The first time it happened was around ten years ago.
My doctor was very thorough. He felt my throat, carefully recorded my descriptions, and then sent me to a ear, nose, and throat specialist where I had a barium swallow X-ray. Nasty. Other back and forth appointments ensued, most of which have long ago escaped my leaky memory.
They ruled out everything horrible until finally he said, “You’re not going to like this. What you have is generally referred to as globus hystericus.”
Seriously.
Why don’t I just put the back of my hand on my forehead and swoon about like some femme fatale? Where are those smelling salts? Good grief. He was right. I did not like the description one little bit. I felt inadequate and weak. Surely, I could just muscle through this?
Time and political correctness have marched forward. Sensitivity now refers to this as globus pharyngis, which sounds a little more medical, and less, well, less hysterical. But no matter what you call it, the causes are generally thought to be anxiety or, as my doctor told me,”Sometimes it is, quite literally, unexpressed emotion.”
It had all started when I began seeing a therapist for my back pain. The more we talked, the bigger the lump in my throat grew. “Given,” I said to my dear doctor, “that I am now expressing all these damned emotions, shouldn’t the lump go the hell away?”
If nothing else, I am eloquent under duress.
He assured me that the more I talked, the more I walked, the more I meditated and tuned into how I was feeling and then expressed those feelings, that one day I would simply notice it was gone.
He was right. My back got better and I quit feeling like I was being choked. Life carried on. Since then, I have had random skirmishes with globus…little momentary reminders to slow things down and take better care of myself. I have dutifully been practising the art of listening to my body.
We now know that there is no mind-body split. That, in fact, the mind and body, as Dr. Gabor Mate so eloquently stated, can only be separated at autopsy. We are a unified field; complete with our very own body of evidence.
During the last months, while Dad was getting worse and then finally, while he was dying, my brain kept telling me that I was doing fine. He’s had a good life. He’s old. It’s all okay. All of which was true, but good ol’ globus hystericus showed up to remind me that this didn’t diminish the fact that it was emotionally hard. Very hard.
If, and when I’m willing to look, the connection is pretty easy to see. Because, quelle surprise, my grief-induced-globus disappeared while I was on last week’s multi-sport girlfriend getaway, where laughter and tons of outdoor activity proved to be the cure.
Last night I found out some horrible medical news about my very good friend. News that’s very hard to swallow. The connection was immediate. Guess what announced itself almost immediately? I’m not sure whether to scream or cry. Perhaps doing one of those things would release the grip around my throat.
So I do this: I write. I talk. I cry. I breathe.
Mostly, I keep telling the truth as near as I can figure it. I practise expressing how I feel and I remember to have faith that this too shall pass and that there will be sufficient grace for all of us to get through it.
My only job is to show up each day and do my best. Sometimes that means I have to do it while swooning.
Pass the salts, please.
Wow, great stories. I can relate with a visible lump in my throat. The swelling went down just before an ultra sound a month later. The specialist was skeptical. All the blood tests came back normal. She implied it was my imagination but the GP had verified it was visible. Apparently I have a “ropey” thyroid but there was no explanation for the swelling. It happened over two years ago but I can’t remember if I was upset or just hiding my emotions as a possible cause for the inflammation. Colleen, you are not alone with your crazy interior dialogues. Thanks for sharing.
Unreal stuff, Martha. Look at all our common stories. It’s so good to realize there’s a much bigger picture than just ourselves. And who knows? Sometimes too, a cigar (or a ropey thyroid) is just a cigar because lots of random stuff just happens too. My dearly departed Dalmatian had fatty lumps all over her in her end days and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because she wasn’t thinking ‘happy’ thoughts. She was a deliriously happy dog.
So I always like to add that caveat because the last thing we need when we’ve got something wrong is to then add blame on ourselves. Got enough guilt thanks!
You betcha!
Hey Colleen: I think you can add WASPs to Mennonites. I went to emerg when I was 25, thinking I was dying…couldn’t breathe, swallow etc. When the young internist gave a diagnosis of ‘unresolved conflict’ for my very physical symptoms, I was dumbfounded. Of course he was absolutely right and I’ve been fighting this and winning (most of the time) ever since. I’m really enjoying reading all of your posts. You’re a wonderful writer and a beautiful human.
Bruce, bless you for sharing this story. That must have been such a panicky and terrifying experience. Weren’t you lucky to have an internist who had that kind of wisdom?
Thank you for your kind words. This whole blog-writing thing is such a strange process and I’m never sure whether hitting that ‘Publish’ button is a wise idea. Then I ask myself, why am I so afraid of just telling my story? We’re all just made up of a zillion stories, how can it be a bad thing to speak mine? Of course, the crazy interior dialogues are much longer and quite frankly, more insane than that.
And then I look at the upside. I’ve now discovered three more wonderful people who have gone through similar experiences. I get to find out that I’m not alone in this, and that, whether it’s due to anxiety, unresolved conflict, sadness, stress or the search for one’s own voice, I have stellar company on the journey.
A very moving post Colleen. I had that same lump in my throat towards the end of my corporate career — it would choke me up to the point where I couldn’t talk and would suffer from long coughing fits. Haven’t had it since, thankfully. Take care ( and I’m so sorry to hear about your friend)
Michele. That story comes as no surprise to such a stressful choice and huge change in your life. Thank you for sharing that. I remember too, that my dad had many occasions of laryngitis, days of being unable to speak. I wonder now, if it was the same thing? I’m sure there was plenty of things he felt he couldn’t say.
There is no longer any question in my mind that writing has saved me in more ways than I can enumerate.
Thanks for sharing that I had no idea that issue had a name. Years ago I was doomed with a repetitive dream of having a huge glob in the back of my throat, stopping me from speaking. As much as I pulled at this glob it could not be freed from its place though from time to time there was movement… Then one day, as I was lively in very humble settings, but quiet and calm within myself, I dreamed again and woke with a huge breath of air escaping from my body as the glob was pulled free by my own hands. The dream has never repeated itself and I continue to speak up for what I believe and feel. Globus(glob) Hysterius(hysterics…uncontrollable weeping or laughter)
Why oh why is it that our people have such need for control of voiced emotions…happy travels.
E
What an amazing story Eva. I love the image of you freeing yourself 🙂
I’m convinced this type of anxiety manifestation affects Mennonites more than the average bear, but at the same time I know others (you just have to read Michele’s comment that came in after yours) get this too.
Epigenetics tells us that we don’t just inherit eye colour and bone structure but that a lot of this emotional angst is genetically passed-down. Given the history of no-fun depressives in our collective background, I’d say we got an extra whack of that black-coloured coding and I intend to reprogram as much of it as possible!
Thanks again for your amazing story about your dream and your healing. It is very powerful.