Nearly a month ago I came into the Urgent Care clinic with an asthma
attack. I was given two breathing treatments, a shot of corticosteroid
and a prescription for a short course of prednisone (or
methylprednisone) as well as a prescription for a rescue inhaler. A
week later saw a doctor because I wasn't 'bouncing back' the way I
ordinarily do, and was actually having more problems. She changed my
prednisone prescription, stopping the one I had and starting me on a
new dose pack, beginning with six pills, then five, then four, and so
on. She also changed my corticosteroid prescription. I told her  at
the time that I was having chest discomfort, and that it was not,
repeat, NOT, an anxiety or panic attack, since a: I knew what one felt
like and knew what to do about it if I did have one; this wasn't it. I
also let you know that my anxiety and depression those years ago were
the result of severe anemia; that when the anemia was resolved, so was
the depression and anxiety attacks, and b: even so, I hadn't had one
of those for four to six years.

When I saw the paperwork she sent home with me, I saw that the first
item on the diagnosis was 'Panic disorder."  I just shrugged; why
should I expect anything else? It was a case of 'same old, same old..."

Is it really a case of 'once a fruitcake, always a fruitcake?" As it
turns out, the chest discomfort became constant, and more 'pain' than
discomfort;  it would wake me up, or more accurately, wouldn't let me
sleep. However, I had been told by both the urgent care physician and
you that it was all in my head. Still, last Friday night, since I
couldn't sleep, I went back to Urgent Care; I figured that there
wouldn't be many patients at 1AM, fewer people to feel foolish in
front of, and I couldn't sleep anyway....what the heck. The ECG was
fine, of course...but the chest x-ray showed some infiltrate and the
doctor said 'pneumonia.'

Wow. It wasn't in my head. It wasn't "panic disorder." It was honest
to goodness something real. I was given a prescription for
antibiotics, a very short course, and a prescription for atavan, which
I used that night and the next in order to get some sleep. The rest I
discarded; I hate that stuff... within two days the chest pain was
pretty much gone; I was feeling much better. Yay.

Except that, now that I'm done with the antibiotics, as of yesterday,
the chest pain is back, and getting worse again. So is the tiredness,
and the shortness of breath, and the coughing. No amount of Tums will
take care of it. It is just behind my sternum, radiating to just
behind my left breast and sometimes up to my jaw.

So, we know it's not my heart-and it is nice to have that ruled out.
*I* know it's not a panic disorder. There is something else going on.
If it's just indigestion, fine-but I've never HAD indigestion before,
or heartburn.  Ever. I'm 57. The closest I have ever come is the last
time I took cough syrup with codeine, and that felt like swallowing
acid. This isn't like that, or at least, not even close to the same
level. If that was a 10 (and yeah, it was...) then what I'm dealing with
all the time now is about a 2 to 3.

I remember anxiety attacks. I remember panic attacks. They are very
different, and I'll tell you what they felt like for me; chronic
anxiety felt like a constant lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow
past, an uneven heartbeat; constantly monitoring the heart rhythm so
that I knew everytime the beat was a nanosecond early; obsessing about
every pain, worried that any second, the 'anxiety' would evolve into a
full blown panic attack. Oh, and panic attacks? I have been told, and
I believe, that the real heart attack that might carry me off one day
would probably be more pleasant. Panic attacks are well named; they
involve being in absolute terror, and pounding heart beats, and
shaking, and a feeling that I am going to go nuts any second, or that
I was dying-or wish I could. They were unmistakable, and they were
incredibly frightening, you can't really think or reason, and since
they won't kill you, nobody cares that you almost wish they could. I
actually saw one website say that they were good for you, since you
could count them as aerobic exercise! One of the major accomplishments
of my life was realizing that I could do something about them, that I
was in charge of them and could make them go away if I could have a
minute or two to concentrate.

However, I don't have those any more.  Haven't had for years.  I
stopped taking antidepressants. I've been with, among, and in charge
of groups of people for years, and have been in many stressful
situations-no anxiety attacks. None. Zip. Nada. Bupkis. I am no longer
anemic, I am not suffering from clinical depression,  I have a
problem. It's not anxiety. It's a pain in my chest.

This is something else. Probably something very minor else, but
perhaps not; the thing is, I have asthma, I get bronchitis, I
sometimes get 'walking pneumonia.'  I don't seem to be getting over
this bout, and It. Is. Not. In. My. Head. It's not an anxiety attack.
So how about it; am I going to be stuck with "panic disorder" until my
tombstone reads 'I TOLD you I was sick?"

I don't deal well with people one-on-one, especially with doctors-
unless I'm being the advocate for someone else: then I can be as
eloquent as Socrates. When it's for me, however, I wimp out, I don't
seem to be able to communicate well. Therefore, I'm writing this. What
do I do now? What do I have to do to get a doctor to cross 'panic
disorder' off the paper, and look for something else? If I go see
someone some time this week, will you forget, please, about filing me
under 'obese post menopausal nutcase who is wasting my time,' and
figure out why I am A: hurting, B; tired, C: short of breath, so that
I can finish my Masters degree, my teaching credential, get started on
the PhD program I've been accepted into, and get ON with things? Do
you think that when you have to call ME 'Doctor," I'll finally get
taken off the 'kook' list? It's not like I haunt the office; I see a
doctor maybe once a year, the annual flu shot and asthma check. Nobody
can accuse me of hypochondria.

Sorry for the vent, I'm just too tired, and too tired of this, to be
polite.