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The door cracked open just then, and a man entered. He was tall and handsome, and on any other day, I would have given him a second or maybe even a third glance, but I instantly turned away, feeling the panic in my chest.
And then the guilt that always followed.
I can’t believe I did this.
I heard a chair drag across the floor.
“Hey, Marin. I’m Dr. Matthews. But you can just call me Logan. I’m a doctor here in the ER.”
I let out a ragged breath.
“I know you don’t know me, but I’d like to offer some help. Can you let me try?”
His voice was soft and steady, and although I didn’t feel any calmer, the cadence in his voice had me turning my head in his direction.
“Good,” he said. “Now, I’m going to ask you to focus on something in the room. Can you do that? It can be the tip of my ear, the doorknob—anything that you think you can stare at for a few minutes.”
I gave a brief nod, but really, I’d only heard about half of what he said.
Tip of his nose? Ear? Shit.
I went with the whiteboard behind him. The nurses’ names were written on it, and I zoned in on the curve of theEin Eve.
“Okay, now, I want you to breathe in through your nose for five seconds and then out through your mouth for ten. It might be difficult at first. I’ll do it with you, but still try and count in your head. It will help, I promise.”
A stray tear fell down my cheek as we began, the guilt still weighing heavy on my shoulders at the thought of this doctor sitting in here with me when there were so many others with actual emergencies.
And then there was Curtis, sitting somewhere out in the hospital…
At first, I could barely make it to one, my breath so frantic that I felt dizzy. My chest heaved up and down, like I’d just run a marathon. But he never wavered. We repeated this exercise over and over, and each time, the staccato rhythm of my breath began to even out until, finally, I looked up at him and felt calm.
Or at least as much as I could in the middle of a hospital, sitting next to a man I didn’t know.
“The first time I met my wife was in this exam room,” he explained as he looked over the room with a glint of nostalgia. “And as I was explaining something to her, I brought back a memory of her late husband that sent her spiraling into a panic attack.”
“And you did this?”
“Uh, no,” he answered, visibly embarrassed. “I knew the signs, but I was pretty inept at alleviating the symptoms, so after that, I did my research.”
“And did it help her? These exercises?”
He took a breath, angling his head slightly. “The breathing will help, yes. But it’s just a Band-Aid. Until you actually heal what’s underneath, these panic attacks aren’t gonna go away.”
“What will help? Permanently, I mean?” I asked, looking down at my fingers as I nervously picked at my nail polish.
“Have you ever spoken to a therapist or a psychiatrist about your panic attacks?”
I turned away. “No,” I answered softly. “I went to grief counseling for a while after my husband died, but I’ve never told anyone about this. Which is why I’m in the ER. I guess when your boyfriend springs a proposal on you in front of all of your friends and family, and instead of saying yes, you?—”
Understanding spread across his face. “Oh. Well, now might be a good time to have that conversation,” he said before adding, “If you’re ready, of course.”
I nodded.
“I’ll write up your discharge papers, and in the meantime, you’re welcome to chill in here by yourself and gather your thoughts, or your family can join you. Either way, it was nice meeting you, and I’m always around if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” I said before he exited.
I let out a deep sigh, looking around the room once more.
