After arriving at Salem Hospital, I was hesitant about what was coming. Being only 14 at the time, I did not understand why I was being sent to a neurologist, and only considered the image portrayed by media and television of being fairly morbid with only patients who have had trauma, severe psychological disorders, and brain masses seeing a neurologist. The waiting room was filled with pamphlets about everything from A.D.D. to smoking cessation. When I finally got called, a nurse brought me into a small room with a bed, tv monitor, strobe lights, and wires everywhere. The nurse told me I'd be connected to an E.E.G while waiting for the doctor and proceeded to put a sticky gel all over my head and parts of my face and placed little pads connected to wires on the gel on my head. I remember thinking how awkward it was to have the shifting wires pulling on the different regions of my head while the nurse continued to attach the electrodes.
The neurologist finally walked in and introduced himself as Dr. Hart. He told me all about the procedure and how he would be conducting a bunch of tests to see my brains activity and how I respond to specific stimuli and to see if anything provoked similar symptoms to what I had been experiencing. The test involved a multitude of things ranging from fast flashing LED lights to me performing certain tasks. In the end, I hadn't experienced any symptoms and Dr. Hart was almost positive that, after hearing when the attacks occurred, I had panic disorder. At this time, I should bring up, I was unable to make it through school without going to the nurse. I would only make it an hour or two without symptoms settings in and causing me to flee.
Dr. Hart decided it would be a good idea to go on an SSRI, a drug that inhibits the re-uptake of serotonin in the brain which normally acts as a neurotransmitter. I could stress the details of how anxiety and panic disorder is caused by the uncontrolled nature of serotonin in the brain, but this isn't biochem and at this point in the story I won't reveal how nerdy I am for the wonders of medicine. But, I digress.
This marked my first "experimentation", as I'd like to call it, with SSRIs. I slowly went up on Celexa, starting at the extremely small dose of .5, and I already started to see changes after about a week. The attacks felt more controlled and far less severe. I was able to stay in class longer and started to feel better. November 18 was the first time I was able to stay in class all day, and I couldn't have been happier. Occasionally, symptoms would come back and I'd slowly go up on the medication, eventually maxing at 30 mg in February at which time I was completely free of panic attacks! It was an amazing feeling to be cured of something that was so debilitating!
Weeks went by and then months...Nothing! I couldn't believe all of this could have been controlled by just a little pill every day, but it had. Things continued like this for the remainder of 7th grade, and throughout all of 8th grade. I successfully had graduated from middle school and looked back on the experiences in 7th grade as a distant memory. What did I need to be concerned with anymore? I was on a drug that completely cured me and I didn't need to worry about my academic career anymore.
At the end of 8th grade, my parents decided it was time to move out of Peabody and move to a new house. After looking around, my father picked out a great house in Rowley, just about 20 minutes north of where I lived. This meant I was leaving my old friends to attend a new high school in a town I hardly knew, but I was nothing but excited. I have always been thrilled to meet new people and interact with everyone I met. I'd miss my friends, but this was going to be a great experience at a great new school!
Jump to the first day of class, and I was enthusiastic about my classes and all the new people I was meeting. The school was small, but much nicer than the high school in Peabody. Everything was going great and I was loving it here. On the 3rd day of school however, I noticed I was getting extremely dizzy while sitting in one of my classes so excused myself and went to the nurse. Maybe I was sick? Maybe I had just ate something the night before that disagreed with me? I don't know. The next day...same thing but much more severe. Something was wrong...this wasn't supposed to be happening. I was happy to be here, loving the classes, and enjoying the people. What was going on?
Shit...It never went away...
Dr. Hart decided it would be a good idea to go on an SSRI, a drug that inhibits the re-uptake of serotonin in the brain which normally acts as a neurotransmitter. I could stress the details of how anxiety and panic disorder is caused by the uncontrolled nature of serotonin in the brain, but this isn't biochem and at this point in the story I won't reveal how nerdy I am for the wonders of medicine. But, I digress.
This marked my first "experimentation", as I'd like to call it, with SSRIs. I slowly went up on Celexa, starting at the extremely small dose of .5, and I already started to see changes after about a week. The attacks felt more controlled and far less severe. I was able to stay in class longer and started to feel better. November 18 was the first time I was able to stay in class all day, and I couldn't have been happier. Occasionally, symptoms would come back and I'd slowly go up on the medication, eventually maxing at 30 mg in February at which time I was completely free of panic attacks! It was an amazing feeling to be cured of something that was so debilitating!
Weeks went by and then months...Nothing! I couldn't believe all of this could have been controlled by just a little pill every day, but it had. Things continued like this for the remainder of 7th grade, and throughout all of 8th grade. I successfully had graduated from middle school and looked back on the experiences in 7th grade as a distant memory. What did I need to be concerned with anymore? I was on a drug that completely cured me and I didn't need to worry about my academic career anymore.
At the end of 8th grade, my parents decided it was time to move out of Peabody and move to a new house. After looking around, my father picked out a great house in Rowley, just about 20 minutes north of where I lived. This meant I was leaving my old friends to attend a new high school in a town I hardly knew, but I was nothing but excited. I have always been thrilled to meet new people and interact with everyone I met. I'd miss my friends, but this was going to be a great experience at a great new school!
Jump to the first day of class, and I was enthusiastic about my classes and all the new people I was meeting. The school was small, but much nicer than the high school in Peabody. Everything was going great and I was loving it here. On the 3rd day of school however, I noticed I was getting extremely dizzy while sitting in one of my classes so excused myself and went to the nurse. Maybe I was sick? Maybe I had just ate something the night before that disagreed with me? I don't know. The next day...same thing but much more severe. Something was wrong...this wasn't supposed to be happening. I was happy to be here, loving the classes, and enjoying the people. What was going on?
Shit...It never went away...
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