Panic's a hoot!

Okay, so I’m claustrophobic....who knew?....I think the last time I had a panic attack anywhere close to the little hissy fit I threw in the MRI machine was ‘way back when I turned 30 years old.....I had always claimed that I didn’t expect to live past 30 ‘n I spent that p’ticklar birthday in the hospital....I did a lot of that back then...
time in the hospital, I mean....what I suffered from was a misdiagnosed case of Valley Fever that kicked the crap out’a me...anyways, I was in hospital on my thirtieth birthday ‘n became convinced that I was gonna die.....it was the middle of the night ‘n I was having chest pains ‘n I just knew I was a dead man....I called the nite nurse ‘n explained that I was having a heart attack ‘n death was imminent ‘n she replied that she was a little on the busy side ‘n didn’t really have time to bother with my imaginary illness....I lay there in the dark with my heart going about sixty miles an hour (which was pretty fast in my ‘way back when time) ‘n waited to die....’n waited...’n waited ‘n am still waiting.....’ny rate, the panic ceased somewhere in the darkness ‘n never returned.....until I found m’self in that blasted MRI machine with the Hannibal Lechtor mas ‘n the klaxons screaming in my ears....’n I didn’t just hit the panic button....I threw my whole body at it....I’m reminded of that Dylan Thomas line that says, “Do not go gentle into that long night, but rage at the closing of the light.” Well, I raged ‘n then some....I screamed, I cursed, I kicked ‘n generally came unglued until the man let me out....’n then I refused to go back in.....they offered me drugs but I refused....I told them that there wasn’t enough valium in the world to get me back in that tube.....ah well, I s’poze if a body lives long enuff, he’ll find his own personal Waterloo....maybe more than one.....which brings me to why I’m sitting here at the ‘puter at four in the AM when I should be sleeping like a log....I was all wrapped up in my pillows (three of ‘em even tho’ Millyrose laughs at me) with the blankets over my head when I woke suddenly with the certainty that I was back in the MRI ‘n came up out’a bed fighting the blankets ‘n pillows, kicking the dogs ‘n trying to breathe....evidently panic caused me to stop breathing.....may be a form of sleep apnea, I dunno...but my pulse was doing that racehorse thing...I had that cold little knot in the pit of my stomach ‘n what I wanted more’n anything was a cozy barroom, a friendly bartender ‘n a glass of Jamison’s....oh yeah, ‘n maybe a cigarette.....I’ll tell’ya, panic’s a hoot!