I didn’t know when I fell asleep how bad Chris’ panic attack was this past Friday night. In fact, I’m usually very diligent about staying up with him when his anxiety gets the best of him.
But, I fell asleep.
Around one in the morning, I woke to the bed shaking violently. It was Chris’. He was trembling so bad he couldn’t talk… or so I thought. His left hand, the injured one, curled up against his chest and Chris shook. I started my usual questions, but this time it was different.
He said nothing.
No, he didn’t have a blank stare, he was conscious, and he knew where he was. He couldn’t physically speak. His tongue pushed up against his teeth and his lips parted, but he made no noise. We tried very hard to communicate, but it was frustrating, and frightening, for both of us.
I’d not really considered how important our voice is. His voice, the aspect of him that had drawn me so close, his beautiful Irish accent, gone.
After about an hour, he began to find the ability to make noise. First it was a “wa wa wa” noise like he was searching for a word he couldn’t find. This frustrated him and out of now where he threw his head back in the pillow and said “fuck”.
Ok, with that, I knew his voice was there. We just had to find it. Another hour and he was able to state simple things, but every word was a struggle and we both were tired. So, I convinced him this was temporary and we needed to go to sleep. This of course was after about thirty minutes of me insisting he go to the hospital because I feared he’d had a stroke.
I was sure he’d be fine in the morning. He was moving his left hand and arm, speaking in very simple sentences with stuttering and hesitation, but he was communicating.
Sleep and it’ll be fine.
In the morning I crossed my fingers. Please please, let him be fine. Let’s hear that accent.
It took almost 24 hours for Chris to regain his voice. Saturday was a struggle, but all day his speech grew better. The stuttering and hesitation finally gone late that evening.
We’re afraid but for different reasons.
See, he’s afraid it will happen again and this time it’ll be permanent, I am too.
He’s afraid I’ll leave if it does… And I’m afraid I did him a great disservice by not forcing him to the hospital. A choice that he’ll have to pay for later.
I hate this war.