I don't even know where to begin.
I am having panic attacks. Real ones.
I have to go back in time a little bit to explain.
I got pregnant again immediately after my miscarriage last fall. I was determined not to stress and to avoid worry during this pregnancy. I thought I was doing OK at it too.
I was almost ten weeks along and we were visiting friends in another town.
I started spotting. It was exactly how my previous two miscarriages had begun. I was devastated, but determined not to tell anyone and just to act normal. I was exhausted and went to bed with Laney on the floor in their extra room. I prayed and went to sleep.
I woke up in a panic. I couldn't breathe. The harder I tried the worse it got. I called out for Mike and he came running in. I told him to get an ambulance. Then I told him to wait. It is so hard to describe, but I thought I was dying. Mike and I drove to the hospital. The doctor thought I might have passed a blood clot. I was booked in for an ultrasound the next morning.
The ultrasound technologist offered to quickly see if we could spot the baby before checking my legs for clots. Seeing that little heart flicker was one of the best moments of my life. Everything was fine. I had a blood clot behind the placenta which didn't go on to cause any further problems with the pregnancy.
I didn't recognize that event for what it was at the time. I have probably had at least a dozen of those episodes, throughout my last pregnancy and up until now. I did go in to the hospital another time and the doctor told me that these are panic attacks. They come out of nowhere, often when I am not even feeling anxious. The last straw was one I had last week. I was visiting with my sister helping her with some stuff and BAM-out of the blue, I can't breathe.
Fear is the problem. I let it get a foothold in my life.
I am done with fear.
I will get through this.
I have to. These little ones need me.