I woke up in an ambulance.
The last thing I could remember was standing on a ledge in an auditorium and practicing for my school’s choir performance. I was in ninth grade, it was my first field trip in my new home here in the United States, and I was nervous. Then everything went black.
I had fainted. Although my front teeth bore the brunt of my fall and saved me from serious injury, I had broken them all. As the paramedic gently explained to me why there was blood gushing from my mouth, he asked, “Did you eat today?”
“Yes,” I responded. But I was lying. Shortly after moving to the United States, I developed almost debilitating anxiety. I worried about everything, especially my family’s safety. On that field trip, I traveled in a bus with the choir and the whole time, I worried about making it home safely. Consumed with my stress, I had forgotten to eat.
At the hospital, doctor after doctor asked me about my surgical history, any medications I was taking and if I had ever fainted before. I had an entire work-up for fainting spells, and my pediatrician prescribed anti-anxiety medications. While everyone was trying to figure out what was wrong with me, though, no one asked what had happened to me.
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Read the entire article by Smita Malhotra from June 5, 2018, here: https://www.washingtonpost.com...m_term=.0aa6151d87c8
Title Image: iStock
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