3rd Post. Panic time

But knowing you have great doctors takes it to a whole other level.  I don’t like mediocrity in any aspect of my life. I don’t go to bad doctors, bad restaurants or bad priests.

I know you know what I am talking about.  Have you ever gone to a restaurant and asked for a minor modification on an entree you really want.  Or for your young kids who won’t eat pasta with red sauce and asked “may I please order the pasta with just plain butter…parmesan on the side?”.  Some restaurants will say “not a problem”.  However, have you ever been to a restaurant where the server looks absolutely petrified and says “I am not sure, let me go ask the kitchen if they will allow that”.

Allow that. Really “allow that”?  Allow my kids to eat the way they like and I have the privilege of paying for it?

No.  That is the type of restaurant that does not work for me, or my family.  That doesn’t appreciate or understand our family. Too rigid.  We only make things one way – OUR way!   Our kids are young…well behaved, do great in any restaurant, but that doesn’t mean they want pasta with garlic, ramps and porcini mushrooms.  They just want butter.  I’m happy to pay the price without all the good stuff…but a business that doesn’t say “well of course”.  THAT to me, is an example of a not great restaurant.

As for my faith, I am a woman of faith.  I have a deep faith.  I always have had this.  So who I sit in a pew and listen to each week, is very important to me.  I don’t like bad priests, or ministers.  And they exist.  I am not talking about REALLY BAD leaders in a Church…the ones we’ve all been reading about for the last five years.  I am again talking about a person who doesn’t know me or my family.  Doesn’t get us and what we need from our faith.

I literally have “shopped” churches and priests/ministers for the past five years starting when my dad was battling (and ultimately lost) to renal cell carcinoma – one of the rarest cancers – aka, kidney cancer.  I felt rudderless and so totally alone.  I wanted to find the right fit, someone who gave me some type of connection to my life before Seattle.  Wasn’t even sure that was possible. So I began to search and meet with priests to talk one on one.

Just because a priest has a huge flock, a huge following and is absolutely charming and gregarious doesn’t mean he is right for me.  I like my priests to be compelling, highly educated, non judging, welcoming and open…and yes, somehow despite their charisma that is so incredibly attractive, to have just a smidge –of humility.  It took me a while to find this.  It is not as easy as you think.

Again we have lots of amazing amazing places of worship in Seattle…it was worth the investigation to find the right level of support for me and for my family.

Doctors.  I like a doctor who listens.  Who asks open ended questions, is probative, wants to know all aspects of what is going on in my life in the hopes that one part, no matter how insignificant I may think it is, that it could possibly provide a clue that opens the door to the proper diagnosis.

This entry is about PANIC ATTACKS and to see if this was the cause of my ailments and terror filled nights.

Enter again, a wonderfully thoughtful and well respected psychiatrist.  She saw me for about a year when my dad was dying and we were transitioning from living in NYC to Seattle.  I was struggling a little bit about my identity.  I come from a big Chicago family…and when you say you are Irish Catholic in Chicago…that is not just a religion or ethnicity – it is a type of person.  Similar to being a New York Jew….its a TYPE of person, a life style…people with chutzpa….I love these types of people.  They are strong, proud communities.  I have alway believed that my Jewish friends from NYC are as close as can be to my Irish friends from Chicago.  Sounds impossible…but it’s not.  Cut from the same cloth, family is everything, loyalty is everything and showing emotion is okay-perhaps encouraged!.

We feed you when you are sad, we feed you when you are happy, we just like to feed people. I could go on and on.  I am not saying others are not dissimilar…these are just the two types of people I know best and I find comfort in their presence.

So back to my psychiatrist.  She is more of a Buddhist and in her practice infuses some really sage and wise words of wisdom that I take to heart and try to remember in times of stress.

One example: “when dealing with someone who is difficult, or all about themselves…you do not engage, you endure”.  That is what the buddhists do.

Wonderful advice.  I fail often in executing said advice…but sometimes I get it…and it works miracles.

After my diagnosis we talked a lot.  We discussed my fear of being “sick mom” with my kids…and that somehow that would change their life and I didn’t want that for them.  We have a great life…I want my kids to have the same upbringing I had.  I don’t want them anxious and worrying and “different” because their mom was diagnosed when they were so young and impressionable.  My kids are 8 and 10.  I also have a 23 year old step daughter.  But lets just call a spade a spade – I hate the word “step” and so does my “step daughter”.

We have often laughed about how much we both dislike saying “hi this is my step daughter” or “hi this is my step mom”.  We are better than that.  We are closer than that…and we have been in each others lives for too long to be “steps”.

The only good thing about her being my “step” is I get to brag about her – as I can not take credit for her.  She is smart, she is kind, she has a work and study ethic that is unbeatable.  She graduated Magna Cum Laude from an Ivy League School.

We are NOT similar in this regard.

I worked my butt off for 20+ years.  I traveled more than anyone I know.  I am a million mile flier on two US airlines and the travel was almost 100% limited to domestic travel.  That is hard to do.  Think about it.   A flight from San Francisco to New York is only 2200 miles….now get to 1,000,000 miles…two times.  It takes years, and it takes giving up your personal life…and being totally dedicated to you work.  Thankfully I loved my work and everyone I worked with.

So with my “step” daughter….I loved being in awe of how much she actually loved school and found so much joy in it.  I never did.  I was the mom (step) that would call or text and say “I am guessing you are in the library or at home in your room studying…just texting/calling to say “get out of the library…go grab a friend and have a glass of wine.  Better yet, have two”.  OR near the end of her senior year I sent a voicemail that said “trust me on this one….walk up to the cutest boy you’ve always had a crush on…and just give him a kiss…right there, without warning.  Right on the lips!”

She never did it. I am not sure I would have had the courage to do it either…but I think it would make for a great life story.

So back to my uber psychiatrist.  Yes I have anxiety.  She said the fact I am so outwardly appreciative and grateful for how fortunate I feel for my life, my husband, my kids, friends and family…in and of itself, can create anxiety.  You are always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Actively being grateful acknowledges somehow that life isn’t this way for others.  THAT definitely makes me anxious and sad.

However, it is not a Panic Attack.  As is probably very obvious if you’ve read this far to know that I emote.  Some can’t.  I can.  I always have.  My dad use to say to me when I was a child “Bethie…you are going to get your heart broken one day…you wear your heart on your sleeve.  But in the end you will win”.

Have I told you how wise and amazing my dad was?  He was spot on.  Sure as anything I did have my heart broken terribly in my 20’s.  However, it all works out in the end.  It would have been a DISASTER had we ended up together.  So I buried myself in my work, I moved to San Francisco for a big job…and I was good at it…so the job got bigger and bigger. And in the end after 15 years of traveling 75% of the year all over the place – I found the ONE. I did win in the end.  I have the most amazing husband and every day I am thankful.

So, to end this entry….it wasn’t Panic Attacks.  Sorry I took you on a long woven “when is she going to land the plane” story….but this is who I am.