Anxiety

Colby Keegan at age eight.

Colby suffered from anxiety. Sometimes the smallest thing, such as going into  a store, triggered terrible reactions; crying, rocking, stomach upsets, panic, sweats, nausea. Gay Hendricks, Ph.D., author of Conscious Breathing: Breathwork for Health, Stress Release, and Personal Mastery has said that, "Anxiety is mostly caused by two emotions: anger and sadness," Colby had both.

There are five major types of anxiety: Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, Social Phobia (or Social Anxiety Disorder), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Colby had all but the last, with the first diagnosis coming in at age eight.

I was sympathetic and empathetic to Colby's illnesses. I was supportive, encouraging, but I could not completely understand, because I did not have the same difficulties. I did not, could not, walk in his shoes, even though I tried, even though I wanted to very much. I felt if I could experience life in the way he experienced it, then I could help him more. Even though life does not work that way, I felt guilty that I could not live Colby's experiences. To some extent, I still feel that way.

It is ironic that in Colby's passing, I come closer to doing that than ever before. Since he passed, I have had a lot of general anxiety and several panic attacks. Many medical professionals say that all parents who lose a child go through a form of Post Traumatic Stress. No one can live those experiences for us, either. So while others can be sympathetic, empathetic, to me, no one can truly understand.

I say this because so many wonderful people try. They go through their own form of anxiety because they can't help more, can't understand better, but again, that's the way life is. It is a group of circles, and this is the anxiety circle. That others try to understand, want to, is enough. More than enough, really, because their caring and love supports and sustains me. So thank you. I haven't said that enough lately, but I think it every hour of every day. Thank you.

Escape

It has been suggested that during this holiday season that I have an "escape" plan. This means:
1. not commiting myself to situations and events I really do not want to go to, and
2. only committing myself to those events where I can quickly and gracefully exit if I need to.

So, no parties, no receptions, no crowds of people moving around. No malls, or crowded movie theaters. My brain, everyone tells me, is still on overload. That's why I can't process lots of speech, sounds, color and movement all at the same time. The escape also goes for everyday hum-drum activities. Don't get into a long line at the grocery store because I may be ready to bolt before I get up to the cashier. Get out of the house at least once a day for something, even if it is a short walk. That's probably good advice for anyone, not just those of us who are grieving parents.

The importance of this plan becomes obvious today as I sit in a very cheerful dental hygenist's chair. Christmas music is playing and it isn't too long before I feel trapped. Sure enough I break out in a cold sweat and my heart begins thumping. Typical symptoms of a panic attack. Not too many places you can go when you are stuck in a dentist's chair so I focus on a dot on the ceiling and try to breathe deeply and slowly. Not too easy when you have ten fingers and a couple of metal prods in your mouth.

It is becoming evident that I need some medical help for these panic attacks, for my anxiety. A counselor I saw recently went through my behavioral changes since Colby passed. The either not sleeping or sleeping too much, the not eating or eating too much, the either not crying or crying too much. These are apparently classic signs of anxiety/panic and long term they can have devastating effects on my health.

My first response is to think that it doesn't matter, that long-term I will have no family. That's even true of the short term. What does it matter that in ten years I will be in bad health? There will be no one to care. Plus, I'd get to see Colby again that much earlier. But I quickly realize those thoughts are not normal, not healthy. A friend of Colby's has opened the door to a doctor who may help. With no medical insurance I now have to try to figure out how to pay for it. So I'll see. In the meantime I will plan my escape routes through the holidays. Come January, life should be a lot less stressful.

Ponderings

A counselor, a physician, and I go over Colby's medical records and I compare them to what I know of other family members who had schizophrenia. They are strikingly, scarily similar. I had always felt badly that my genes gave Colby his asthma, something that is seen on my side of the family, including me, although I didn't develop any signs of it until I was 40. Colby has asthma troubles from the time he was three. Now I feel worse that my genes also gave him schizophrenia.

The three of us discuss the generational jump that this mental illness often presents. The jumping from aunt to niece, grandfather to granddaughter, although most in my family who had schizophrenia did not have kids. I wonder if I'd had other children if they, too, would have been affected. Both the counselor and the doctor tell me that maybe, but most likely not.

Schizophrenia comes in many forms they tell me. Colby's took the form of paranoia, panic attacks, refusal to bathe, depression, anxiety, and, at times, being obsessive about certain subjects. He could also feel threatened by people he knew well. I tell them that my yard guy who has been cutting my grass every other Wednesday for fifteen years, and who Colby used to work for, told me he came to the door last spring and Colby met him with a sword, drawn, panicky that "they" were out for revenge. He didn't ask who "they" were, and I didn't know about the incident until after Colby passed.

I balance this information in my mind with the fun-loving, smiling, intelligent, kind, caring, talented son I always knew, although I on many occasions saw him turn in an instant from that person to someone who was very angry, fearful, paranoid. How much the drugs played into that I will never know, except I do know the behavior began long before the drugs.

Sometimes I think if only I had gotten him to a doctor who "got" him, who could have treated him effectively. Schizophrenia is often treatable. But then there are no guarantees, and maybe Colby's life played out just as it was supposed to. Neither of these thoughts make me feel any better.

I am not sure what this information means. Certainly it is more to digest, to think about. Certainly it means that wherever Colby is now, he is no longer tormented, scared, or afraid. He is at peace.