Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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October 7, 2007

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Today’s Stories

~**~**~

 Anxiety and Panic Attacks in Perimenopause

Pina Martinelli

ANXIETY AND PANIC ATTACKS IN PERIMENOPAUSE

I have always considered myself to be well read when it comes to medical and biological knowledge, the functions of the body, its hormonal systems and its various organs. I read Gray's Anatomy and our family medical guide from cover to cover to better understand the human form that mystified me. By the time I was 15, I had already read the first edition of the renowned women's book, "Our Bodies, Our Selves", published by the Boston Women's Health Collective to educate women and girls about their bodies. The book was the first of its kind back in the early 1970's and I devoured every topic and every word within its contents. At 16, I had a fairly concise idea about the entire reproductive cycle in women, including menopause. Well, at least I thought I did until the truth of perimenopause and its realities knocked on my door with a vengeance that brought me to my knees. In short haste I would realize I still had much to learn.  I was 41. 

The first panic attack "hit" me one gloriously sunny, brisk and cold January morning while I was driving on the New York State Thruway to my job in the Bronx. Before it struck, I was in a wonderful mood and was ready to go back to work after having enjoyed a long three day weekend. I arrived at the Yonkers toll booths in such a feisty mood you would have heard me singing along to the Led Zeppelin music that was blasting in my car. I paid my toll and merged into the traffic just as I had always done and felt fine. I was not anxious, depressed or worried about anything, but in a few short moments I'd realize that something was seriously wrong. 

In front of me, a white box truck was moving at a snail's pace that made me so impatient I spent the next few seconds arguing with my inner self about whether or not I should pass him. This was unlike me because in normal circumstances I am usually quite patient with others, including my fellow New York drivers. Against my better judgment, I decided to pass the truck. Halfway through this process my panic attack exploded, flooding my body with such an urgent adrenaline rush I inexplicably slammed my right foot on the brakes as if there were an obstruction in the road. There wasn't. It took everything I had not to lose complete control of my car while the panic coursed through my veins, pressing me to jump out of the car while it was moving. Barreling down behind me and with increasing speed, was that same white truck I had passed earlier. The driver, clearly furious by my otherwise insane actions, was screeching on his brakes and blowing the horn to avoid a fatal collision with my car. Fortunately for us both I managed to pull into a median in the road just as he passed me. 

Unbeknownst to the driver, I felt oddly disembodied from my own being, as if some strange, otherworldly force had invaded it. I was shaking in my seat, drenched in sweat and so terrified I could hardly catch my breath. My heart was pounding hard, while my pulse quickened from the terror I had just experienced. There, in the comfort of my parked car, my hands gripped the steering wheel for dear life while I struggled to catch my breath and calm down. Meanwhile, my right driving leg was jerking, tingling and twitching as if it had a mind of its own. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the uncontrollable urgency to slam my foot on the brakes, even after I stopped the car. My mind was a jumbled mess of fear and terror combined with being utterly perplexed by what had happened to me. Somehow, and with courage I didn't expect, I still managed to get to work that day, some 45 minutes after the incident occurred. When I finally lumbered into my office, I was a shadow of the woman I had been earlier that morning. To this day, I still am, but only when I drive. 

My attacks continued every day for two weeks each time I drove to and from work. Sometimes I had them at various times during each of my commutes, but in varying groups of multiples, 3 times, 5 times, 4 times. There was no order to this madness. Each time an attack struck during my commute I would have to stop by the side of the road to regain composure, which invariably caused me to be late for work. I couldn't help it. It could not be controlled. Throughout that time there was not one moment where I had any kind of respite from this madness I was going through. Everyday, without fail, my panic attacks sat beside me in my car, waiting with bated breath to strike once more. By the end of each work night and those two weeks of terror, I was so exhausted and drained I refused to go out. It would take hours for me to recover until the next onslaught began. And it did, like clockwork, every morning. The randomness of these episodes was tortuous for me. But I was more afraid of myself: who was I and what was wrong with me? 

A week later I managed to make an appointment with my female internist who, in a few short minutes, would assess that I was in perimenopause. She explained that for some women, panic and anxiety attacks were a part of its course, while for others it was not. She said, and this was later verified by my psychopharmacologist, a renowned psychiatrist, that my attacks would continue through to full menopause. I sat there and listened to her words carefully. This was the first time I had ever heard that panic and anxiety were the norm during this time of life. I was horrified, even though I intellectually understood her words. Somehow in my fog, it made sense that fluctuating hormones would precipitate a panicked response. And yet, despite her explanations, I would feel like the consummate failure in life, bound by forces beyond my control. At my worst I had forgotten who I was, the courage and strength I possessed, along with my ability to drive. In a few weeks I would have to retrain myself as if I were suffering from a brain injury and stroke.

 My internist prescribed Paxil to me as the primary treatment program for panic attacks. The drug did virtually nothing for me at its lowest dosage and had to be repeatedly increased to illustrate some measured effect. Eventually, I would be taking the highest dosage a person could manage, but it didn't matter. I was still getting panic attacks regularly while I drove. What made it worse was that the Paxil made me a flat version of myself. I had no affect when I spoke, no life to my personality, or spirit to speak of at that time. To add insult to injury, the Paxil ultimately caused me to gain nearly 50 lbs on my slender, small boned frame. By the time my 2nd husband would meet me in 2000 for the first time, I weighed 185 lbs.

Eventually, I would teach myself to drive with an altered, more measured and cautious confidence to help me control the attacks more efficiently. Now, in addition to monitoring the behavior and driving habits of others, I would have to monitor my own inner sensations, mood fluctuations and hormonal changes with a kind of frenzied vigilance I never had before. I learned to recognize the preliminary sensations of a panic attack to give me time to pull to the side of the road to collect my thoughts or drive with my blinkers on. In time, I would be weaned from the Paxil and placed on Nefazodone, the generic version of Serzone (removed from the market because of some fatalities that did not affect the generic version), which I still take.

I still get panic attacks, just as I regularly get my period. I have learned how to control them for the most part, but hormonal fluctuations do have an impact. I am more sensitive to them prior to my period and during ovulation, times of stress, and exhaustion. I control my actions based on those factors. While my attacks aren't as bad as they used to be, they are still ever present reminders of what I face each day. Until I am in full blown menopause, I will most likely continue to have these attacks. 

Though the terror I once felt in having them has subsided, their impact on my life has not changed. Once able to drive for long distances and on different roads, I can only manage my daily commute to and from work or within my local community to take care of chores. If I press the issue, I will have an attack. Every day, I drive the same roads because they are "safe" to me and yet, sometimes these roads bother me at inexplicable times. Straight roadways and highways bother me, while curved roads do not, but this can change and switch places without notice or preparation. Being stuck in traffic and blocked in by other cars does not bother me, but a tailgater or a fast driver can trigger an attack, and yet, sometimes they do not. At times I feel overcome by my fight or flight response, and yet there are times I feel nothing at all, as if I never had experienced an episode before.

 Every morning, despite my wishes to discontinue the use of the antidepressants, I still have to take 3 1/2 tablets (2 in the morning, 1 1/2 at night) to control the panic attacks. Several months ago I asked my psychopharmacologist whether or not I could stop using them altogether, but she said I could not. With my history, she explained, it is best that I remain on them until I am actually in full blown menopause. I groaned at the thought. 

Meanwhile, I wait, dreading the thought of 5 to 10 more years of this randomness and uncertainty in my life. Sometimes, I wonder if it would have made a difference had I known the truth about perimenopause years before. Like the random nature of my attacks, I realize maybe it would have made a difference or maybe it would not. Either way I am caught in between the precipices of change, with no end in sight from  the panic attacks that have plagued me for almost ten years while I walk through perimenopause.

Pina Martinelli

Pina1101@aol.com

~**~**~
Bartering- An Old Money Saving Tip

Bonnie Carriles

I am a barterer.

I am the type of person who will help anyone I can. If I were rich, my family and friends would be too. I always cook a little extra at dinner time for when unexpected guests arrive (oddly enough it is usually around dinner that they come). I realized today that I am a barterer. People are very sensitive about money and a good way of forming and keeping meaningful friendships, bartering works the best.

I bartered for a good deed

I have a friend in Richmond named Kathy. About a year ago I gave her a Himalayan cat that I had rescued and I kept the sister. They both became pregnant but hers were not pure bred and mine were. Her son Sean was diagnosed with cancer a when he was 11, in which he is now in remission. During this difficult time there was a lady there who helped them out tremendously and Kathy knew she wanted one like her Wobbie cat and knew that I was going to sell my kittens. She said she could only afford 100 and wanted to work out a deal. After thinking about it for a while I called Kathy back and told her that I would just give her the cat. Every good deed deserves a reward, and especially because the lady helped my friend when I couldn't be there for her. Kathy called me a couple days after the lady had gotten the kitten and told me that they were very happy together (cat and lady) and that she couldn't be happier. Knowing that she is in a good home and is being well cared for is a bonus.

I barter for services

Doing a family tree can be outrageously expensive; if you don't know what you are doing. Some people will travel far and wide to get information but, I am not financially able to do that so I barter for services. I signed up as a volunteer on RAOGK (Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness). I offer to get obituaries, tombstone photos, or go to the court house. The only thing we are allowed to charge for is postage, copies, and gas (because it is now so expensive). So, if they just request a photo, because it is digital I send it through email and it is free. Usually when I am able to find what the person is looking for, they are so happy that their thank you letters and notes usually say....If you ever need a look-up in my area, don't hesitate to contact me. This enables me to get other things for people or friends who may have no contact in that area. This way we have an extended network of friends, we all get what we want and usually don't have to pay more than 5 dollars.

I barter for internet access, paper, and ink.

When I was younger my mother told me and my sister that she would not pay for us to go to college unless we kept our grades up. I didn’t, I dropped out, I got my G.E.D. When I was playing with the idea of going to college, (at 30) I talked to my mom about it and she said they wouldn't help me. My dad felt it was his responsibility as a parent to pay for my college. I didn't feel that way. I messed up, my mom was right. The real reason that my mom didn't want to help me is because she thought I was it was a lost cause. She said I couldn't do it with all these kids and responsibilities. I told her that I found out about a college online and have been talking to them. They are accredited and my friend had already gone through the program so I know it was legit. The thing was, I had no internet access and really couldn't afford it.

My dad decided to take a chance on me and allowed me to piggyback on his account. He will buy my ink and paper and pay for the extra internet connection if my grades are maintained. Easy enough for me, I thought, so I signed up.

I barter for subscriptions.

Sometimes when I get look-ups they go beyond what they are supposed to request.

I transcribed a submission of mine that I sent to Family Chronicle Magazine.

This lady, Linda, had hardly anything to go on and was taking a real shot in the dark. I had ended up helping her for 6 months. Every time I found something...there was something else and to this day she still sporadically calls me to help her. It is fine with me because she is a great lady with very interesting stories.

One day we were talking on the phone and she had recommended that I should get a subscription to the Godfrey Library. It is a great resource to genealogists. I explained to her that I really couldn't spend the money on it, but if she had one then I could walk her through it and teach her how to make concrete findings (have to have proof). She said she didn't have one either but would look into it.

The next day she called me and said "This whole year you have helped me and not asked for a dime, other than gas money occasionally." I said, "Uh huh, so?" She then tells me, "I bought me and you a subscription for a year to the Godfrey Library!" I was so excited and couldn't thank her enough. She thought I deserved it for all my hard work and in turn I also taught her how to do the research and clues to look for and now she will call me just to chat and see how we are doing in each others lives.

I barter for crabs

I have a fisherman that lives 2 trailers down from me. Every now and then, he will bring home bales of live crabs. My husband grew up in Port O'Connor Texas. It is mainly a resort town and summer consists of nothing but fisherman and shrimper's. They lived about 5 – 10 miles from King Fisher. My husband LOVES seafood. So when Jay brings crabs home, my husband always buys them.

He buys them so I can make him crab cakes. One day when I finished making the crab cakes I told him "Why don't we take some down to Jay?" my husband said, "Oh, he is a fisherman and some don't like eating seafood after they have been around it all the time." Then I said "Well, you cannot buy crab cakes just any where around here." He agreed and we walked over to his house and I gave him the crab cakes. That man was in hog heaven! He said they were the best he had ever had, and he has had his share.

After we left I told my husband that he was probably just being nice. The next day when I was taking the kids to school he yelled out "I can't get over them crab cakes!" I said, "I am glad you liked them" and went on to joke "Well, keep the crabs coming and we'll make sure you get some crab cakes!" He said, "It's a deal!" I thought to myself  Wow, that's kind of cool.

Ever since then, I have been making crab cakes every week and making sure he has at least 6 for his freezer (which he says they never make it there) and we get our fill too and now, the best part is… we don't have to pay for them anymore and we gained a good friend in the process.

I think bartering with people is a really good way to go. It helps me to obtain things that I wouldn't normally be able to afford and I can help people in return. This is the way it was done a long time ago when a handshake was as good as your word.

It is tough in this generation and everything boils down to how much money you have. I prefer to take this route. It keeps the money out of friendships and two people get what they want and or may deserve.

Bonnie Carriles

Krazyb73@aol.com
 

~**~**~

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