I had my first panic attack during my senior year of high school, in the middle of anatomy class. We were prepping for a lab where we’d prick our finger, draw a bit of blood, and determine our blood type. I had been looking forward to this lab – I loved this kind of thing. Right before we were supposed to break off into our lab groups, my heart jumped into my throat. I felt heat over my entire body, and suddenly the room was spinning. I carefully stood and walked to my teacher, hoping I wouldn’t collapse en route. When I asked her if I could go to the nurse, she took it was a teachable moment.
“Don’t forget everyone, it’s OK if you’re afraid of blood! You can sit this experiment out!!”
So… almost a month after the incident, I decided it was time to write about the little hiccup we had with our blind, anxious rescue dog, Henry. If you’re curious about what exactly happened and why he’s still sleeping in our bed every night, look no further! I’ll warn you, this is a long post because I’m a) a dog lover and b) a rambler. I really wanted to talk about what I learned from the incident. Was a dog bite to the face life-changing? I mean, it sounds melodramatic… but it kind of was.
I started getting panic attacks a couple of months after my dad died. I remember my first one so vividly. I was a senior in high school, and I was in anatomy class. That day, we were doing an experiment to determine our blood type, and we were all going to be pricking our fingers and drawing a little bit of blood.