"Just Another Manic Movie"

The day arrived for the long awaited M.R.I. I drove myself to Charity Hospital in New Orleans and waited 3 hours among the many in the waiting room. I finally heard my name and made my way to THE room. It was a closed M.R.I. machine (the nearest you'll feel being in your own casket.) The test would take about 20 minutes. As I laid down on the "launch board" my legs were sligtly angled downward. I immediately felt pain and told the tech. that he would have to raise my legs as the pulling was well...hurting. He put a pillow under my feet and the pain subsided. I was given earplugs and warned of the loud noise and clicking. The test began and I started moving into the machine.

I had no idea how I would react to the confinement. I would 10 minutes into the test as I began to panic and hyperventilate. I asked the technician to stop. He asked me to close my eyes and recite something over and over. It worked as I began to pray the rosary. We completed the test and I headed home. The results of the test would be mailed to me.

With Vicodin, Paxil, and sedatives, I also lost my rabid sweet tooth and a good bit of weight. I am 5 ft. 10 in. and at the time weighed 156. I rarely had an appetite. Looking back, I can understand the abuse of painkillers as a means to weight loss. I exercised my upper body in bed with tension bands. I hardly left our house. It was not possible to stand for more than 5 minutes without sitting or stooping and then have people gawk at you wondering why you were stooping.

I decided to get out of the house one night with Greg, my brother and his partner to see a movie. I was now on Xanax, but hated it's effects not to mention how highly addicting it was. I took it as needed. Waiting in line to see the movie, I had to stoop several times. Ten minutes into the movie, I got up suddenly: another panic attack. I did not have any medication and just sat by a wall outside our screen.

Passing folks and employees asked if I was okay. Greg would emerge 15 minutes later from the screening arena. He looked irritated and asked: "What's wrong." I told him I was having a panic attack. He just didn't get it. We drove in one vehicle and Greg was concerned how we would get home. I told him to go back and watch the movie that I would take a taxi home. He agreed and went back in to watch the film.

I called the taxi and rolled down the window on the ride home. I stuck my head out and let the wind hit me in the face. I hated that medication had begun to rule my life. I cannot stress enough how frightening these attacks can be. Please, if prescribed medication, TAKE IT AS DIRECTED! If you are a loved one living with someone experiencing panic attacks, please be loving, caring and understanding. Panic attacks are NOT a fake cry for attention. They are real, debilatating, and fucking scary.

I later found out Greg only sought me out in the movie lobby after my brother David told him: "Matt's been gone for a while." Greg replied: "He went to the bathroom." David shot back: "Trust me, that was not a "bathroom" exit. I've seen that look before." As mentioned in an earlier posting. David was so sensitive to my condition. As I felt the attack come on, I could see him in the corner of my eye looking at me. He just knew. Greg seemed lost and confused. From his very organized office at Tulane, to the very neatly stacked magazines on our coffee table at home, for Greg everything had it's place. He did not know what to do with this. Sadly, neither did I.

-Matt