Recently I’ve been having chest tightness that radiates through to my back.
I brought it up with my doctor during a follow-up visit/med check a few weeks ago. I was three months into a new, additional medication to manage panic disorder. She was pretty sure the chest discomfort was caused by stress. But given the fact that my father died of a heart attack 23 years ago and my mother is currently in end-stage heart failure, the doctor ordered a stress test and echocardiogram, just to be on the safe side.
The echocardiogram was actually kind of relaxing. I could have fallen asleep on the table as the technician moved the transducer around my chest. The stress test was easy. Even though I’m not in the shape I used to be, I didn’t break a sweat.
So when the results appeared in the portal the next morning, I wasn’t surprised. Everything was normal.
Well then. Now what?
I was relieved that everything was okay. But this chest tightness was a message that I need to make some changes right now. What leads up to this physical expression of anxiety and what can I do about it? I'll be making lots of changes in the weeks ahead, but here’s what I’ve done so far.
Delete all my news apps. I’ve tried abstaining from ""news before, and after a couple of days, I’d be back to opening apps and scanning the headlines. If I’m going to feel better, I know that I need to get rid of the apps altogether. Besides it’s not news. It’s clickbait. And I’m only hurting myself every time I click on this stuff that’s intended to keep me in a perpetual state of anger. If something is truly important to know, I’ll hear about it.
I nuked the apps from my phone and my iPad within an hour of reading my test results, and it felt good. It’s been two weeks- and I don’t miss them even a little. I feel less manipulated, less agitated, less worried about stuff I can’t control.
Stop cleaning. It doesn’t matter. I come from that generation of women whose mothers kept spotless houses and who feel duty bound to do the same, even though it’s impossible. The mother who instilled that in me is now slowly dying. I am her full-time caregiver. If I’m going to do that job well and not make myself sick, I need to decide what matters.
Cleaning doesn’t make the list of what matters. Every damned day, I am cleaning something or feeling irritated because I can’t get to cleaning something. Like the dusty living room that no one goes into, full of Mom’s framed photos and knickknacks. I swore I’d clean it thoroughly last winter and didn’t. I’m giving myself permission not to clean it this winter either. Because it doesn’t matter.
When my mother dies, it won’t be the living room of her house that gives me some peace. It will be knowing that I took care of her the best I could and that I showed her love when she was scared, sad and losing control.
Meditate. No matter what. I can’t tell you how many times I have missed morning meditation because I was too busy washing dishes, taking out trash or clicking stupid stuff on my phone. When I don’t meditate for 20 minutes in the morning, I feel rudderless. Like I can and will be buffeted all day by sadness, anger, and the indignities of Mom’s disease process.
Last week on a morning that wasn’t starting out right, I stopped myself as I drew dish water, took off the rubber gloves and went out on the porch to meditate. It was a small shift that made a big difference in how I felt the rest of the morning.
Remember what makes me happy. And do it. I am happiest when I am dressed in camo and hanging out somewhere with my camera looking for birds. Lately my camera had been sitting idle because I wasn’t making time for what makes me happy.
So for the last week in the mornings while Mom is in bed, Jimmy has been taking me to the woods to look for fall migrating warblers. I’ve seen a northern parula, magnolia warbler, Cape May warbler, palm warbler and two common yellow throats in these 90-minute getaways.
When I am birding and watching wildlife, I feel happy down to my core. I feel alive. I am curious. I am learning. And I don’t have chest discomfort.
I’m following up again with my doctor in a couple of weeks. I’m sure we will have a discussion about increased dosages of one or more of my anxiety meds. Although they have helped me tremendously, I don’t want to take more. My emotions have been sanded down to the point where I need a good cry, but the meds keep it stuffed inside me.
I want to do the work of prioritizing myself—really do the work and make the changes, not just pay it lip service. Because I still have the chest tightness. Normal test results don’t make it go away. It can only go away if I am honest with myself about what I need.
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