My father’s death was difficult in more ways than one. He was the only parent I had left by the age of 36, and he was my greatest source of guidance and emotional support.
His death was truly sudden.
In July, we received the news that small tumors had been found in his lungs. In August, he was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. By September, he was already delirious. In October, he was gone.
With my sister living far away and dealing with her own emotional struggles, I suddenly found myself alone.
Losing my father was painful enough, but his passing also left behind many problems that required my constant attention. I was suddenly thrust into a season of overwhelming stress. I was out of money after paying for my father’s hospital bills and faced with a long list of legal and financial burdens that had been left unresolved.
I spent many nights restless. Sometimes my stomach felt so bloated that it seemed like it would explode. Then, a few years later, the COVID pandemic arrived and isolated me even more.
In the years that followed, my health continued to decline. I was constantly bloated or dealing with acid reflux. There was always this strange feeling of fullness in my abdomen. At times, my vision felt shaky, and during periods of intense stress I would hear loud ringing in my ears.
I had become obese and was living an almost completely sedentary life.
By then, I was certain something was seriously wrong with me.
Both of my parents had died of cancer, so that was the first place my mind went.
I either have cancer or depression, I thought.
The first time I became truly worried about my health was when I woke up one morning feeling extremely lightheaded. My fingernails looked pale. Every step made my chest feel like it was bouncing inside me. I had no idea what was happening, so I went to the hospital.
The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. Their best guess was that it was a bad case of acid reflux.
I was sent home, but I still felt awful.
I decided to visit another doctor, who recommended that I undergo a complete physical examination. My lab results showed several values that were higher than they should have been, and I was diagnosed with fatty liver. I was prescribed medication for a week and advised to start changing my diet.
For a while, I thought I had found the answer.
Then my second panic attack of the year happened.
I was convinced I was having a heart attack. My chest felt tight, I was lightheaded, and my vision had become blurry. My wife rushed me to the hospital, where they ran a series of tests.
Once again, they found no damage to my heart.
They gave me medication that, looking back, I suspect may simply have helped calm me down. Before I left, they recommended that I see a particular doctor and handed me her business card.
Twenty-four hours later, I had booked the earliest appointment available.
Seeing that doctor turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made.
She was different.
She looked at my health as a whole instead of focusing on a single symptom. She encouraged me to prioritize living a healthier life, assured me that my physical health could improve, and gently suggested that I speak with a therapist.
That appointment became the catalyst for everything that followed.
It wasn’t just the moment I began taking care of my physical health. It was the moment I began taking care of my mental health as well.
More importantly, it was the beginning of understanding myself.