“Flynn?!” a voice said from behind me. “Flynn, are you okay?”
It was Mia.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. “I’m sorry—”
I felt dizzy and disoriented.
“Just breathe, Flynn,” she said, putting her arm around my waist to support me. “Flynn, breathe!” she said as I slipped from her grip, hitting the cold vinyl floor. My vision blurred. And then . . .
Blackness.
When I awoke I was lying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. A monitor beeped to my left. An IV drip ran intravenously into the top of my hand.
I had full memory of everything that had happened; I just hoped I didn’t have, like, a six-year-old coma beard or anything.
Much to my surprise, it had only been about forty-five minutes. Mia was holding my hand and smiling as I came to.
“The doctors took blood and urine samples while you were asleep. They ruled out any serious condition,” she said. “But they are pretty sure what it is.”
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to know first—what it was or how the hell they got my urine sample.
“What do you mean? What is it?” I asked. “It doesn’t sound good.” My fear was extinguished by Mia’s laughter.
“They think you had a panic attack,” she said.
“A . . . what? What the fuck is that?” I asked just as a doctor walked into the room.
“Ah, he’s awake,” the doctor said. He was a tall black man—maybe 6'4"—and skinny. Seeing him, I got that second feeling doctors can give you.
You see, doctors only give off two kinds of vibes, the first being I don’t give a shit about you, where you come from, or where you’re going; my job is to diagnose what’s going on and collect a check. And then there are the doctors who genuinely care and want to help people, no matter how many years they’ve been doing it.
My doctor had a warm energy that seemed to convey the latter.
“Hi there, Flynn,” he said. “So, it would appear you have had a panic attack. Do you know what that is?”
“I mean, I’ve heard about them, but no, not really,” I said.
“Now tell me—are you prone to anxiety?”
I had to gather my thoughts.
“Uummmm, I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Bullshit!” Mia snapped. “Yes, doctor, he has severe anxiety,” she said with a half smile. “Flynn, all that shit you’ve told me about your life? You’ve got serious issues, boy. I mean, don’t get me wrong. You got issues I can handle,” she said with a wink, “but issues nonetheless.”
The doctor gave me a warm smile.
“Wait . . . what’s wrong with me?” I asked.
“Well, nothing is ‘wrong’ with you, Flynn. You just have a hyperattentive mind.” I stared at him for a moment.
“Sooooooo, what . . . I have ADHD or something?”
The doctor laughed.
“No, Flynn. I didn’t say hyperactive, I said hyperattentive. My guess is you are constantly thinking, you rarely take a break,” he said, then lightly tapped his ballpoint pen to his temple. “And you are always on the go upstairs. Mia says you put a lot of pressure on yourself to succeed. And the pressure is synonymous with worry . . . anxiety. It’s incredibly common. People just don’t talk about it openly enough.” He gave me another kind smile. “I think you need a few days to yourself, and I recommend you see a therapist.”
My eyes went wide. “A therapist?! I’m not crazy!”
The doctor sat in the chair next to my bed. “No one is saying you’re crazy, Flynn. But panic attacks are serious. They affect a lot of people without them knowing it or addressing it. They’re something that should be looked into. In order to treat them, we must find the source. Treatment can come in many forms. There’s cognitive behavioral therapy, mindfulness exercises, sleep, and excer—”
“Why do you keep saying panic attack? What the hell is that?” I interrupted.
“Well,” the doctor explained, “a panic attack is an involuntary occurrence that happens in the mind. It’s—”
“Wait a second,” I said, cutting him off. “This wasn’t a mind thing, Doc. This was a physical thing. Like, this was my legs giving out, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight. This is a feels like I’m dying, life-threatening event here!”
The doctor looked at me for a moment, his hand placed over his mouth. Then he removed it and spoke. “The mind is a very powerful thing, Flynn. If you don’t control it, it will control you.”
I immediately remembered my conversation with Frank, regarding the attention I was giving Mia and not him. The thought of Frank increased the anxiety I was feeling. Frank always blathered on some Waking Life–type shit about the power of the mind to create and destroy. “What you believe to be completely physical is actually stemming from your mind. It’s a concentrated episode of acute anxiety that manifests itself physically. But it is not life-threatening. A panic attack cannot kill you. This is what you experienced,” the doctor continued. “I’ve got the test results to prove it.” He lifted up his clipboard, and pointed at it, as if that were proof. “Look, Flynn . . . just take a few days to yourself. Get your head right and see a doctor sometime. A therapist. It will be good to talk to somebody. In the meantime, I’m going to prescribe Ativan and a—”
“Oh, no no no, Doc,” I interrupted. “I don’t do pills.”
“Well, then you’ll have to white-knuckle through your anxiety, but I’m still suggesting you go to therapy. You can leave here whenever you feel ready.”
Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, the doctor was gone.
“What’s wrong?” Mia said to me. I knew it was the look on my face that gave me away. Like I was pondering something fierce.
“Honestly?” I said. “I just hope this doesn’t blow my shot at getting with you.”
“Getting with me?” Mia chuckled. “What are we, in seventh grade?” She moved over and sat next to me in the hospital bed. “You wanna get with me, Flynn?”
“Well,” I stumbled. “I mean, like . . .”
“Flynn, I’m here, aren’t I?” she interrupted. “If you want to get with me . . . then get with me.”
She put her hand on my leg, moving in for a kiss.
It was absolutely incredible—her lips were soft as silk. It felt electric. I held the back of her neck. I was suspended in the moment. The fact that she kissed me like it was no big deal? That let me know just how special she was. But even then, in the middle of our kiss, my mind raced. Thinking of where this could go, thinking that I was still not fully over Lola. That I wasn’t ready to move on. Thinking about how Mia had been there for me through this terrifying experience and then . . .
Well, in that very same moment, as my mind raced, as I was in the middle of kissing this beautiful woman . . . I thought about how spot-on the doctor was.
My mind truly was hyperattentive, and I needed to chill the fuck out. Writing this novel was messing with my head.
I mean, even in this moment, I wasn’t fully present. I couldn’t just enjoy something I had fantasized about for weeks.