16 Hours

1

I once again found myself tossing and turning through the night. My usual pattern has me hitting the hay after midnight, only to rise by six in the morning. This has become my new normal, it seems. Although I typically settle into bed around ten, sleep often eludes me. More often than not, I drift off while lost in a sea of medical information online. Over the past year, my focus has been on researching heart-related concerns for my own health.

I can't pinpoint exactly what triggered my cardiophobia, but it's definitely part of a larger picture that includes anxiety and panic attacks, agoraphobia, and emetophobia. To make matters worse, I also struggle with hypochondria and now find myself caught up in cyberchondria. It's quite the mental whirlwind, and honestly, it's not enjoyable at all.

In 2012, I began to experience anxiety issues that likely stemmed from my childhood and a marriage marked by abuse—mental, physical, verbal, and sexual. Thankfully, I have since escaped that situation and now thrive in a much healthier environment, along with my daughter. However, my anxiety escalated into agoraphobia, which kept me confined to my home for several years. It wasn't until around 2018 that I started to venture outside again, but I faced a setback last year in 2023, when my cardiophobia intensified.

I'm not entirely sure how my cardiophobia came to be. What I do know is that diving into research about my symptoms wasn't the best choice; it only heightened my anxiety and fears. Even after undergoing a thorough evaluation—complete with an echocardiogram, monthly EKGs, regular X-rays, lab tests, and a 48-hour Holter monitor—my heart is in good shape. My primary care physician, who has a background in cardiology, along with the emergency room doctors, have all reassured me that my heart is perfectly healthy and that I'm mostly experiencing panic attacks. Yet, my mind struggles to accept this reality. It's especially difficult when I find myself in bed, reading blogs about others my age—some younger, some older—who have experienced similar symptoms and ended up having heart attacks. It's terrifying and does nothing to ease my worries, yet I can't seem to stop searching for more information.

Last year, I sought help from a psychiatrist to address my concerns, but after four months, I had to let her go. She seemed more focused on prescribing medications than genuinely listening to my struggles. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of relying on pills, especially since they didn't seem to help me at all. Interestingly, that same psychiatrist is now shutting down her practice for reasons that remain unclear. I can't help but wonder what led to that decision.

Glancing at my phone, I made the decision to get out of bed shortly after eight in the morning. I figured it was the perfect time to take a bath and tidy up the house a bit before waking my husband. I like to let him enjoy a few extra minutes of sleep since he struggles with insomnia, and given his health challenges, those extra moments of rest are really beneficial for him.

I do my best to tidy up my side of the bed before making my way out of the bedroom. I navigate through the kitchen and living room, finally arriving at the bathroom. As the tub fills with warm water, I take a moment to brush my teeth, though I've lost quite a few due to my acid reflux. After that, I take a quick trip to the toilet to relieve myself before slipping into the tub. I usually wash my hair, body, and face, then linger in the warm water for a while, savoring the tranquility of the house before the rest of the family wakes up.

Suddenly, it strikes me. As I soak, anxiety begins to creep back in, tightening around my heart. I find myself instinctively reaching for my phone to dive into yet another round of research on potential health concerns, even though I just did this earlier today. Within five to ten minutes, I'm leaping out of the tub, hastily getting dressed, my heart racing and palpitations returning. This marks the beginning of my familiar routine, a tradition I've come to know all too well.

As soon as I stepped into the bedroom, I quickly grabbed my smartwatch and strapped it onto my wrist, eager to check my ECG and heart rate. I also put on the blood pressure cuff. Everything appeared normal, but my mind was racing, flooded with the overwhelming thoughts of what I had read online and in various blogs, once again consuming my life.

As soon as I confirm that all my vitals are stable, I rush to feed the animals and tackle the chores that await me. I attempt to distract myself, but my heart pounds harder with each passing moment. A wave of shortness of breath washes over me, and my thoughts spiral out of control. The jitters kick in, and before I know it, I'm caught in the grip of another intense anxiety attack.

After finishing the chores, I look at my phone, my hands trembling and palms slick with sweat. A wave of heat washes over me, fueled by anxiety, the warm bath I just enjoyed, and the frantic pace of my tasks. The screen shows it's three minutes to nine. I might as well wake my husband so he can kick off his day.

I stepped into the bedroom to find him peacefully dozing. Reluctantly, I nudged him awake; I know it's important to maintain his routine. As soon as he stirs and leaves the room, I quickly tidy up his side of the bed. That's when I grab my laptop, settle onto my side, and lift the lid. Yes, you guessed it—I'm diving back into my research once more.