Last night, I had a minor panic attack. Around 10:30 p.m., I finished watching Bad Boys For Life — an entertaining and violent flick — and picked up my phone to hurl myself down the rabbit hole of Twitter. I read an article in the Washington Post about hospital patients in their 30s, 40s, or 50s who were seemingly healthy but suffered a stroke due to blood clots as a result of COVID-19. I placed my phone on its charger and noticed something.

The right side of my face seemed more numb than usual. I always have desensitized feeling in much of the right side of my face as a result of a thirty-foot fall in 2005, but the numbness last night was more intense. My thoughts reverted to the newspaper article, which stated, at the onset of their stroke, the patients experienced numbness on the right side of their faces. Shit! My body shook in panic, and, from the pace of my breathing, one would think I had just raced up 40 flights of steps.

Was I beginning to stroke out?? I stared into the bathroom mirror and scrutinized the reflection for a sign of facial paralysis but noticed nothing different except for some additional grays in my sideburns. I called my dad, who attempted to settle me down and confirmed that my speech was not compromised. After we chatted for five minutes, I hung up the phone and took deep breaths as my body continued to shudder with anxiety. I crawled into bed, somewhat relieved that the feeling in my face had not worsened or migrated to my limbs in the previous hour, and fell asleep.

During my walk this morning, I again chatted on the phone with my old man. I told him the feeling in my face did not become more severe through the night. I thanked him for being there to talk me through the terror which my thoughts had inspired.

I am fortunate to have had someone to speak to without worrying they might judge me for my mental fallibility during these unsettling days.