I was visited late last night by an old demon.

The thing is, I'm not really sure I believe in demons, at least not the demons I was warned about in my childhood church.

But last night I was awakened by the closest thing I can imagine to a demon. I had a panic attack.

I remember my first panic attack vividly. It was a little over 12 years ago. I was awakened suddenly from a sound sleep, my heart feeling as if it would burst out of my chest, my pulse racing, my throat feeling as if it was closing, my skin clammy. But the most unbearable part of all was what was happening in my brain: the most powerful, overwhelming, all-pervasive feeing that death was imminent. All I could think of was my two very young children growing up without a mother. I knew, just as surely as I know my own name and that I am sitting here typing this in my office, that if I did not do something immediately--get help--that I would never see my children again. So I woke my sleeping husband up and said "I'm dying. Call 911." He blinked his eyes, asked me what I'd said. I repeated myself, and he got up to get the phone.

Even though I felt as though I was going in and out of consciousness I could hear him talking to the dispatcher, answering her questions. "Well, she's sitting up in bed. Yes, her eyes are open. No, she doesn't use any drugs. No, she didn't have anything to drink. She just says she's dying. She's repeating it over and over. I think you'd better get somebody here." Right before he hung up the phone, I yelled, "No sirens! No sirens!" But the sirens had already been turned on; I knew because we lived only five blocks from the fire house, and I could already hear them.

I was feeling a mixture of dread for my own fate, and fear that my children would be awakened by the noise. We lived in a very small house with all the bedrooms up stairs. I remember asking the police officer who came upstairs to please lower his voice so that my three-year-old could sleep through this nightmare.

Being carried out my front door, to the waiting ambulance, I could see neighbors who had come outside in robes and slippers to see what all the commotion was about. I hated that I would be the talk of the street. Looking back, I guess I should have known that I wasn't *really* dying, because if I had been, I don't suppose the neighbors would have been my concern. But the fact that I was also panicking about my kids had me convinced this was the real thing; I do imagine that when the time comes, my family will be what I am thinking about.

The next several hours are a blur; I know I was hooked up to some monitors in the ER, that blood and urine were tested, in case I was lying about not being strung-out. I remember that once the serious panic wore off, I laid there shaking uncontrollably, similar to the way I did after giving birth.

Finally, after hours of expensive tests, I was told "Good news! There's aparently nothing wrong with you." But I knew that to be a lie. Clearly something was wrong. Healthy 30-year-olds don't call 911.

In the days and weeks after that incident, I came to understand panic disorder, no thanks to any of the doctors or nurses I saw that night in the ER. My doctor prescribed an anti-depressant, which exacerbated my feelings of panic, almost to the point that I had to stop driving for fear I would have an attack while the kids were in the car with me. I eventually saw a cognitive therapist who specialized in panic disorder, and who taught me some techniques for getting through attacks without having to involve paramedics. I educated myself about the physical symptoms, their causes, possible triggers, and how to "talk myself down" when they happened. The attacks came much less frequently, then only a few while I was in seminary; I handled them okay.

I was attack-free for five years. Then last night.

Today I am exhausted and restless at the same time, also scared sh*tless that I'll have another attack when I least expect it.

My task for the next several days is to try to connect the dots to figure out what triggered this. There are competing stressors in my life, but then, there always are. I don't know what this will entail. I might be scarce for awhile, then again I might blog like a crazy woman. Time will tell. But I'll be back, don't worry.

Hey, you wanted to hear the poopy stuff, didn't you?