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.

...

Read the entire article by Smita Malhotra from June 5, 2018, here: https://www.washingtonpost.com...m_term=.0aa6151d87c8

Title Image: iStock