It doesn’t happen very often these days: The forced removal of the mask, I mean. Dramatic events tend to proceed it. Brutal, in fact – so much so that my inner scaredy cat or angry lioness come out despite my better judgement.
Wednesday morning was hellish. Frightening. Confronting. Forcing me, once again, to face the core of anxiety I usually take such pains to crush and hide. Briefly: Chest pain, at 2 am, and waves of panic (which, of course, made a bad situation worse), ended in a visit to the Minor Injuries Unit (and an ECG, among other checks), followed by a visit to the local surgery – and the instruction to phone for an ambulance if the pain returned and lasted for more than half an hour.
All the tests done in the hospital seemed to indicate that my heart was fine (though I am to have treadmill…
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