Panic in the snow.

Feeling refreshed after a week in a tropical paradise with some great times, big laughs and good people.  Hubs’ annual business get-away, this year to Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, ended with a big snowstorm and travel bans.  Perfect, I guess.

A few years ago, while driving on an interstate, a big part from the driveshaft of a truck fell into the middle of our driving lane.   There was an attempt to avoid it, but, we hit a corner of this monstrous piece of metal and were relieved we survived the encounter. A few hundred feet later, however, the car was shaking and thumping and we ended with a flat tire, in driving rain, at 70 miles per hour.

Hubs maneuvered to the side of the road where many other vehicles were pulled over after having also encountered the same piece of debris. The fact that there were others didn’t comfort me much as I left the vehicle, umbrella in hand and climbed to the top of the little hillside, away from the traffic.  It was there I felt my first and only panic attack as hubs decided he needed to change the tire on the car, on the driver’s side, as traffic continued to race by. Let’s just say I freaked out.  I broke down, begged him not to go to the side of the car, in the rain.  I cried.  I sobbed…I was outside of myself and my usual demeanor.  I pleaded with him to call emergency service, as for crying out loud, we have road side coverage.  Long story short, he changed the tire and we were on our way within an hour. I remained confused by the anxiety and fears that washed over me for a long time...but, like all memories, that confusion faded and I haven't had a second episode. 

We returned to the airport Saturday afternoon, anticipating a long bus ride home, only to learn there had been a few inches of snow in our area with whiteout conditions.  A travel ban was in effect, a state of emergency in our county and many traffic accidents on the highways. I began to experience the onset of my second panic attack. I tried hard to fight it down, to not let it gain a foothold.  I walked away from scores of people, I adjusted and readjusted my scarf, I checked my bag for my gloves.  Decisions were being made on what to do, how to proceed with the travel arrangements and the transportation of many people to their homes, at least two hours away, through a driving blizzard.  The buses were already on their way after having driven through the area with the worst conditions and were predicted to be two hours late. The news sites we could access on phones, and reaching out to people at home, were full of stories of accidents, injury and in the case of a small child, loss of life. 

I couldn’t do it.  I had an option as our son and daughter-in-law live in Chicago.  My son came to get me, and I am forever grateful.  Hubs needed to stay with the group.  I can’t really explain why, but I could not.   We have all heard the stories where a person misses a flight or train and there was a horrible crash that spared them. I recognize that my decision is not of that fabric…my decision was what was best for me.  The group arrived home a few hours later and my panic, my fear, might seem to be a bit misplaced in the big picture. There’s a part of me that knew the bus would be fine, that they would get home safe.  There was a bigger part of me that was firmly housed in the “what if” and it rooted me, and it held me in that panic.