Today my son ventured out to hang out with some friends. As happy as I am that he is getting out of the house, I still can’t seem to stop worrying. What if he calls and needs a ride? I do not drive. I do keep a certain amount of cash here at the house in case there’s a need for cab fare.

He is going to watch a movie with some friends and then one of the dads is going to drive them to the mall. I have a hard time imagining Nathan at the mall. Whenever I have taken him he has sulked and ultimately refused to go into anymore stores. I can’t say that I don’t get it, I hate the mall too. But when I was trying to Christmas shop last year, for example, he grew tired of the crowds quickly, determined that the stores were filled with crap and stood outside of each store I entered with his grey hoodie on, hood pulled down to cover most of his face. I ended up leaving without finishing my shopping, shocked that even a promise of ice cream could not persuade him to hang out any longer. I guess ice cream doesn’t work on my 14 year old.

In a way I envy his ability to call up some friends, make plans, hop on a bus, and go out and have fun. I used to have a life like that. With any luck I will again.

Now I am fraught with worry over the orthodontist appointment I need to take him to tomorrow afternoon, worried that I’ll have a panic attack on the bus and embarrass him. Worried that I’ll panic in the waiting room and do… What? That part is always the unknown. Lose control, ask someone to call 911, faint, vomit, I don’t know what I think is going to happen. I do know that it never does. Oh sure I panic, but I must look calm on the outside because even those closest to me don’t notice unless I tell them.

A few years ago I told a friend I’d had for four years that I suffered from panic attacks. I felt that I owed him some sort of explanation for my behavior. He had never heard of the disorder, but the comment that stuck with me was when he said, “You’ve been panicking all this time, right in front of me?” “Yes”, I answered, feeling like a naughty kid.

“Wow”, he responded. “You deserve an Oscar for best actress for your performance because I never would have known.”

Ultimately I ended up regretting telling him because he would often interrupt me during conversation, “So were you having a panic attack then? Are you having one now? Do you think you’ll have one tomorrow?”

I felt like some sort of circus freak.

Chances are that Nathan will return soon, filled with stories about his day, and I will feed him the chicken, stuffing and corn that I made for dinner. But that knowledge still doesn’t stop my mind from running.

I once asked my Mom when she stopped worrying about her kids all of the time and she laughed and said, “Never.”