My Cervical Vertigo and Panic Disorder (Chapter 3)

The “Heart Attack”

I like beer. I like red wine. I like scotch. I like old fashioneds.

I’ve worked in bars and restaurants for a good portion of my life, mostly in my twenties. I was good a server and bar back and could manage the job well…unless I was hungover.

Alcohol is a big part of the service industry; basically everyone drinks in it. It’s quite common for you to finish a dinner shift and head to a local bar with the rest of your coworkers. Shots are bought and beers are chugged. That’s just the way it is.

But sometimes, you take it to extremes. Sometimes you just don’t stop until it’s already too late.

I had a Friday afternoon shift at The Cherry Cricket in Denver. I loved my Friday section as I knew that I would be one of the first “cut” and usually it would happen right after the lunch rush. This day was no different.

I was clocked out no later than 2:30pm or 3pm and was ready to decompress. I walked five minutes down to our local jaunt and met up with another coworker. We took a shot and had a beer together and from there it was no looking back; by 5pm I was on autopilot.

There was another coworker about twenty minutes away that was having people over before they were all planning to go downtown. That sounded like a great time. I caught a Lyft, drove north, and joined in on the backyard get together. Then it got blurry.

Long story short, we went downtown, bar hopped, and ironically, I met up with a third coworker at a popular live music bar. It was probably just after midnight, but I don’t really know. I took a shot with him right before he left as he had a morning shift the next day. My shift started at 5pm.

The Lyft ride back to my coworkers house I threw up. It went all over the outside of the drivers SUV and I had to Venmo him some money to pay for a car wash. I felt like an idiot.

When I fell asleep that night, I knew I was in for it the next day, but to the extent that was coming, I had no idea the severity.

When I got back home around noon the next day, I still felt like death. The pedialyte and ham sandwich didn’t help and neither did the ibuprofen. My last hope was a small nap.

When I woke up two hours later, it was still there. As part of my stupidity, I remembered that I had to do some quick promo work for a music collective that I was in. I needed to go downtown to distribute flyers, ground zero of my immature actions from the previous night.

The afternoon sun wasn’t my friend. It beat down on my car and glared off of every single window, blinding me and amplifying my headache. I drove past the normal turn to my work and headed up into the popular neighborhood, “Cap Hill”.

That’s when it hit.

It started with an ever-increasing heart rate. That was followed by shaky hands and rapid breathing. But it didn’t stop there. My hands started to go numb and my chest tightened up.

Oh my God, I’m having a heart attack!

I had to pull over. The first street I could, I turned right off of Downing. I either pulled into a driveway or an alley entrance, I don’t remember exactly. One thing I did know, was that if I had left my car there for an extended period, it would get towed and impounded due to multiple unpaid parking tickets. That thought was great.

When I stepped out, my legs turned to jello, my arms went numb, my chest tightened up further, and I was incredibly lightheaded.

There was a gentleman walking his dog.

“Sir, I-I think I’m…having…a heart attack,” I said in between deep breaths.

“Oh no. Are you sure? Do you need me to call 911?”

“I-I don’t know. May-maybe.”

“Okay, just breathe.”

And as quickly as it came on, it started to dissipate. Feeling started to come back in my arms and legs and my breath started to normalize.

“A-actually I think I’m okay,” I said.

“Are you sure? I can call an ambulance.”

“No, no. I think I’m fine.”

“Okay?”

I left the man standing there bewildered. I could see him in my rearview mirror staring at me with his phone in his hand.

God I’m an idiot.

I bailed on the promo and turned back around to head into work. It started to rise again. There was no way I was going to be able to make it through a full seven-hour shift.

When I walked into the restaurant, it was exactly as I had my nightmare thoughts had predicted it…packed. There wasn’t an empty table in the place and a line was out the door on a wait.

I can’t do this.

I went from person to person and begged them to pull a double for me. Everyone said no. My last and final option was, once again ironically, the coworker I saw at the live music bar. I told him I would give him $40 dollars if he could cover it and he was still hungover himself.

He cracked. He wasn’t happy about it, I could see it in his face. I told him that I would make it up to him further somehow like picking up a shift or buying him food. Something.

I went home and went straight to bed, still absolutely full of anxiety and on the verge of panic. It lasted for three days and led me to not take even a sip of alcohol for two weeks. I apologized profusely to my managers and coworkers as I was in the deep doghouse with them.

But one thing was for certain, that was the worst panic attack I had ever had up until that point. It was a lightbulb moment in that I had let down my coworkers due to my stupidity and immaturity and that my anxiety was a problem; it tells me lies into what I am feeling and experiencing.

Don’t get me wrong, a severe panic attack can absolutely mimic that of a heart attack, and it is possible to have a heart attack from alcohol withdrawal, but this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. I had many minor panic attacks in college due to a hangover, just none were anywhere close to this bad.

I had to be more responsible with drinking, because I never wanted to feel like again like I did on that on that day.

That didn’t happen.

“Anxiety is a part of me, but it’s not who I am.” -Emma Stone