Praise the Lord, and pass the Halliburton: a true story

I suffered from panic attacks for a few years during my late teens and early adulthood. If you've never had one, or witnessed someone who has, I cannot express how painful and frightening they are. The symptoms mimic a heart attack: shooting pains, ringing in the ears, dizziness, blurred or tunnel vision, shortness of breath, and the sensation that something --something BIG-- has decided to take a nap on your chest; all compounded by the overwhelming, ever-increasing certainty that you are going to die. A catch 22 emerges shortly thereafter. You believe you're dying, you panic, your symptoms get worse, you panic more, you worsen still. After my third or fourth attack and a few weeks of testing (blood-work, EKG's, halter monitors, etc.), I was diagnosed as having Panic Disorder. My doctor sent me home with a year's worth of Xanax, the distinction of being the youngest patient he had ever treated for the disease, and the number of a psychotherapist with whom it was suggested I share the gory details of my childhood.

Before I had an opportunity to hash things out with a head-shrinker or get to the end of my prescription [funny... for a girl with a list of vices longer than the Magna Carta, pill-popping was never one of them), the attacks just stopped. I never had one again.

Until tonight.

It started somewhere around "...we will finish the work of the fallen," and was in full swing by the time "I think the hearings will show the Patriot Act is an important change in the law..." was uttered.

I wonder. Can you sue a President for terror? How about emergency room expenses?

Posted by Antigeist at April 14, 2004 12:39 AM