by Debbie Ross

Created on: February 22, 2009

Having just returned to university as a mature student, I was enjoying taking notes in my first Sociology class. That was until I was gripped with an overwhelming tightness in my chest and the fear that I was having a heart attack. When the walls started closing in on me, I grabbed my coat and books and fled. Yes, flight had definitely overtaken fight. I felt clammy and the only thing I wanted to do was go home. But I had a 15 minute drive. Could I make it? I rolled all the car windows down trying to force as much air into the car as possible while praying my heart would stop racing.

My next attack happened about a month later. My husband was getting ready to leave on a university recruitment trip. At that time, I was a 30 something, independent woman with a demanding career. But the night before my husband was to leave, I became a clinging, sobbing, terrified 10 year old who absolutely could not stay alone for the three days he would be gone. I was a total mess and I had absolutely no idea why.

The attack that finally made us seek medical help happened a year later in mid August. I awoke one morning and could not get out of bed. Our usual routine consisted of my husband rising at 5:00 a.m. to prepare for his day's classes and me getting up at 7:30 a.m. to shower, have breakfast, and get ready for work. On this particular morning, my husband came to check on me at 8:00 a.m. to tell me I'd be late for work. The temperature outside was already in the 70's but I was curled up in the fetal position and had covered myself with all the blankets on the bed.

I told my husband I was not going to work. I just wanted to sleep. He, believing I was simply not feeling well, volunteered to get my breakfast, but I wasn't hungry. The mere thought of food was revolting. When my husband returned from teaching later that day, I was where he had left mein bed in a fetal position. The days passed in a blur. I slept and only left my bed to go to the bathroom. I managed to keep tea and juice down but the thought of putting something solid in my mouth made me nauseous. After a week of this, my husband took control and called our GP. After consultation, he diagnosed me with clinical depression and prescribed not only an anti depressant but an anti anxiety pill as well. The way he explained it was that depression had hills and valleys. The anti depressant would take care of the hills and the anti anxiety pill would take care of the valleysotherwise known as panic attacks.

My weight went

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