Well that was fun.
I went and gave myself a panic attack tonight. Probably a 2 on a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the worst, but it was still pretty miserable.
Jake is working nights this week, so I’m all alone here in this new town, and night time is always scarier than daytime. If this had happened during the day, it probably wouldn’t have been nearly as bad.
I got the kids in bed, the easiest bedtime I’ve had all week. I leashed Leika and took both dogs outside; after Leika did her business I figured we’d do a few laps around the yard so she could burn some energy. We made it through one lap, and I felt like something bit my leg. There’s ants in the yard, so I wasn’t all that surprised, but when I rolled up my jeans to look, I had this really ugly bruise/bite/swollen/itchy spot. I came inside to look closer, and for some reason, decided that it wasn’t a bite on top of a bruise, but a blood clot that was at that very moment, traveling to my heart.
Once that genius diagnosis was made, I started having trouble breathing. My heart started racing, and I got very irrational-for some reason I just HAD to pick up all of the random dirty clothes around the house and put them in the hamper. Because you know, when you’re about to die from a fatal blood clot, having a tidy house is important.
Obviously I don’t have a blood clot. I also probably don’t have varicose veins, which was the next thing that I diagnosed myself with. I got bit by an ant-a fire ant to be specific, and it is the exact same as the last time I got bit by a fire ant, except there is a bruise UNDER the bite which is making it look just awful. That and the poking and prodding I’ve been doing for the past two hours.
So. Lame. I am very glad, however, that I recognized this as a panic attack and didn’t call 911 or Jake’s work or my mom or something. They don’t happen often at all, but I have had one before so I recognized the symptoms at least.