Friday I did something I’ve never done in my life: I drove myself to the emergency room.

I hadn’t been feeling very well. In fact, all the signs I was exhibiting pointed to some kind of heart and/or cardiovascular problem: headache, lightheadedness, difficulty breathing, tightening in my chest. Seeing as how my occasional high blood pressure has been left largely untreated, this would not have been a big surprise to me. Of course, being in a family plagued with ailments such as hypertension, diabetes, and heart disease a heart attack or stroke at age 29 would have been right up my alley.

Let it be known also that I have a HIGH tolerance for pain which means I only go to the ER or see a doctor if I’m missing a limb, in absolute pain, or fear of death.

So that afternoon I called it quits and took off from work a little earlier. I was feeling a little light headed anyway, my hands were shaking, and my chest was in knots. I figured if I were to collapse, perhaps it would be better I collapse in the ER waiting room and not in the middle of my office.

Luckily there was a Baylor in Carrollton so I headed straight there to the ER. There was only one person sitting in the waiting room and I don’t thinks he was even waiting to be seen, I think she was just there hanging out. The woman who took my information was very nice and paged the nurse almost immediately. She had me in the wheel chair and wheeled me into one of the exam rooms. Within seconds, I was half naked under an ill-fitting hospital gown. I had 3 or 4 people working on me all at one time, taping wires and electrodes to various parts of my body, checking my blood pressure, monitoring my heart rate, and asking me questions. Things like, “Young lady, are you on any medications right now? Young lady, are you abusing or have abused any sort of drug? Young, lady are you a smoker? Young lady, are you single or married?”

The nurse who kept addressing me as “young lady” was named Joann (I ended up catching her name later after all of the excitement died down). She was a very direct woman when it came to doing her job, the kind of woman I wouldn’t mind barking at everyone else if it came to my own life or death, but I learned later that she did have a thoughtful, gentle demeanor when it came it interacting with her patients.

They ran several standard tests: an EKG, CBC, urine test. My heart rate was continuously being monitored as was my blood pressure. One of the nurses was having difficulty sticking my arm for the blood sample. At one point she had left one of the needles dangling out of my arm while it hung vertically us so the blood would have an easier way to drip out (not very comfortable at all). It didn’t work.

So after 4 attempts to get the IV properly inserted, a couple large bruises, and what looked like “track marks” they finally decided to switch arms.

Everything calmed down a couple minutes later and eventually it was just me and Joann in the room. She informed me that they had all the tests run, now they’re just waiting for the results. In the meantime she would just try to get the IV in my other arm and have the blood pressure cuff on my right arm instead.

I asked her if she had any kids. I needed to engage in topics of conversation other than my current situation. “No,” she said, as she worked on getting the IV into my arm. “I raised brothers and sisters all my life and, well, just being a nurse just took up a lot of her time and it never happened.”

She gave me some medication after that: an aspirin, something called Lopressor to lower my blood pressure, and something else to relax me. Then she injected something into my IV for the pain. After that, she turned down the overhead lights and told me to relax and she’ll come back to check on me in a few minutes.

I laid there and stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering how I had come to find myself in the emergency room with chest pains and difficulty breathing at the age of 29. For a split second, I wanted to make a deal with God that if he let me out of here with a minor diagnosis, that I would promise to make some changes in my life.

An hour later, the doctor came into my room with some papers and he said, “Well, we couldn’t find any explanations for the difficulty breathing or the chest pains. All of your test results look normal so it looks like it might just be anxiety considering the amount of stress you’ve experienced these last two weeks.”

Inside I sighed.

“Do you have a primary doctor?” he asked.

“No,” I said. So he said he would refer me to a doctor that I can follow up with about my condition, especially to treat my high blood pressure. Then he walked out of the room.

It was a relief to know that it wasn’t anything serious. Had I known it was just severe anxiety, I probably wouldn’t have gone to the ER at all. But I guess it’s better safe than sorry, right? It’s just strange because I’ve been stressed and I’ve felt anxious before, but not to this extent. I guess life is just catching up with me.

A few moments later, Joann came into the room with my release and diagnosis sheet. And then she explained that I really should follow up with a doctor next week to discuss my health. And then she listed off all the reasons why I needed to see a doctor as soon as possible, ones that I’ve heard before but never heeded until now. She said they’ve referred a doctor, but she said to absolutely make sure he’s covered under my insurance plan to save myself the headaches later. The ER doctor that made my diagnosis prescribed Xanax for the anxiety and she said I should take it whenever I’m feeling stressed, up to 3 times a day of course. I’ve never been on any anxiety medication like that before so it will be an interesting experience.

And then when she was done, she had me sign a release document and said I’m free to get dressed and leave.

My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts. I felt a mixture of relief and anxiety (yep, exactly what put me in that position to begin with), but when I walked out into the cold night air, all I could do was take a deep breath.

I called Jabari on my way home and explained what happened. And then I called my mom, who was relieved as well. It’s funny though because she told me not to worry to much. Hah. If only it were that easy.

I did get the Xanax filled that night and when I came home I examined the battle wounds on my arms–various bruises from the multiple needles I was stuck with. Izzie was a relief to see of course so I took her outside for a quick walk. The rest of the evening was quiet. I made dinner and watched a little TV. I decided to take one of the pills before bedtime. This definitely helped because I slept like a baby that night.

At this point all I can do is what the doctor told me: have a follow up appointment and then take it one day at a time. So cliche, but I guess in this case, that’s the most appropriate thing to do.