I Promise I'm Not On Drugs: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part One

"Honey, this is what it looks like when you do marijuana."

I stared at the nurse in disbelief. Did she really just say that?? My brother had brought me to the hospital because I desperately needed help. I couldn't stop having seizures and I was honestly terrified that I was gonna die. But instead of help, all I received that night was suspicion and a bottle of anti-anxiety pills.

It all started during my freshman year of college. I had left campus with my boyfriend (of two weeks) and some friends to spend the weekend at a friend's family farm. One night, we all gathered in the den to work on our homework assignments. I typed on my computer for a bit, but I couldn't focus enough to get much work done. So I changed tactics and curled up on the couch to read a textbook. Still, my brain was struggling to make sense of the words in front of my eyes. All I could think was, I'm so tired. My eyes closed and I figured I was falling asleep. Ugh, fine. Maybe I'll be more productive after a little nap. I laid there motionless, waiting for sleep to overtake me. But it never did. That's weird. Guess I'll sit up and try to study some more. I told my body to sit up, but nothing happened. Wow, I really am lazy today. Fine, I'll just lie here for a bit. Homework can wait. 

After a few minutes, I sat up and continued reading my book. But then the same thing happened again. And then again. And again. My brain wasn't processing the book, so gravity kept pulling me down to rest again. And each time, it held me there motionless for a few minutes before once more releasing me.

Slowly I realized, Something's wrong. This isn't normal.

Each time, I kept trying to move, but gravity sapped the strength from my muscles and left me powerless. I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn't listen. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. My thoughts began to race. What's happening to me? Why can't I move? I'm trapped. How do I fix this? Somebody, help me! Make it stop! What's wrong with my body? 

I started freaking out. Vaguely, I realized that I was going into a panic attack. I started hyperventilating. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't breathe. I remember hearing my boyfriend moving across the room to sit beside me. I felt him gently hold my hand to comfort me. In return, I'm pretty sure I crushed his hand in my panicked state. 

The rest of that weekend became a blur to me. I continued to have those strange conscious-but-paralyzed seizures every time I tried to stand up or sit up to do anything. That weekend, a strange new weakness took up residence in my body without my permission. I had grown up as a farm kid who reveled in the strength of throwing hay bales and dragging feisty billy goats around by the horns. My strength had been my friend for years. But now, without warning, my strength had shattered. My body that I once loved had become my enemy. I was broken. 

I was scared, but I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to the hospital or not. My parents had always taught me that hospitals were for serious things— like broken bones or an appendicitis. But what was this? Was this serious? Was it serious enough to warrant a hospital visit? Or was there some way I could fix it myself?

I decided to return to school, where my older brother was a Resident Assistant. Surely, he would know what I should do.

The minute my brother saw me go into a seizure, he knew I needed a doctor. We started by seeking help at the urgent care clinic in town. But when the clinic staff saw me lean on my brother's shoulder and go into a limp seizure, they became wide-eyed and promptly shipped us off to the Emergency Room. 

Ah, that lovely Emergency Room. This was where my nurse took one look at me and decided that I was on drugs. I was weak and shaky and altogether freaked out, but my nurse was not sympathetic. I went into another seizure before my nurse left the room. While I was busy panicking in my paralyzed state, she did something to me that hurt for days afterwards. I was unable to see it happen, but it felt like she knuckled my breastbone really hard with a big ring on her finger. This action knocked the breath out of me completely and was quite unhelpful to my condition. My nurse didn't spend much time in my room after that. 

After an eternal wait, the E.R. doctor finally deigned to visit me. My brother and I explained what had been happening to me. Then the doctor asked me, "Do you have any exams coming up soon?" 

It took me a second to understand his implication. At best, he thought I was having panic attacks due to impending exams. But the context of his question (which I haven't fully done justice to here) told me that in his eyes I was a faker who just wanted a doctor's note to postpone my exams. Clearly, this doctor thought that I was wasting his time and did not belong in his Emergency Room. He definitely didn't believe there was anything wrong with my body. After diagnosing me with anxiety and prescribing some anti-anxiety pills to "fix" me, he left. 

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To read the next parts of my diagnosis story, click here:
The Most Terrifying Night of My Life: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Two
Leaving My Health Behind in the Dust: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Three
My Illness Forced Me to Accept Help: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Four
Dear Doctors, Please Stop Telling Me I'm Pregnant: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Five
My Symptoms are More than Just Mental Illness: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Six
Finally, An Answer: My POTS Diagnosis Story, Part Seven

See you next week! Until then, stay strong. 

I'm praying for you. 

Bonjé Gioja

P.S. What's the weirdest thing a doctor or nurse has ever told you? How do you think I should have responded to the accusations that I faced that day? Leave your two cents in the comments below.

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