What is the purpose of prison? I thought there were three or four possible reasons for imprisonment. First, to punish the perpetrator for a crime. Secondly, to rehabilitate the criminal. Thirdly to prevent the prisoner from committing any further crime and last but apparently not least, for revenge. Oh yes, and “Justice” fits in somewhere between all of these.
I don't understand the Government's stance on Ronnie Biggs. The great train robber and criminal ‘celebrity’ of our time has certainly been punished. Does anyone disagree with that? Unfortunately he's past rehabilitation (I looked it up in the dictionary.... rehabilitate: restore to normal life by training, etc, esp. after imprisonment or illness; restore to former privileges or reputation or to proper condition) and can’t be restored to normal life by training or anything else because allegedly, the poor bloke can no longer speak, walk or talk as a result of several strokes and other health problems. Ergo, we don't need to prevent him from committing further crimes because he couldn’t even get himself out to nick a newspaper at this stage. Justice has been served and I really think that all of us, with the apparent exception of Jack Straw, have had our revenge.
Mr Straw’s much quoted reason for keeping Biggs banged up is that “he remains wholly unrepentant”. That may be so but where in the prison manifesto does it say that repentance is one of the pre-requisites for release? You can call me a cynic but I’m willing to bet that of the hundreds of prisoners released back into society over a year or two, one or two of them may possibly remain “wholly unrepentant” and may even be planning their next crime as we speak.
The original sentence was excessive; the time simply didn’t fit the crime. Ronnie Biggs has now surely paid his dues? His life is all but over, the man is clearly on his last legs and, my fellow tax payers, we’re funding him in prison when he could be back in the bosom of his family who would have the pleasure of funding his remaining few weeks, months or possibly even a year or two.
Let him out for goodness sake. What harm could it do?
Wednesday 29 July 2009
Wednesday 1 July 2009
The pain of panic attacks - doctors failed to spot symptoms that affect one in ten of us
I hadn’t planned to die on 10th August 2003, in fact I was just entering a new phase of life. Having emerged from the backside of an agonising divorce, I was on holiday with the new man.
I finished my coffee, had my cigarette and left the hotel restaurant to take the two-minute walk back down the steep hill to our bedroom. It was a beautiful, hot day. And then it hit me. Half way down the hill, the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced thumped me in the middle of my chest stopping me in my tracks. It sucked my breath away as it travelled down my left arm.
Oimigod, I must be having a heart attack. Too young, too young.
By now, sweating profusely, I summoned up everything I had, forcing myself to walk slowly back to our room, hoping I’d arrive before I kicked the bucket. When I got there, I collapsed onto the bed, perspiring, very nauseous and groaning with pain. I could hear my man happily showering whilst singing Bob Dylan’s ‘If you gotta go, go now’ blissfully unaware that only yards away, I probably was about to go, right then.
The pain was agonising, I tried to slow my breathing down willing it to pass but I felt a strange sense of unreality. I was concerned. How would he cope, emerging from the bathroom to find my dead body on the bed? I was on the verge of calling out, just about unable to bear the pain any longer when, as suddenly as it had come on, it vanished, leaving me feeling fragile and exhausted.
Having had a friend who’d suffered with angina I knew the symptoms and that, I concluded, was what it was. Not a heart attack but a pre-cursor, warning to me to give up smoking, lose some weight and take more exercise. I resolved not to tell him indoors about it (why ruin the holiday after all?) but to see a doctor when I returned home.
Once home I reasoned that it was a one-off and that would be the end of it. How wrong I was.
A couple of long months later, the same crushing chest pain, accompanied by nausea, woke me one morning. I felt faint, I was sweating and a sense of foreboding overtook me. Yet again, I was too scared to go to the doctor and told myself that clearly it was only angina and probably wouldn’t kill me - yet.
The next attack came on six weeks after that, the fourth one around a month later, followed by another one a week later. What was happening to me?
For New Year’s Eve 2003, we had decided to drive to France for the weekend. We arrived late on December 30th, had a fabulous meal and went to sleep. The following morning, the by now familiar crushing chest pain, faint feeling and sickness again awoke me. This time, the colour apparently drained from my face and, feeling really very sick, I rushed to the bathroom only to pass out on the way. He deftly caught me just before I hit the floor whilst losing control of all my body functions. Enough was enough; it was time to see a GP.
Over the course of the next 12 to 18 months I was referred to a neurologist, a gastroenterologist, a cardiologist, an endicronologist, an immunologist, a gynaecologist, a urologist and several therapists. I had EEG’s, ECG’s, endoscopies, colonoscopies, manomentries, ultrasound scans of my vital organs, allergy tests, hormone screening. I stopped smoking and drinking, started taking far more exercise, and I went through a process of food and drink elimination, testing possible triggers one by one.
I was prescribed low-level anti-depressants along with drugs to control acid production in my stomach and Nifedipine – a magic drug that instantly alleviates angina symptoms. Still the episodes continued, increasing in number and intensity until I was having one, two or six per day. Alarmingly, they were now happening at any time and I remained unable to pinpoint any discernible reason or trigger. One really bad day, I had a terrible episode at home and dialled 999. The ambulance service arrived in less than ten minutes, whisking me off to Hampstead’s Royal Free hospital where concerned doctors ran a battery of tests – all of which were very thorough and totally non-illuminating.
By now I was truly terrified. I was convinced that despite all the tests, they’d missed something major. Was it my heart? Maybe some previously unknown form of cancer? Something to do with my digestive or respiratory system? This was taking over my life, I was frightened to be alone lest I faint, fall and injure myself. I worried that I may die at home in bed or on the kitchen floor to be discovered by my then 14 year old son thus condemning him to a future on the therapist couch. It was very debilitating. It was horribly tiring. It was truly bizarre.
During all of this, my anxious parents had mentioned my problem to a friend. He suggested that I might be having stress induced panic attacks, he recognised the symptoms. I ‘pooh-poohed’ this ridiculous, amateur diagnosis. Yes, I may have been through a brutal divorce. Yes I was under pressure but I just wasn’t the sort of person who would be prone to something as mental as a panic attack. I was the sort person whom others relied upon for help and support, not a weed who had to get out of the kitchen. I could take the heat.
One day, in an idle moment, I punched ‘panic attack’ into Google UK. 1,290,000 results showed up and the first one I looked at offered the following:
A panic attack is a severe attack of anxiety and fear which occurs suddenly, often without warning, and for no apparent reason. The cause is not clear. Stressful life events such as bereavement may sometimes trigger a panic attack.
Various symptoms then occur during a panic attack. These include one or more of the following:
• Palpitations or a thumping heart.
• Sweating and trembling.
• Hot flushes or chills.
• Feeling short of breath, sometimes with choking sensations.
• Chest pains.
• Feeling sick.
• Feeling dizzy, or faint.
• Fear of dying or going crazy.
• Numbness or pins and needles.
• Feelings of unreality, or being detached from yourself.
Lordy, lordy. Save for the choking, I was experiencing all of those symptoms each time I had an episode.
The relief I felt upon reading the words on that website was palpable. But could it really be possible that this was all simply a physical manifestation of what was going on in my mind?
I had my work cut out. My next port of call was a different GP who agreed with my diagnosis and immediately referred me to a psychiatrist.
At my first consultation, the psychiatrist suggested that I take heavy-duty anti-depressants (or anti-panic medication) for six months to a year in tandem with having something called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and breathing lessons. Eh? I’d always thought I’d pretty well mastered the art of breathing a while back but apparently my problem stems from hyperventilation and I’d got myself into bad breathing habits. I resisted the anti-depressant route feeling that their potential side effects (such as feeling worse before I felt better, putting on weight and losing my libido) would definitely send me spiralling into a suicidal, let alone depressive, state. I didn’t in all honesty even feel depressed, just chronically anxious about my world, the Universe and everything. The Doc did however explain why my symptoms couldn’t possibly be heart related. At that stage, he began to convince me but nagging doubts persisted.
Some eighteen months later after CBT and breathing tuition, I was having fewer panic attacks (which CBT has taught me to re-frame as “moments of anxiety”) and their nature and intensity had lessened and changed considerably. Part of the change was down to recognising them for what they are and hence I’m was no longer actually panicking during an attack about whether the symptoms were indicative of something more sinister. I was off the fags but still overweight. Getting to that stage has took three years of blood, sweat, tears – and lots of dosh. Sometimes I had several weeks of being totally free of my ‘moments’. However, it wasn’t until this year when I radically changed my diet and lost a lot of weight (see my account in articles on this blog) that the panic attacks stopped altogether. Whilst it may be a small step for mankind, it’s a massive step for me. Life as I knew it had resumed and I feel happier, healthier and more settled than I’ve felt for years.
Although some of the medics I consulted were more open-minded than others, the lack of a clear diagnosis boils down to consultants’ being so narrowly focussed in their own field that they commonly fail to take a holistic view. As a result, they often just don’t see the wood for the trees.
For further information on panic attacks and stress related anxiety disorders, you could start with www.patient.co.uk
With thanks and gratitude to Geoff Rich; Dr Elizabeth Bradley, General Practitioner; Juan-Carlos & Roxanna, Dr Jeremy Pfeffer, Consultant Psychiatrist; Judith Halperin, Clinical Psychologist; Professor Jonathan Brostoff, Immunologist; Mary Walker, Nutritionist and of course, him indoors.
I finished my coffee, had my cigarette and left the hotel restaurant to take the two-minute walk back down the steep hill to our bedroom. It was a beautiful, hot day. And then it hit me. Half way down the hill, the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced thumped me in the middle of my chest stopping me in my tracks. It sucked my breath away as it travelled down my left arm.
Oimigod, I must be having a heart attack. Too young, too young.
By now, sweating profusely, I summoned up everything I had, forcing myself to walk slowly back to our room, hoping I’d arrive before I kicked the bucket. When I got there, I collapsed onto the bed, perspiring, very nauseous and groaning with pain. I could hear my man happily showering whilst singing Bob Dylan’s ‘If you gotta go, go now’ blissfully unaware that only yards away, I probably was about to go, right then.
The pain was agonising, I tried to slow my breathing down willing it to pass but I felt a strange sense of unreality. I was concerned. How would he cope, emerging from the bathroom to find my dead body on the bed? I was on the verge of calling out, just about unable to bear the pain any longer when, as suddenly as it had come on, it vanished, leaving me feeling fragile and exhausted.
Having had a friend who’d suffered with angina I knew the symptoms and that, I concluded, was what it was. Not a heart attack but a pre-cursor, warning to me to give up smoking, lose some weight and take more exercise. I resolved not to tell him indoors about it (why ruin the holiday after all?) but to see a doctor when I returned home.
Once home I reasoned that it was a one-off and that would be the end of it. How wrong I was.
A couple of long months later, the same crushing chest pain, accompanied by nausea, woke me one morning. I felt faint, I was sweating and a sense of foreboding overtook me. Yet again, I was too scared to go to the doctor and told myself that clearly it was only angina and probably wouldn’t kill me - yet.
The next attack came on six weeks after that, the fourth one around a month later, followed by another one a week later. What was happening to me?
For New Year’s Eve 2003, we had decided to drive to France for the weekend. We arrived late on December 30th, had a fabulous meal and went to sleep. The following morning, the by now familiar crushing chest pain, faint feeling and sickness again awoke me. This time, the colour apparently drained from my face and, feeling really very sick, I rushed to the bathroom only to pass out on the way. He deftly caught me just before I hit the floor whilst losing control of all my body functions. Enough was enough; it was time to see a GP.
Over the course of the next 12 to 18 months I was referred to a neurologist, a gastroenterologist, a cardiologist, an endicronologist, an immunologist, a gynaecologist, a urologist and several therapists. I had EEG’s, ECG’s, endoscopies, colonoscopies, manomentries, ultrasound scans of my vital organs, allergy tests, hormone screening. I stopped smoking and drinking, started taking far more exercise, and I went through a process of food and drink elimination, testing possible triggers one by one.
I was prescribed low-level anti-depressants along with drugs to control acid production in my stomach and Nifedipine – a magic drug that instantly alleviates angina symptoms. Still the episodes continued, increasing in number and intensity until I was having one, two or six per day. Alarmingly, they were now happening at any time and I remained unable to pinpoint any discernible reason or trigger. One really bad day, I had a terrible episode at home and dialled 999. The ambulance service arrived in less than ten minutes, whisking me off to Hampstead’s Royal Free hospital where concerned doctors ran a battery of tests – all of which were very thorough and totally non-illuminating.
By now I was truly terrified. I was convinced that despite all the tests, they’d missed something major. Was it my heart? Maybe some previously unknown form of cancer? Something to do with my digestive or respiratory system? This was taking over my life, I was frightened to be alone lest I faint, fall and injure myself. I worried that I may die at home in bed or on the kitchen floor to be discovered by my then 14 year old son thus condemning him to a future on the therapist couch. It was very debilitating. It was horribly tiring. It was truly bizarre.
During all of this, my anxious parents had mentioned my problem to a friend. He suggested that I might be having stress induced panic attacks, he recognised the symptoms. I ‘pooh-poohed’ this ridiculous, amateur diagnosis. Yes, I may have been through a brutal divorce. Yes I was under pressure but I just wasn’t the sort of person who would be prone to something as mental as a panic attack. I was the sort person whom others relied upon for help and support, not a weed who had to get out of the kitchen. I could take the heat.
One day, in an idle moment, I punched ‘panic attack’ into Google UK. 1,290,000 results showed up and the first one I looked at offered the following:
A panic attack is a severe attack of anxiety and fear which occurs suddenly, often without warning, and for no apparent reason. The cause is not clear. Stressful life events such as bereavement may sometimes trigger a panic attack.
Various symptoms then occur during a panic attack. These include one or more of the following:
• Palpitations or a thumping heart.
• Sweating and trembling.
• Hot flushes or chills.
• Feeling short of breath, sometimes with choking sensations.
• Chest pains.
• Feeling sick.
• Feeling dizzy, or faint.
• Fear of dying or going crazy.
• Numbness or pins and needles.
• Feelings of unreality, or being detached from yourself.
Lordy, lordy. Save for the choking, I was experiencing all of those symptoms each time I had an episode.
The relief I felt upon reading the words on that website was palpable. But could it really be possible that this was all simply a physical manifestation of what was going on in my mind?
I had my work cut out. My next port of call was a different GP who agreed with my diagnosis and immediately referred me to a psychiatrist.
At my first consultation, the psychiatrist suggested that I take heavy-duty anti-depressants (or anti-panic medication) for six months to a year in tandem with having something called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and breathing lessons. Eh? I’d always thought I’d pretty well mastered the art of breathing a while back but apparently my problem stems from hyperventilation and I’d got myself into bad breathing habits. I resisted the anti-depressant route feeling that their potential side effects (such as feeling worse before I felt better, putting on weight and losing my libido) would definitely send me spiralling into a suicidal, let alone depressive, state. I didn’t in all honesty even feel depressed, just chronically anxious about my world, the Universe and everything. The Doc did however explain why my symptoms couldn’t possibly be heart related. At that stage, he began to convince me but nagging doubts persisted.
Some eighteen months later after CBT and breathing tuition, I was having fewer panic attacks (which CBT has taught me to re-frame as “moments of anxiety”) and their nature and intensity had lessened and changed considerably. Part of the change was down to recognising them for what they are and hence I’m was no longer actually panicking during an attack about whether the symptoms were indicative of something more sinister. I was off the fags but still overweight. Getting to that stage has took three years of blood, sweat, tears – and lots of dosh. Sometimes I had several weeks of being totally free of my ‘moments’. However, it wasn’t until this year when I radically changed my diet and lost a lot of weight (see my account in articles on this blog) that the panic attacks stopped altogether. Whilst it may be a small step for mankind, it’s a massive step for me. Life as I knew it had resumed and I feel happier, healthier and more settled than I’ve felt for years.
Although some of the medics I consulted were more open-minded than others, the lack of a clear diagnosis boils down to consultants’ being so narrowly focussed in their own field that they commonly fail to take a holistic view. As a result, they often just don’t see the wood for the trees.
For further information on panic attacks and stress related anxiety disorders, you could start with www.patient.co.uk
With thanks and gratitude to Geoff Rich; Dr Elizabeth Bradley, General Practitioner; Juan-Carlos & Roxanna, Dr Jeremy Pfeffer, Consultant Psychiatrist; Judith Halperin, Clinical Psychologist; Professor Jonathan Brostoff, Immunologist; Mary Walker, Nutritionist and of course, him indoors.
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