Category Archives: Communication and Healthcare

Facing anticipatory worry and White Coat Syndrome with box breathing and awareness

I had a really weird day yesterday. It was the worst case of “White Coat Syndrome” I’ve had yet. I should clarify. Somehow I was able to get beyond all the health “things” that have happened in my life until a couple years ago. My left retina partially detached and the night after surgery to repair it, I stumbled, tearing or severely straining just about everything in my right knee. That meant weeks of constant, awkward positioning and a lot of pain. They were unable to repair my knee until after my eye had healed. I felt a level of anxiety during my multi month recovery like I had never felt before. I’m not an anxious person. I’m an optimistic person. I lean into whatever needs to be done and I just do it. It’s not necessarily like that anymore. 

I have had low blood pressure my whole life. Now it trends more into low normal. However, we noticed that when my physical therapist came to the house to help me strengthen my knee, my blood pressure would be elevated. I would have to sit calmly, breathe, relax, and after a few minutes or so my blood pressure would return to normal. This dynamic was exacerbated by my breast cancer diagnosis, and following treatment. We would typically have to take my blood pressure twice when I arrived at an appointment. The first time it would be high. Then several minutes later, it would’ve lowered again. While I found this dynamic confusing, what was even more confusing was the anxiety I felt as I approached these doctors appointments. I know part of it was fear of outcomes, concern that something new might be wrong, what I’ve always called “anticipatory worry”. I’ve never been a big anticipatory worry person, but I seem to have become more and more susceptible to it. Now anytime I go to see a medical provider, a dentist, a dermatologist, my GP for my annual exam, urgent care for a sinus infection, I feel apprehension before the appointment.

The anxiety part of this equation – tightness in the chest, difficulty breathing, activation of my fight or flight responses – seemed to come to a crescendo as we approached the hospital when Andrew needed a minor medical procedure a couple months ago. 

After his procedure, I would be his caregiver. I realized that I was afraid I would not be able to care for him in the ways that I wanted to and the ways that he has stepped up for me with all my health issues over the last three years. I didn’t test my blood pressure during this process, but I felt the familiar tightening in the chest, difficulty breathing, and fighter/flight response. However, this time it accelerated. On the way to the hospital I could hardly breathe. I felt pressure in my chest and it took everything in my power to hold myself together. I was literally shaking. I used a box breathing technique; I inhaled to a count of 4, held my breathe for a count of 4, exhaled for a count of 4, held my breathe for a count of 4, and repeated the cycle. Fortunately, I recognized what was going on, that I was apprehensive about what was coming next. I was caught up in a cycle of a anticipatory worry. 

But here’s the thing, both Andrew and I got through that entire situation and his recovery afterward like rock stars. I was his healthcare advocate throughout his unanticipated one week stay in the hospital, follow up doctors visits, and even driving him back-and-forth to all of his appointments. (I haven’t driven since my partially detached retina.) So again, it was the anticipation not the actual experience of anything that was causing my anxiety.

Yesterday I had the weirdest experience yet. I had a dermatologist appointment in the afternoon. Just a routine body scan to make sure I didn’t have any areas of concern. My last one was three years ago and except for one small mole they wanted me to watch, there were no concerns. Yesterday I woke up feeling overwhelmed and anxious, a general discomfort and mild fearfulness. It got worse throughout the day. I got crankier and crankier. I felt trapped. When we got to the parking lot for my appointment, I wanted to run. By now, I knew what this was, but it hit me as incredibly strange. In retrospect, I realize that part of the issue was that I had not met this doctor before and skin cancer runs in my family, principally because so many members of my family live in Florida. When we got to the doctors office, I had to fill out all the paperwork again, because, of course, the paperwork I had filled out online had somehow not gone through. I felt my fight and flight responses rising. Then tears welled up in my eyes. I recognized this as anxiety. 

When I went back to be seen by the doctor, I shared what I was feeling. And strangely enough, then everything was fine. Just owning my anxiety helped me relax and breathe. It was an easy session. No concerns. No issues. Just awareness that at this moment, I approach meetings with healthcare providers, especially new ones, with anticipatory worry and anxiety. My counselor tells me that this is my body‘s way of trying to protect me in uncertain situations. I’m working on letting my body know she doesn’t have to. I’m fine. I’ve got this. Mostly…

P.S. White coat syndrome can become a serious, health threatening issue. If you’re experiencing anything like this, take it seriously. Talk to your healthcare provider and if you have one, your counselor.

On asking the right questions and the importance of a healthcare advocate 

Wow! Yesterday was a day! I’ve always thought of myself as a healthcare advocate—someone who asks the tough questions, navigates complex systems, and helps others feel empowered to make their own health decisions. Yesterday, I realized just how different it can be when you’re advocating for yourself.

What I learned is that having a healthcare advocate isn’t just important—it’s critical! You need someone in your corner who can look at a situation from multiple perspectives, who checks, double-checks, and follows up on every question, making sure everything is clear. I hope in sharing this experience I will help others avoid this pitfall.

Here’s what happened: In June, my medical oncologist in California put me on two medications—Anastrozole to suppress estrogen and progesterone and reduce the chances of the breast cancer coming back, and Venlafaxine, to help manage the hot flashes and other menopause-like symptoms caused by the hormone suppression. Venlafaxine is typically used as an antidepressant, but for me, it was all about managing side effects.

Normally, I’m incredibly thorough when it comes to my healthcare. I research every option, weigh the side effects, and think carefully about alternatives. But this breast cancer journey has been different. I’ve been trying to keep up with it all while leaning on my amazing husband Andrew, my fantastic medical and surgical teams, and the open, collaborative conversations we’ve had. Even so, I learned yesterday that I don’t always ask the right questions—and it’s made these last two weeks feel way longer than they should have.

I didn’t love the side effects of these medications, so I talked to my Las Vegas medical oncologist about going off them for about a month. With our honeymoon/Christmas/New Year cruise coming up, I wanted to feel like myself again, free from side effects. She agreed, saying I should know what “normal” feels like and we’d reassess after the cruise. At least, that’s what Andrew and I thought she said.

Turns out, we weren’t quite on the same page. She saw Anastrozole as my cancer treatment and Venlafaxine as an antidepressant. I saw them both as part of my cancer treatment—Anastrozole to treat, Venlafaxine to manage side effects. So when she said to stop “the meds,” I assumed she meant both. She didn’t. 

Two weeks ago, I went cold turkey off both medications, thinking it was the logical thing to do. If I didn’t need the Anastrozole, I wouldn’t need Venlafaxine, right? Wrong. What I didn’t realize was that stopping Venlafaxine suddenly would lead to intense withdrawal symptoms—way worse than the side effects I’d been trying to avoid. The past couple of weeks have been awful. I couldn’t sleep (or if I did, I had vivid nightmares), I was constantly bouncing between feeling too hot and too cold, had headaches, nausea, dizziness—you name it.

I’ve supported friends and family through antidepressant withdrawal, so I know how important it is to taper off these medications. But I wasn’t thinking of Venlafaxine as an antidepressant; I thought of it as a tool to handle side effects from my cancer treatment. It didn’t even cross my mind to ask about withdrawal effects, and my doctor didn’t bring it up either. She just told me I’d feel better and to enjoy the cruise.

Fortunately, I had an appointment with her yesterday and I realized my mistake.  As soon as I got home, I started taking Venlafaxine again because I don’t have time to taper off safely before the cruise. I’m already feeling so much better and should be back to normal in a couple of days.

This has been a tough lesson, but I’m taking it forward with two new questions to ask: “How long do I need to take this?” and “What happens when I stop?” I’m hoping these questions will save me and others from this kind of experience in the future. For now, I’m focusing on feeling good and making sure our cruise is everything Andrew and I want it to be—magical!

Insights on communication and collaboration in my breast cancer journey: Part 1

A diagnosis of breast cancer is scary! I wrote the message below over a week ago, but thought the points of collaboration, responsive healthcare, openness about my concerns, in short, claiming my voice were important and might help others. So I decided to share it now.

Providence St Jude rock garden

Today has been an interesting day. When we took a shower this morning my waterproofing around my right drain lifted and the padding underneath got wet, necessitating a call to my plastic surgeon. He thought Andrew and I could safely change it. Before we got the chance, my left drain inflated indicating an air leak. With 2 issues I felt we needed the doctor.

He met us at his office on a Saturday afternoon. He removed the packing and waterproofing on my right side, cleaned the area, then moved to the left side.

It took a while, but Andrew figured out that the effort to seal the slice in the tube leading to my drain (it was accidentally clipped as they were changing my dressings 2 days earlier) wasn’t working. The 3 of us then collaborated on a strategy to find and seal any leaks that included replacing the bulb and the stem on that side. This still didn’t do it, so Andrew posited that we needed to close the slice in the tube and tape it closed. I appreciated how collaborative my surgeon was in sorting everything out. In my experience, many physicians aren’t collaborative or creative problem solvers. Dr Lin is a wonderful exception. Once the leak was patched, Dr Lin instructed Andrew on how to manage both issues should they arise again and loaded us up with supplies just in case. Our goal was to keep the left drain working for another 1-2 weeks until it could safely be removed. The only alternative was to do a second surgery and replace the drain, an option we all hoped to avoid.

Then Dr Lin injected 120ccs of saline solution into each expander, bringing my total to 180ccs. The ultimate goal is 550-600ccs. (Since then I’ve reached 460 ccs.) Dr Lin thought this would both get us back on track and help reduce my fluid output. Our bodies create fluid to fill spaces and with more space taken up by the expanders, my body doesn’t have as much space to fill. This will hopefully facilitate drain removal.

I also talked with Dr Lin about his PA whom I really like, but who has also made a couple concerning mistakes, including clipping my drain tube. He set my mind at ease, and affirmed my perceptions. I then asked that he encourage trainees/interns to introduce themselves to patients when they enter rooms as a gesture of acknowledgement and respect. He thanked me for my feedback.

Here’s the interesting thing. I feel more grounded, more peaceful, and more myself today than I have to this point. I also feel more optimistic. It’s an awesome feeling.

I have an amazing medical team, an amazing support team, and I have this cancer situation. I know I will likely float in and out of this feeling of assurance and confidence, but I’m grateful for this feeling today.

A cancer diagnosis is an emotional roller coaster, as is treatment and follow up. But like any healthcare situation, openness, responsive, collaborative healthcare providers, asking questions, and claiming your voice are critically important to the success of treatment. I have more decisions coming up, so will have more to say on this topic. In the meantime, wishing you health and happiness.