I've been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder [1] (PTSD) as a result of the "spring unpleasantness," as I've started to refer to my death experience in May. It became clear that something was wrong last week when I got flamed at my other website [2].

Now, I've been on the Internet more than a decade. Flames I'm used to; I've been flambée'd, barbecued and generally abused over the years. That's just what happens when you put your opinion out there. It's really no big thing.

This time, though, I had an overwhelming physical reaction I could not control. My heart started beating so hard my pacemaker took over. I started shaking; I felt nauseous. It was as if someone was chasing me around the house with a hatchet. John said, why are you taking this so hard, this isn't like you! I said, honestly, I'm not. Emotionally and intellectually, this is no big thing. But I cannot control this reaction; it's physical. It took me three days to get myself under control, and more than a week later my adrenalin system is still on a hair trigger. In heavy traffic, for instance, I have to close my eyes (I can't drive any more, don't worry, I'm a passenger); otherwise John ends up peeling me off the roof of the car.

One of my best friends dropped by late last week; she's a survivor of stage IV ovarian cancer. She's not supposed to be here, but she's been in remission for 12 years or so. I told her about what had happened and how disturbed I was about it and she said, "Oh that's easy, Lynn, you've got PTSD. I do too. We fought for our lives and our bodies are still fighting." My cardiologist agreed, and so did the therapist I saw this afternoon.

For the first time I was able to tell the story of what happened to me--thinking my heart troubles were behind me, suddenly ending up in the CICU, the pain-filled week of unstable angina, and then the cardiac arrest, where I called and called for help and NO ONE CAME, and then dying--without having to hold it together. When I talk to my family and friends about it, I have to contain myself; I can't really let it all out. They're so fragile themselves, we've all gone through so much with this.

So today, when I finally let it out...man. Here it is hours later and I'm still shaky. I cried so hard my voice is hoarse. I didn't think I could yell that loud. The depth of my emotion took me a little by surprise.

I'm totally wiped out now. I've been having trouble sleeping, and I'm hoping that now that I've finally had a good cry--if sobbing your guts out is a good cry--I can sleep a little. I'm going to try to sleep in, that much I know for sure.

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