Panic Attack

Lover Boy looked up at me and said “There is only one solution. We are going to have to divide by two.”

With a gasp I sit up in bed. My heart is racing, and my chest is collapsing. I can’t breathe. I take my breath is serrated gulps. I can’t remember what was going on in that dream, but suddenly I am sick.

I take it into the bathroom so as not to wake LB, and lay a towel on the floor. I try laying down on my back…no good. Still can’t breathe. I feel like my chest is collapsing onto itself. I can obviously breathe, or I would be dead by now, but my chest hurts so bad.

Maybe it’s food poisoning. I have to throw up. If I throw up I’ll feel better. I don’t have the energy or the boldness to stick my finger down my throat. I have to throw up in order to get my chest to stop hurting so much.

I’m so frustrated because after what feels like forever, all that comes up is my stomach acid. I need to feel better, it hurts so much, I need to find a solution. My sobbing and gasping for breath wakes LB, and he feels terrible because I can’t tell him what to do to make me feel better. Finally a flashback to my junior year of high school makes it clear that the inflammation in the cartilage in my ribs must be back. I ask LB to get me a heating pad for my chest and lots of Mortin.

Two days later, and my ribs still feel like they have been hand dipped in acid and are slowly eating away. When telling my mom about this, she reminded me that I had pneumonia when I was a baby 3 times in 2 years. It might be something worse.

I think I need to find a doctor.