so here I am, in the San Jose Airport, returning home 10 days too early. it feels a little bit like those movies where you relive the same day over and over again. I’m frustrated and upset that I spent so much on this trip and have nothing to show for it.
basically, I was perfectly fine for the first 5 days of my trip. I was enjoying the campus, meeting new people, eating healthy food. About the fifth or sixth day, I started having chest pains. For two days I just took a bunch of Tums and anti-acids, thinking it was heart burn.
After two days and no improvement, I started getting anxious about the pain. It didn’t feel like my normal anxiety chest pains, which never last longer than an hour or so. It was hard to breath deeply and it hurt to laugh. I took a hot shower, my anxiety medicine, and went to bed. This is usually a cure-all process for me.
I woke up still in pain. I took some advil and went through my day as normal, thinking again that it was just my anxiety and that I would be fine. By dinner, I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t eat. At this point, I decided to inform my professors just for peace of mind. They assured me it was my anxiety and that breathing would make it better.
That honestly ticked me off. I waited 2 days to even mention the pain because I didn’t want to be the girl that cried pain. I have dealt with anxiety my entire life. I know how it feels. Sometimes it gets the best of me and I think something more is wrong, but thats what the anxiety medicine is for. I know well and good that anxiety causes physical symptoms. But there was no reason for me to be anxious. I had enjoyed the first bit of the trip, my classes were easy, I was making friends and sleeping plenty. I wasn’t dehydrated, nor did I have pulled muscles. I felt those things pretty adamantly. I was praying and calling my family and taking deep breaths – all the things I do to manage my anxiety.
the next day I again woke up in pain. My chest radiated a dull ache, and there were the sharp pains on my left side. I popped some more advil and tried to go about my day – again.
I think that was the fifth day of the pain. I had no appetite and didn’t feel good enough to walk up to dinner, so I decided to go back to the room and shower and go to bed. I had convinced myself, as everyone was saying, that it was just my anxiety and I was fine. I wasn’t going to let the anxiety ruin my trip. I was going to be fine. But being alone and in pain freaked me out. I went outside and called my uncle to talk me down from the anxiety, messaged my roommate to let her know I was going to bed, and walked back to the room.
I was about to shower when the program director knocked on my door. She asked if I was okay and I couldn’t say yes. I had been in bad pain for 5 days. So she had a friend come sit with me – shout out to Alex for taking care of me – while she made arrangements for me to go to the doctor.
The doctor ran an EKG – completely normal – and did a physical exam. She basically told me that the cartilage in my ribs was inflamed, which was causing the pain. Not a big deal at all, but some physical cause for the pain that everyone was brushing off as anxiety while I was physically hurting.
The doctor gave me a shot for the pain and prescribed some pain meds, with instructions to pick them up as soon as the pharmacy opened in the morning.
We were leaving for San Jose in the morning, so the professors assumed I’d be fine to wait until 5 p.m., unable to take advil or anxiety meds to prevent the medicines from interacting. We sat on a bus – stuck behind road work – for about 4 hours. I had sat by the funny kid in the group, and laughing was painful. I couldn’t bend over in my seat to get my advil or water without help.
We didn’t pick up my pain medicine until about 5 p.m. yesterday, at which point I had already told my dad I couldn’t stay here in pain for 10 more days. That man works quick, folks. He had another flight booked for me before I could change my mind. I know its what I need, to leave the trip and go home, but it feels like defeat.
I was worried that when I knew I was coming home, all the pain would go away. That it was just my anxiety that forced me to ask my dad for an expensive plane ticket to come home early. It was weird, when I felt the now-familiar pain, that I felt relieved. It was real pain, it wasn’t just anxiety. Like that made it not a waste of money, somehow.
But then I felt guilty for thinking that, as well. If I truly believe that mental health is as real and important as physical health, why would coming home due to anxiety have been shameful, while physical pain would not?
I’m not sure I have the answer to that question, really. I still think there is a stigma to mental health and anxiety. I think that people with anxiety have a hard time convincing others that what they are feeling can be anything physical, no matter how small. I think I won’t be traveling for a while. but honestly, just God bless my dad.



