I've been a Class A worrier pretty much since I emerged from the womb. When I was a kid, I refused to play with my toys because I was worried they'd run out of batteries. At my first sleepover in elementary school, I was convinced my parents' failure to answer the phone when I called to say goodnight was proof they were brutally murdered.
Unfortunately, things haven't changed much for me since then, a fact solidified by the events of last Tuesday evening.
It all began with a favor. My friend Alex, who broke her nose in a car accident over the weekend, needed a ride to the hospital for her doctor's appointment. So Tuesday after classes, Alex, our friend Dani and I all piled into my car and drove to UW Hospital.
After running into an old friend of mine being wheeled out of the hospital in a full body cast, my nerves had just about sky-rocketed to the point of losing feeling in surprisingly random parts of my body. Then it was time to watch the doctor re-break Alex's nose back into place.
As the doctor announced to Dani and me, who had failed miserably at our jobs as moral supporters by huddling and squealing in the corner, that he was done and we could leave, I finally calmed down at the notion of going home. However, I had no idea that the vindictive gods of anxiety had much greater plans before I could curl up in my bed and scream.
Walking out of the office, we noticed that a large group of people had congregated around the exits accompanied by several security officers.
What's going on?"" I asked a nurse leaning against a wall near the door.
""We're on lockdown,"" she said. ""There's a man in the parking lot with a gun. But you're safe in here. The police are blocking all the entrances.""
I looked from Dani to Alex to the white, porous cast on Alex's nose. It was really distracting, which is probably why I missed their reassuring smiles.
""Oh my God, we're all going to die!"" I shrieked.
""Kiera, calm down!"" Dani, the girl who once refused to sit in my car out of fear of an explosion, yelled. I considered reminding her of that but realized it might bring about bad karma, which I wanted to avoid this close to death.
My first instinct was to call my boyfriend and tell him I loved him and that I may never see him again, but decided that was too ominous, and it would be better not to make him worry.
That unprecedented iota of maturity lasted exactly 37 seconds.
""You should go get something to eat,"" he said. ""That always cheers you up.""
He was right - food is generally my answer to everything. The reason I am not a fat cow completely eludes me and just about anyone who has sat down with me for dinner.
But the eating thing didn't really work out because it entailed the three of us separating to get our food in different cafeteria lines. I wasn't equipped to handle that either.
I spent the rest of the hour muttering my fears in the hospital lobby to anyone who would listen, sandwiched between creative combinations of expletives.
When they finally announced the area was clear (even though they failed to mention the guy was still missing), the three of us hopped into my car, keeping our eyes peeled for a madman with a gun.
""They better not make us pay for parking,"" Alex said as we drove by caution tape, flares and armed policemen.
The policeman who replaced the parking attendant waved us through the opened gate.
We all breathed a sigh of relief. The three of us were alive and no one had to pay for parking. I guess it hadn't been that bad of a day after all.
If you'd like to tell Kiera about your last panic attack, e-mail her at wiatrak@wisc.edu.
