mandie west

Somewhere between September and October of 2009 When I walked into the kitchen, she was sitting at the end of my mother's dining table sorting through a bag. My grandmother didn't look up from the bag and I proceeded to meander around the kitchen opening and closing cabinets and the fridge. Even though my doctor had upped my dose from 20 mg to 40 mg of Celexa, the SSRI that was supposed to improve my anxiety, I was still losing a significant amount of weight. My appetite was no where to be found. I was constantly waiting around for it to come back but still could not muster even the slightest desire for any kind of food. "Why don't you stop lookin for somethin you ain't gonna find and come sit over here and talk to your ol' granny maw?" Laughing, I fell into the kitchen chair opposite her, at the end of the long table. She'd come to stay with my mom for a while. She always did when she was feeling under the weather. "Tell me just what

Somewhere at the end of September 2009 The moment the fork left my mouth, I knew I should have just spit out that bite of food and give up trying to get anything down my constricted throat. Shaking, I closed my hands around my glass of water, again, and chugged it trying to force anything down my throat. It was not working. I started coughing. Dad started patting my back, more out of moral support than a life saving maneuver. We were sitting in a restaurant for my uncle Dwight's birthday dinner. The only reason I was here was because I had a panic attack just thinking about not being around my dad. The attacks had increased in frequency and severity, something I didn't even think was possible. I had stopped driving, working, and had not re enrolled in school after the summer. The reason I could not stand being around anyone else, was because they either reacted to my panic or they just stared at me completely unable to reassure me by talking to me because they would stay

July of 2009 The swivel stool squeaked as my doctor shifted his weight from left to right, a line forming between his brows as he listened to me, but mostly my mom, explain everything. After taking a deep breath, his shoulders sagged a little, "Well, Mandie... You're in rough shape." I just nodded. I was in some sort of shape and it was far from good. I'd never been here before, a full blown agoraphobic who couldn't stand the thought of taking a shower or peeking through the blinds, the anxiety had closed in around me so tight and thick that except for breathing and my heart beating of its own accord, I'd stopped living. My doctor started jotting down notes and scrolling through his little screen thing that let him look up any pharmaceutical medicine and its details. The exam room was so quiet, I could hear myself breathing. Sitting in the chair next to the doctor was my mom, while I sat wringing my hands on the exam table. It was like awaiting a d

Early July of 2009 I'd been walking through my mom's empty house, when a foreign sensation punched me in my chest. Stopping dead in my tracks, I tried to take a deep breath but found my chest too tight for that. Immediately, I rushed to the couch to sit down. My heart felt like it was skipping every couple of beats and every time it skipped, it felt like I was being punched in the chest. Over the years, I had experienced these strange senstations in my chest but they were so infrequent and never happened more than once or twice in a row. I remembered vaguely a doctor telling me they were harmless. But this time, they sure didn't feel harmless. After laying down on the couch, my heart returned to the rhythm of predictable beats. But after a few minutes, it returned to the skipping and the punching sensation in my chest. I was scared and starting to shake. My heart started to beat faster which made the skipping and punching come faster too. It wouldn't stop. M

June of 2009 When I opened my eyes, I saw Alex sleeping with his arm thrown over his face shielding his eyes from the light that was starting to come in the window. Behind me, on the nightstand, one of our phones was buzzing, probably getting ready to fall off the edge onto the floor. For what felt like an eternity, I laid there staring at Alex. I already knew it was my phone. I already knew who was calling. And I already knew I had to answer. Quickly before it went to voicemail, I rolled over and hit the green phone button. "Hey dad," I laid back on the pillow. Alex started stirring. "Hey," My dad paused just a second and then, "He's gone." Nodding at the ceiling, I forgot for a moment that dad couldn't see me. Dad was silent for a moment. "Me, Dwight, and Momma were all with him when he went." "Okay." "You need to get out here." "Okay." As I let my phone fall to the bed, I was still

April of 2009 My grandfather didn't die that day. After many blood transfusions, he made a miraculous recovery. I'm not sure if it wasn't his time, or if he had just made up his mind that he wasn't ready to go yet. There was someone who hadn't had the chance to say goodbye yet, and I wonder now looking back if he was waiting on him. Whatever it was, I was so thankful to have more time with him, no matter how limited that time. Even though he was suffering and in a great deal of pain, selfishly, I wasn't ready to let him go. And so after him nearly bleeding to death, I didn't miss a day seeing my grandfather. Not knowing when it would be the last day, I never skipped a day again. He was weaker than before this last hemorrhage. Today, like everyday, he was sitting in the livingroom with the shades pulled up so he could see the pastures outside. Trapping a lifelong farmer indoors will kill him faster than any disease in existence. The news was on th