My friend Stacy of JurgenNation.com just reposted an entry about her experience with panic attacks.   Although I cannot hold a candle to what she experiences, I had a story to relate in a comment that became too long for a comment, so I just decided to write about it.

I didn’t even know at the time that what I was experiencing had a name; I had had quite a few moments in high school where I would suddenly get extremely hyped, very nervous, shaky, and unable to control my senses, but it would go away eventually and I’d shake it off.

That was, until senior year, last period of the day, band rehearsal, and I suddenly felt very nauseous, very ill, and excused myself to the bathroom.   It went downhill from there.  Every sensation I would feel would seem to double back on me and cause yet another, stronger one to take its place.   My panics are always health-related — I’m sure I’m going to die.  Heart attack, usually.   I thought it a pretty crappy place to die, surrounded by 1960s era tiled walls and the all-familiar smell of school bathrooms, that beautiful funk of industrial cleanser and teenagers who can’t aim for beans.

A dear close friend, bless him, came and found me in the men’s room and drove me home and stayed with me as I got worse and worse.   Eventually my parents arrived home and called 911.  I felt so silly but I couldn’t get up off the floor by then, heart pounding, sweating buckets, mind spinning, speech slurring.  I remember the technicians tending to me and lifting my big hulk off the floor and out the door and into the idling ambulance.

A 95mph ride 30 miles north to the hospital amid rocking IV bags and tubes and my heart still trying to escape and run amok in the fields surrounding us.   I remember suddenly having to pee so badly I ended up convincing a dubious responder that getting a bottle to do it on the ride, right now, was imperative.   At the time it seemed so incredibly ironic — here I was, dying (or so I thought), and suddenly my body insisted on taking a leak.   Someone was laughing at me, I swear.

The bustle of an E.R.   EKG.   Little strips of paper with my heartbeats captured for posterity.   Docs poking and frowning and shaking their heads over bushed eyebrows and clipboard wielded like swords.    Flabbergasted sighs.   “There’s nothing wrong with him!” as if I was a fruitloop.  By then I was calmer, the monster was leaving.   I kept telling my mother, “I know it was real, it happened!  I swear.   It was awful.”  She believed me, bewildered though she was.

I was worn down.  Tired.   All I wanted to do was sleep, to forget for awhile that I had endured it.   “Panic attack,” came the final thought from the doctor shortly before I was released back to normal society.    He said it with the demeanor of someone holding a dirty gym sock, as if it was all in my head.   Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t, jackass, but would you like to trade?

Research on my own later — hrm, maybe this isn’t so uncommon.   Signs that pointed to what I had been doing wrong — too much caffeine, too little sleep, too much stress, heavy class load (9 classes, 7:30 am till 3:30pm with hours of practice afterwards).    I had simply pushed myself beyond and the whole of me gave up and said, “Fine!   Screw you.”

I still get them.   They’re not as frequent nor as awful because now I know and I can usually talk myself out or at least keep busy with something, anything, until the sensation passes.    I am my own best therapist when nothing else will listen.   I always fear that they’ll escalate again into something terrible, but so far, the beast has stayed at bay.   I have a feeling that he’ll always be there, waiting for the opportunity to snatch again, but for now, he is tamed.    And I am calm.

I’ve always had a huge problem — I am chronically plagued by the Munchies.

I’m not talking about needing to legitimately eat, I’m speaking of that feeling you get that says, “I’m not hungry, but I desperately want to be chewing on something…anything…”

Well, ok, maybe you don’t get it.   I have to assume not everyone does, because some of you are thin as a rail from simply intaking only what you must and that’s it.   Trust me, this is not an affliction that you want.   You are, in the nicest way possible, a lucky bastard.

It’s probably the hardest non-exercise-related item that holds me back from being fit and trim.    I used to think, “Hey, I just like the taste/texture/smell of food, ok?   Some people like books, some like movies…well, I’m just a goddamned FOODIE.   No problem, right?  They have a whole freaking TV network just for me!”

Turns out it’s a HUGE problem because it means at any point in the day I may get a fantastic urge to shove something in my gob for a snack.    The problem is that the resulting caloric intake is far beyond what I should be ingesting and couple that with a sedentary job and bad exercise schedule (until recently), you end up looking — like me.   Overweight and far too many squeezy parts.    Good if you’re a teddy bear, not so much if you’re a 32-year-old guy.

Here’s the really frustrating part about this — eating something?   Yeah, it only solves the sensation for awhile.    Immediately, certainly, and then for a bit more, but it drops off after awhile and I’m back where I started.    The only tried and true way, besides willpower to stop it, is to eat until I am stuffed full — at that point, something else kicks in and stops the sensation and I go back to normal, albeit feeling like a whale because I’ve just ate when I didn’t have to.

It’s much easier to ignore if my defenses are strong — when I’m well-slept, not stressed or pressured, have had good exercise, love from my family, and generally feel good about myself.     Step on any of those or trod on many and it becomes easier and easier for me to fail to resist the urge and instead solve it by grabbing something to munch on and moving on.      Thus, when work has hammered me down into the ground and I’m working insane hours, it’s been a long week of only 4-5 hours/night sleep, or any other factors, I gain weight.    And it’s almost entirely the fault of this sensation.

That’s not to say I’m not the person in control, because I am.   I have no one to blame but my own failures.     It does mean, however, that I have to constantly work on trying to figure out the best way to A) prevent it from happening in the first place and B) how to mitigate it when the munchies DO hit me full-force.

I think the first battle is identifying it, which I’ve done and tried to elaborate on with this post.    Secondly, it’s finding and defining activities or mental exercises to avoid giving in to the sensations.    I know exercise helps, but I can’t always burst into “Ab Crunchers for Dummies” during a 3pm meeting at work.    I need to build up my defenses in other ways to make this work.

Then maybe one day I can battle the Munchies every time….and win.

I fail to understand at all those who are completely against the health care reform that the United States is currently debating unless, of course, they are simply shilling in favor of the insurance company that they work for.    Who hasn’t had to deal with the twisted quagmire of plans, coverage, premiums, deductibles, copays, coinsurance, pre-existing conditions, and denials of coverage?

Oh, right — THE RICH haven’t, because they can just pay for it all to be taken care of.

This is not to say I don’t like the rich or the Republicans that often represent them.    Some of their work ethic is very admirable — work hard, save much, be smart, frugal, and conscientious and you will reap much good.     Anyone can become wealthy and live in the lap of luxury — after all, that’s the American way and ultimately, I have no issues with that philosophy.

The problem with these ideals is that they break down in the face of major health issues.    Even the best planners, savers, and investors amongst us living on a modest income can be thrashed into a bloody pulp by one large medical issue and the costs it incurs.     Considering that they can run into six figures in a hurry, even if your savings account has a wonderful $20,000 balance in it (which most of us can only DREAM of), it’s simply a drop in the huge ocean of expenses you can rack up for a heart attack, stroke, cancer, or any number of other problems that nobody plans on having.     The birth of my son was $56,000 before insurance alone, with us having to shoulder about $8,500 of that in payments that are still being made.    (We’ll own him outright one of these days, by golly.)

So while the conservatives are saying, “Government running health care is a bad idea; just work hard and you’ll get enough to afford coverage, the system works like it is,” the reality is that even with hard work it may not be enough.    You may get coverage, but at such a huge price that you cannot afford it, and likely you will earn too much to be eligible for “poverty” status and the coverage that provides.    You could get coverage denied because you have a pre-existing condition or because you develop a condition that the insurance company chooses to not cover.     Maybe you’re switching jobs and the coverage will drop in between, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.   The drugs for your particular condition may fall outside the blanket of your prescription plan and rack up thousands of dollars every month.  If you’re lucky and receive coverage you can afford and it kicks in to cover your problem, you might be slogged with paying a high deductible, copays, or your insurance can hit the lifetime cap and all assistance dries up for everything now-and-forever.

Any one of these situations is enough to throw a reasonable middle-to-lower class person into despair; many have had to struggle with several blows for a single situation.   The fact is that these are more the norm than the exception and we all know someone who has dealt with the hassles of at least one of these is testament large this problem looms over our society.

I don’t begrudge the insurance companies for being a business and making a profit, but at the same time it’s the point of the entire system that has been lost, and that point is caring for a real human’s health and well-being.    People are being analyzed, economized, and marginalized due to numbers, not needs.    Uncle John’s cancer treatment has become a fiscal decision, not a best-tool-for-the-job selection.   The pregnant mother in between jobs can’t get maternity coverage for herself and her baby in the month in between because it’s not a good risk profile.    Because it’s a drain on the bottom line, the lifetime cap slams the door on the couple with the bouncing baby boy with the genetic disorder who has used up all the benefits and now has no coverage for his intensely-expensive needs.

We need to get our health care system back to one that takes care of people first, profits second;   patients, not liabilities.    This is what the propopsed health care bill is fighting to achieve through some regulations that ensure coverage when things don’t go right and life hands you lemons you are too weak to squeeze for yourself.    In the end, if it costs each of us a bit more out of our paychecks to ensure that anyone and everyone has access to affordable, useful health care in all situations, then I say, sign me up;  I’m all for something that gets us back to one of the most important causes we have to fight for today — taking care of each other.