First thing on Monday I headed to student health services at the university. Apparently I simply had the University Bug and I was prescribed medication that fixed it.

Another problem came along later in the year, and followed me into the summer before I realized what was going on. At first, I was hesitant to tell my family and friends about it, but now I realize that there was no reason to hide anything.

It began in the run-up to exams; I'd wake up in the night in a panic - literally in a sweat. Sometimes I could go back to sleep, but not always. Of course, the panic was always about the exams: had I forgotten to study something? Was I properly prepared for the various kinds of question there would be, and so on. On one level, I knew that these feelings were irrational and unrealistic, but they easily consumed me. I didn't study any better because of it, in fact it was quite the opposite as I was often tired and dispirited. I ended up doing quite well in these exams, but it certainly was an unpleasant process.

When they were over, I thought that because the exam worry was gone, the panic attacks would dissipate. I went home, got the usual kind of student summer job, and settled down to enjoy the free time I hadn't had much of during the year. But I'd still wake up with the same panicky feeling, except that now it centred around other things, and not always the same thing. What if I had an accident that totalled my car? What if my mom lost her job? What if there was a terrorist attack that blew us all up?

Well, I'm exaggerating, but I think you get the point. No one could guarantee me that these disasters could never happen. But nothing in my situation was much different from the previous years and none of these anxieties involved anything I could do anything about. Yet there they were. And they sucked.

More insight came from my grandmother in a nursing home, who we all knew wouldn't live much longer. She always seemed to be afraid of one thing or another. One time it would be that someone was stealing things from her, so we had to change the locks. Then it was that she imagined there had been an argument between me and the home's Director. And what would happen to her if her two children were killed in the same car accident? Who would be there to take her to the occasional restaurant or to have her hair done? Obviously the worry came first, and her brain was trying to make sense of it by coming up with all these unfounded anxieties.

It took me a little while to realize that what my grandmother was experiencing, I also battle with every day, but still had not told anyone yet. It was more obvious in her case, but really not much different. We all knew that there was something wrong with my grandmother’s brain and I thought that I might be having the same problem. This caused more panic, could a tumour really be eating though my brain?

By this time I was back at University. The frantic scramble to get everything done on time began again, and this time I wasn't coping well at all. I went back to the Health Center to see a professional and was informed that these panic attacks were in fact not uncommon at all, especially in University students because they are in such a stressful state. She gave me a prescription and told me if things persisted to return to the clinic.

At first I argued. I’m not a psych case! "Look," she said, "if you had diabetes, you’d take insulin for it even though you wished you didn’t have diabetes. This is a chemical imbalance in your brain, and the medication will probably deal with it."
 
I was still hesitant about taking the medication, but I did understand what she was trying to say. If it’s a physical problem, it’s not embarrassing. But if it’s mental, it’s a whole other story. After a few days, the attacks subsided and I realized the pills were helping.
 
I'm still taking them. I learnt there's no point in being ashamed of something you have no control over and that before you become involved in everything around you, you need to remember to take care of yourself first and foremost.