Note: I wrote this two days ago because I needed to write it, then decided to wait to make extra sure I wasn't dying before posting it. I'm better now, though still not great. So now you can read this:
It sounds like the start to a bad joke, but yesterday John and I had some bad bologna. Within minutes of our first bites, we were hit with nausea, migraines, and - in my case - recurring heart palpitations.
I spent the rest of the day and into the night alternating between clutching my head and my stomach, and those blasted heart palpitations kept bounding in to do a little dub step (WUB WUB) every hour or so.
In the past, a single heart skip was usually enough to trigger a full-on panic attack for me, so it is with mixed pride and misery that I tell you I've weathered at least 3 dozen in the last day and a half, and though my palms are sweaty as I type this, so far I've avoided a full-blown attack. Low-level anxiety, sure, but I'm doing my breathing exercises and taking long, slow strolls on the treadmill desk and trying to stay busy... and I've been having the most curious sensation through it all.
It's a kind of... expectant hope. A delayed-reaction relief. I can SEE the end of the tunnel, and though each new heart skip tells me I'm not there yet, I know I'm just a little bit closer. I know I'm not dying. I know it's going to get better. And that knowledge makes me - to borrow a phrase from the Bloggess - furiously happy.
Sometimes it's true that we need the dark to appreciate the light. We need our inner wars to fully cherish the times of peace. I hate this feeling right now. I hate it. But I'm learning that even this hate will - sometime soon, I hope - be transformed into gratitude. I won't always feel like this. I'm going to be steady and strong and serene again. And when that time comes, be it another few hours, days, or even weeks, I'm going to remember this terrible, fear-fueled hate, and I am going to love the ever-living CRAP out of my life.
I can almost feel it, you guys. I can almost taste it. And that almost-feeling is getting me through the consuming feelings of fear and pain and awfulness.
So I guess for now, "almost" is enough.
P.S. It's possible this can't all be blamed on bad bologna, of course, since my doctor upped my thyroid meds last month. Rest assured, I'll be dialing those down again, starting tomorrow.
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