The Gander Attack: A Tale of Trauma (Part 1)

(Author’s note:  My apologies for doing this in 2 parts, but there was a bit of background that I thought was relevant. Although this isn’t directly related to my personal situation in dealing with PTSD, depression, and the like, it’s something very similar. Okay, to be truthful, just another brain fart from yours truly.)

This is a tale of a traumatic event, and the resulting consequences suffered by my best friend. It starts from when the two of us bonded, the traumatic event itself, and how it affected both our lives. Since we are inter-connected, we share the same goal of trying to make things better.

My best friend, Blu, was diagnosed with epilepsy when he was a 1 year old puppy.  Still in the “cute” stage of puppyhood, but nearly full grown. In my humble layman’s thinking, I now feel the diagnosis of epilepsy to be inaccurate. You will have to bear with me as I let the whole story unfold.

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No Need To Panic Attack

(Author’s Note: This is Part I of a three part series on anxiety, or panic attacks, and a bum ticker. Meaning my heart decided to get in the mix with everything else that was going wrong in my life. 30 years that ended with my death at one of the best cardiac hospitals in the world. But I don’t want to spoil the ending.)

I start another day following a somewhat restless night. It finally rained last night and into this morning. It’s been a hot dry summer, not fit for much outdoor activity even.

Right now I’m lying in bed in the middle of a panic attack, one of those days when intense worry is eating me alive. There must be something wrong, at least that’s what part of my mind is telling me. I’m too hung up at this moment to take stock or inventory. I’m just worrying. Feel giddy, tense, ready to jump off the ceiling.  

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