Doctor’s Review

I haven’t shared a personal story in a while, but after today and seeing this prompt, I thought I should. Last Sunday I went to the mall with my mom. An empty section on the second floor now had two stores, Michael Kors and Kate Spade, two of our favorite designers. While my mom and I were looking at purses in the Kate Spade store, she discreetly took a call. Not a moment later does walk up to me with a smile.

“I’m on the phone with our doctor and she wants to ask you something. I can’t really understand her, would you mind listening?”

I smiled back at my mom and took the phone out of her hands.

“Hello?” I asked, looking a big, pink purse in front of me.

“Hey, sweetie” she greeted on the other end. “I would like to ask a favor of your mother and you. Can you write a good review of me on this website?”

My expression dropped. I slowly set down the purse I was holding and swallowed the growing lump in my throat. For a moment, I simply couldn’t answer her, I just watched a bad memory replay in my mind.

It was time for my family to get blood tests done and go in for a check up. I nervously fidgeted in the seat of my car the entire way there. That was the day I was finally going to bring up my anxiety to my doctor. That was the day she would tell my mom about getting me to see a psychologist. That was the day I’d finally be able to release the clenched breath stuck in my throat.

My anxiety had been an ongoing problem for years, but last year in particular is when it began worsening. I couldn’t go one day without obsessing over minuscule problems, over the way people perceived me, over if I was hurting people, over if I was a bad person, it just wouldn’t stop. My anxiety attacks wouldn’t stop, but my breathing always would. That was supposed to be the day that I could put that behind me and move forward. But instead, I panicked after getting my blood drawn. I was so horrified they’d find something wrong with me that I couldn’t contain it, I exploded into tears in front of my mom in the doctor’s office room.

Then, my breathing hitched, I lost feeling in my hands, face, legs, and feet, and panic spread throughout my body. As breathing became more and more difficult, my doctor called in nurses into the room. I couldn’t calm down, I couldn’t even see in front of me, everything in my mind and in reality moved to fast. There were too many people in the room, too many nurses handing me water and trying to calm me down, too much noise, it was too much. My breathing stopped. I remember clutching my chest and burying my fingers into my skin. No breath got in or out, it felt like someone had clamped my windpipe shut. I grabbed my mom’s shoulder and wheezed, now using my other hand to claw at my throat.

“BREATHE” I heard a voice in my mind say. “BREATHE.”

I couldn’t do it, and I started feeling lightheaded.

My mom started panicking and crying.

The nurses kept shoving water at me.

“FUCKING BREATHE!” The voice screamed.

Finally, I let out a choked breath. I heaved out every bit of oxygen left in me and inhaled in short bursts. I could feel my heart beating into my hand which still clutched my chest. My face flushed red and was now completely stained with tears. I still couldn’t feel my hands or face properly and my body trembled as it started to calm down. I didn’t stop trembling for a long time after that.

When I gathered more strength to speak with my doctor, she asked me what had just happened. I glanced at my mom who looked like she was disappointed, and the looked back at my doctor and took a big risk. I was honest with her. I explained how my anxiety had been worsening and how my anxiety attacks were becoming frequent. I sobbed the entire way through and I sat there, humiliated, and pleaded with her to get me help. I did not but get on my knees for her, but I begged and cried for myself. She sighed and also gave me a disappointed look

“You know, you’re a teenager and it can be really hard sometimes. Stress from school can also cause a lot of this anxiety. Bullying is also another factor.”

I blinked in disbelief. “No, that’s not what’s hap-“

“Yeah!” My mom interjected. “You know, she’s been bullied before, maybe she is now I don’t know. But it’s really affected her.”

“Yes, well, have you been having a hard time with kids at school?” My doctor asked.

“No!” I said sternly. “There’s no issue with people at school, that’s not what this is about.”

“Yes, this is about your anxiety. Well, I can recommend you to learn some breathing exercises and take time to not stress about school things. I can send you to this woman who specializes in teaching people breathing and mindfulness. But, I don’t think this is a problem.”

In that moment, I felt my heart sink to the core of the Earth. Numbness spread throughout my entire body as I listened to those last couple of words. “I don’t think this is a problem”. My seemingly last hope of ever getting help, of ever believing me, of ever convincing my mom that something else was going on with me, crumbled before my eyes. My bravery to take my problems and life into my own hands was worthless and had failed. Everything my anxiety planted in my head the moment I decided I was going to tell my doctor was right. I stared at my hands and watched as pieces of whatever was left of my hope and sacrifice slip between my fingers and turn to dust as it hit the cold floor. My doctor and mom were smiling at each other, they had now moved on to another topic. But I sat there watching and feeling everything inside of me break into millions of pieces.

“I, uhm... sure...” I finally answered, pressing my lips together.

“Ah, wonderful!” She said eagerly. “Now, if you search up my name on Google you’ll find...”

I did listen to what she told me to do, but not without wanting to throw my mom’s phone across the room and stomp on it. I said yes to be polite, to be courteous, even after I remember what she did at my last visit. Ever since then, I finally convinced my parents through many months of arguing, of pain, of accusations thrown at me, after being told I was a disappointment and that I was being cruel, to take me to therapy. There, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and have been in therapy ever since. Today, I am doing better than ever before and look forward to a bright future at college.

So yes, I helped write you a good review, doctor. I hope you’re happy with yourself.