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Brain Injuries and Anxiety Attacks

“I can’t close my eyes. I will die.” She told me as her breathing grew shallow.

“I can’t breathe. I am dying. Please tell my friends what happened.”
“Look at me. Breathe with me. In through your nose. Out your mouth.” I attempted to calm her by speaking quietly and rhythmically. Slowly her breathing became deeper.

“I just know I am going to die. What if I have a disease that is from another country and the cure is not in America yet? I don’t travel to other countries so I will die.” Again, I talked rationally to her hoping to ease her worry.
She continued to tell me she was going to die. No matter the rationale I used, she continued to be convinced that come morning, she would be dead. No matter the number of times I told her I would keep her safe, she was adamant that she was dying. No matter what I did or said, she knew she was going to die.

I would like to tell you that this is the beginning of a story I am writing. A piece of fiction. This is no piece of fiction. The anxiety attack taking place in my living room this evening was very real. I am told a brain injury can cause anxiety, along with other emotions, to be magnified. It has been a long evening. What did it take for her to be able to finally sleep? Holding hands and transferring my “healing love energy” to her. I will let our dialogue give you a peek into what it is like to observe a panic/anxiety attack and the helpless feeling that goes along with it.
“What makes you think you are going to die?” I asked her hoping to get a glimpse into what was going on for her physically in order to come up with a way to ease her suffering.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “My whole body hurts.”
The conviction that she was going to die continued as her voice grew more and more frantic. “You are having an anxiety attack. You will make it through this. Stick with me. Listen to me. We will get through it together.”

“I am dying.” She cried.
I casually gave her a pain pill hoping she would take it. Often she will put up with the pain to avoid taking medicine. Thankfully, she took the pill when I gave it to her.

“Come sit beside me. I want to hold your hand.” Her voice was reminiscent of when she was eight. The mothering instinct in me knew I had to give her what she needed. I sat down at the end of the couch as her hand reached for mine. “I hurt. I am going to die.” She perseverated on dying. What is a mother to say? Nothing would change her mind.
“I’m sorry you had to cancel your party tonight.”

“There is nothing that would keep me from being with you when you need me. I love you.”

“What does that feel like? I have never felt love.” I continued to hear the eight year old of long ago.
“Focus on your head. I am going to send love and healing through my hands to your body.” (In the last couple of years as I have been going through my transformation, I have begun to feel energy coursing through my body. I know it is a positive energy. A healing energy filled with love. An energy meant to be passed on.)

As I held her hand, I focused on transferring love and healing to her. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I have never been this afraid. If I die, give Stacey Marvel. I know she loves snakes and will take care of her.”

“OK. Right now, I want you to focus on the feel of my hand in yours. The energy coming from me and going to where you need it.”
“Why do I feel tingly all over?”

“Probably the medicine you took.”
“No, medicine doesn’t work on me.”

“You are feeling my love energy being transferred to you. There is so much of it that it causes your body to tingle so you know it’s there.”
“Is that what love feels like?”

“It is what your mother’s love feels like.”
“Have you always loved me? Did you love me when I was a baby? How did you know?”

I took the time to answer each of her questions. I was honest with her. “I have always loved you, but I didn’t always show it very well.” She accepted that and squeezed my hand a bit tighter.
Other conversation happened that I will keep private. Conversation about love, forgiveness, the fear of people leaving. I stuck with her through the ebbs and flows of her anxiety during the attack. She finally began to relax giving me an opportunity to get some dinner. It was a short-lived.

“Mom, are you almost done? I think I need more of that love energy from your hand.”

 

 

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