Blog Post 04: Pandemic Puppies and Panic Attacks

The COVID-19 pandemic brought about quite the variety of trends from family walks to whipped coffee to baking bread. It makes sense. Humans are inherently social beings, so when asked to quarantine for two weeks or two months or two years (that anniversary is fast approaching- wow), we turn to other avenues. In a weird way, connecting with strangers by dancing on tiktok filled a similar void to connecting with strangers by dancing at a college bar. For others, the companionship in social media wasn’t quite enough. They turned to pets. Animal shelters everywhere were empty as families rescued animals to bring some extra love into their homes.

Full disclosure, I’m guilty of both of these. I genuinely believe that I’m too old for tiktok and I don’t dare burden the world with my attempts at the latest dances, but I do enjoy some good mindless scrolling before bed. And a pandemic puppy? You bet! I made it 10 months into the COVID pandemic without caving, but only one month after my own COVID diagnosis. Enter: Molly. Also known as Mol, Bean, Beanie Girl, Meerkat Manor, and a whole host of increasingly embarrassing names. She was initially brought to the shelter as a stray. Soon after, she was adopted by a family who already had a dog. When they brought Mol home, their pup went after her and they returned her with a broken leg and a torn ACL. Needless to say, she has some anxiety. Lucky for her, so does her mom.

As much as I would consider Mol an emotional support animal, I genuinely believe she equally considers me an emotional support human. We rely on each other. As months passed and I continued to struggle with fatigue, Mol was my primary motivation for getting out of bed. I could lay in bed all day on my own, but now I was responsible for another life. If I didn’t get up, she didn’t eat. If I didn’t get up, she didn’t get to go outside. If I didn’t get up, she didn’t get to play with the other dogs. She quickly became my best friend and there was quite literally nothing that I wouldn’t do for her. 

So what do you do when your anxiety gets so bad that even your dog can’t help you? That’s a question I was faced with last night. About three weeks ago, I took myself off both of my mental health meds. (Before you continue, I am not advising this choice. Please speak to a medical professional before doing this. You should be weened off these meds and only when the time is right.) I was on a low dose of Zoloft and the Wellbutrin was meant to combat my fatigue (which it wasn’t), rather than be used as an antidepressant. Why did I do this? I’m not sure. Part of me was curious to see how I would feel off of them, if maybe some of my symptoms were really side effects. Although, maybe there’s a part of me that’s still trying to prove I’m not crazy. That I’m still calm and rational and me without medication. 

This transition went well. I felt exactly the same off of the medications and I didn’t have any withdrawal symptoms. A best case scenario. When I saw my doctor on Friday, I told her what I had done and she saw no reason for me to restart them, unless my anxiety should become a problem again. I was excited! Until last night. 

Last night I had the worst panic attack I’ve ever had. What makes it the worst? I could mention that it lasted longer than any I had had before- it carried on in waves for over an hour. I could highlight how scared I was or how out of control I felt. I could describe the fast and furious cleaning of my apartment in a desperate attempt to feel organized and collected. However, the moment that sticks out most to me, that truly marks this as my worst, was my interaction with Molly. I had sat down on the edge of my bed and she tried to crawl into my lap and attempted to lick the tears right out of my eyes. It’s a sweet gesture, and one I usually welcome when I’m upset. (Note: this is the same dog that heard me cry so regularly when things first got really tough in my COVID long haul journey that she would lick my eyes whenever I laid down. I didn’t have to be crying. If I was horizontal, she assumed I’d be crying soon.) I couldn’t take it though. I was too overstimulated and overwhelmed to be touched, so I told her “no” and stood up to take some space. That’s how I know this was the worst. Even my sweet girl couldn’t help me.

Can I confidently say this panic attack is a product of coming off of my meds? No. Is this something I’m going to discuss with my doctor next week? Of course. Did Molly get all the snuggles in the world once I had calmed down? Absolutely. 

However, I’d like to acknowledge that during that panic attack, I had yet to receive any lab results. There is a lot of underlying anxiety that comes with this unknown, especially since I’ve been down this road before. They take my blood, my results are abnormal, but not abnormal enough to warrant a major call to action. The beginning of yet another dead end. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think that fear played a role.

That brings me to some good news though! Shortly after, my lab results started trickling in. I am still awaiting a few more, but I’m likely to have more information in the coming days, so updates to come!