With the boys starting school and my FMLA coming to an end, I thought I would be okay going back to work. Sure, it would take me a second to get back in the groove; for my body to remember the sleepless nights and the contorted positions in the back of the truck in order to start an IV, do compressions, or tie down a psych patient.

I also felt like I would be over compassionate.

One of the reasons I was starting to fall apart was my lack of empathy. I felt like a robot. We had a gnarly roll over with a 20-something year old kid pinned in the truck. I stood on scene and didn’t care if he was alive or dead. In fact, in my mind, it would have made my job a bit easier if he were dead. It was after that call that I knew my emotional health was in trouble.

During FMLA I spent countless hours and dollars trying to get my mental health in check. I did everything Behavioral Health told me to do. I was honest about my symptoms and worked really hard to get myself straight. But the night before I went back to work I was in pre-panic attack all day.

Keep in mind I was (and am still) on medication. I haven’t missed a dose and I take it as prescribed. I still get panic attacks.

If you’ve never experienced pre-panic attacks it’s like this never ending anxiety, restlessness, and paranoia that had me sleepless and agitated. I had two glasses of wine but it wasn’t enough. I stopped while I was ahead though because 1) we were out, and 2) I needed to pretend to go to bed so I could wake up for my 2:15am alarm.

The whole drive to work I was fine. I listened to an audiobook (A Good Lie, review coming soon) and switched it up to Taylor Swift when I was about 40 minutes away. But as I pulled into the parking lot, my hands shook, my stomach knotted, and my vision blurred. I started to breath fast and heavy. After about 20-30 minutes (I was really early) I started to calm down. I changed into my uniform and met Harley at the ambulance bay with a big hug.

But as I pulled into the parking lot, my hands shook, my stomach knotted, and my vision blurred. I started to breath fast and heavy.

We had a really good shift, but I couldn’t fight the gnawing inside of me. I started an IV, did my assessments, and treated patients. It was totally normal. I slept for around two hours at the end of shift and went home to, unintentionally, sleep for the rest of the day. And it was the first day I hadn’t drank in a while.

But when I woke on Sunday morning, everything was different. Now that I’ve had some sleep and reflection, I realize I was in fight or flight mode. And I didn’t know what I was fighting, so I fled. I left my house without saying goodbye to Ty.

Once at work, I was too exhausted and felt my body shutting down, so instead of physical symptoms of panic, my body just turned off and I fell asleep in my car for 45 minutes. I woke, got dressed, and proceeded to put on the happy face mask. Except the mask kept slipping and I couldn’t calm down.

Our first call was a domestic violence/assault and the 21-year old girl was handcuffed in the front yard while her boyfriend was inside with more officers. She had blood on her lips and bruises on her leg. Harley went in the house to assess the other patient and I stayed outside with the girl. She was breathing fast and heavy, crying, and pacing. I could relate to these manifestations.

I didn’t know why she was in handcuffs and I asked the officers if she was getting arrested because if not, I wanted her out of them. They weren’t sure about taking her in yet and therefore couldn’t uncuff her. I tried to calm her down, talking low and slow. The firefighters allowed me to take control of the situation, maybe because I’m also a female and she’d be more comfortable with me? I’m not sure, but I appreciated them allowing me to ask my questions.

Ultimately, she refused transport, but we’d calmed her down enough and she thanked us for our attention and care. I called the hospital and the doc on duty stated as long as she’s alert and competent then she could refuse. She was, so we left.

When we got back to the station, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I went to the bathroom and styled my hair because I needed to get away from everyone and everything. But in the bathroom, I couldn’t stop the tears. My eyes were swollen and my face was red and blotchy.

I typed out, and actually sent a resignation email. I felt erratic.

When I came back, Harley saw my face and gently demanded we take a walk. I proceeded to break down in sobs while I explained (probably not very articulately) how I couldn’t get ahold of my anxiety. I constantly felt like I was going to throw up, my chest was tight, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Of course, I knew these were manifestations of my anxiety. The logic side of my brain told me, “Holly, you’re talking, that means you’re breathing.” But the emotional side – the anti-logic side – of my brain told me, “There is no air, you’re going to die.”

Harley helped me regain a grain of control and walked me back to the station where I went upstairs to talk to my supervisor.

Can I just say, I love Kenzie. I’m so proud of her. She, like Eileen, has gone above and beyond time and time again. Having the support of my co-workers and supervisors has been monumental.

I told Kenzie that I had thought I was ready to come back but now I don’t think I can handle it. I told her, through tears running down my face and a runny nose, that I was making choices that I don’t know if I stand behind. As much as I joke about rage quitting my job – that just wasn’t me.

I’m not going to go into detail about our conversation, but I can tell you that Kenzie handled me like a champ. With my permission, Kenz said she would take our conversation to Eileen and HR. I agreed. She gave me a big hug and held on tight for a moment.

Harley gathered my stuff out of the ambulance and had it ready for me when I came down the stairs. He walked me to my car, holding my things for me. He hugged me tight, told me he loved me, and that he was always there for me. I sobbed again for about 45 seconds before he let me go and I climbed in the car. I wiped my eyes and turned on my audiobook.

When I got home, Ty had already left to pick up the boys. I changed into pajamas and fell into bed. I slept intermittently between texts but I didn’t actually get out of bed until after 6pm.

I had been at work for two hours. Two hours.

I don’t know if it was my patient’s panic attack that caused me to unravel – like anxiety is contagious and I was already at risk of infection – or if something else was at work in my brain. But regardless, I slept for 8 hours, I drank some water, texted my mom, and talked to Ty.

Then I texted Eileen to please disregard my email. She called me almost immediately even though it was way after business hours. She told me that she wanted to call me earlier but also wanted to make sure I got plenty of sleep before I made my final decision about quitting. As I barely choked out “ok,” “thank you,” and “yeah,” she said all that mattered was getting me right and she’d support me in anyway she could. I believe her.

Guys, I hate to be cheesy, but the people I work with really are my lifeline. I don’t think I understood why people say “EMS is a family” until now. Families are messy, dramatic, and complicated. But they support you when it matters.

I don’t know what exactly I’m struggling with. People around me say that I’m struggling with feeling like I have zero control, and that might be the case. I’m a fairly organized, clean, A-type personality but my mind is skewed and scattered. I haven’t worked out in roughly a year. I haven’t run in almost two years. I stopped watching what I ate. I took on new responsibilities.

None of these things are necessarily bad. I wanted to take on a bigger role with the kids. I wanted to enjoy life without counting calories or feeling guilty about missing a workout. I hated aligning success with how my body looked.

But I think the pendulum swung too far. Instead of finding balance, I threw myself into an unrecognizable Holly. I gained almost 15lbs, I stopped self care like exercise and eating (sometimes eating at all, sometimes just eating good food), and my body hurts for seemingly no reason at all.

After a couple days of reflection, I’m calmer, I’m a little more level-headed, and I have a plan.

Myles helped me figure out which small things to focus on this week. Basic needs – water, protein, sleep. So that’s what I’m tracking. Yesterday I ate 88g protein, drank 72oz of water, and slept for 7 hours. It’s not a bad start. I just need to focus on one day at a time. Then, when I have that routine down, I can start looking a little further ahead.

I will get better because going backwards is not an option.