When Panic Attacks.

The flu sneaked up on me on Friday and took me out with one fell swoop.

I've been going about my daily business, mostly. I went to work on Saturday for my first solo shift, I went out for dinner with my partner (after a much-needed nap, though), I prepared for a presentation, and I executed a radio show. Hurrah. The rest of the time, though, I took turns finally being able to sleep when tired, or being worried about not being able to keep myself awake. I couldn't worry enough to keep myself awake, though, so the sleeping and enjoying won (along with the awful aches and pains, fever, cough, and sinus stuff).

Monday, I went to my 9am lecture and a seminar that scared me as much as the idea of surgery without anesthetic.* I prepared some more for my evening presentation. I alerted my prof in advance to my flu-like condition, and she, reasonably, requested documentation.

Therein lies the problem. Doctors at my university do not provide documentation for the flu or the common cold, yet they also advise students to stay at home rather than attend classes or, higher power forbid, visit the health clinic. Grrreat. So, upon being called on for documentation that I am unable to get, I had a panic attack. I am inclined to say that it was one of the worst I've had, but they all feel like the worst attack ever, such is their nature, so I will just say that it was awful.

I concluded that I was the stupidest, slackest, and smarmiest student that ever existed, trying to weasel my way out of a presentation when I was obviously in the best health of my life. People probably present on Jane Austen when they have cancer, or sepsis, or are in early labour, and here I was trying to fake my way out of it. I should not only get a zero on the presentation, but I should be docked even more marks for behaving so unethically, and I definitely deserve to fail that Austen class and all of my other classes and not graduate even in my sixth year of working my ass off through this stupid illness that causes me to believe such unreasonable things as these.

My body determined that the painful state I had worked myself into must surely be death, or something close to it, and told my heart to race, my palms to sweat, my throat to narrow and go dry, and my diaphragm to jerk in a hiccuping-fashion while I sobbed and choked and pleaded with body to give up.

My mother phoned me and talked me through it, getting me to dress, wash my face, cross the street, walk into the academic building, and even to look into the classroom. However, I couldn't get any closer than that. I couldn't walk in, apologize for my tardiness and appearance, and present. I sunk to the floor of the hallway and tried to stifle my sobs as people walked by. I tried to hide, but I couldn't convince my legs to move, and a sobbing sick woman with a cell phone is not all that inconspicuous in a quiet academic building.

So, now I'm picking up the pieces.

I'm unable to get documentation for the flu, since I can't even get my GP on the phone (and he's in another city, and I didn't visit him on the day in question to prove I have a common illness that won't excuse me from class anyway). However, I can get documentation that I'm a crybaby freak who is undergoing treatment for numerous conditions that render her into a inconsolable mess when she should be able to walk into a room and shoot the shit.

Sigh.

I'm tired again. And I need to do housework. And nap. And do homework. And get over this stupid flu.

Whine, whine, whine. Sigh.

I'll try to post some photos of my cute dog next time. She's adorable and worth visiting.


*Interesting: I have had a scope done in which the anesthetic didn't work properly, or, perhaps, quickly enough. Who am I to know which is true? All I know: the nurses said I shouldn't be in any pain at all. One alerted the doctor because I had been trying to hide the pain behind clenched teeth, and she apologized three times for the pain, baffled that I was feeling anything more than slight discomfort.