It was the end of 2021 when my brother died of a heart attack. He was quite young, in his 40s, and his death reshaped my world in ways I never imagined. In the days following his death, I was still in shock, which I suppose is normal in such circumstances. The fact that he died so young from something like that left me thinking about many things, but specifically about the possibility of it happening to me: What if that happens to me too? What if I'm next? We are family, so it could be genetic.

These thoughts turned into worries, which ultimately sent me to the ER.

A few days after he passed away, I went out for dinner with my family. I still remember how I felt when I went to bed that night. There was a pressure in my solar plexus and chest. I thought I had experienced it before, probably due to food, so I decided to ignore it.

A couple of days passed and the feeling was still there. My brother's death was still fresh in my mind, and somehow my brain made the link between this sensation and a heart attack. I googled my symptoms and they matched those of a heart attack, at least to some extent, so I ended up rushing to the ER.

The first thing they did was monitor my heart rate. I remember it like it was yesterday: I was lying on a bed and my heart rate was 120 bpm. I got to talk to the doctor and told him that my brother had died of a heart attack a few days earlier, which raised alarm bells. For context, I was — and still am — in my 30s. I'm rather fit, I work out regularly, and I've never smoked, so an abnormal heart rate like that seemed quite strange. Next up: X-rays and blood tests, but they couldn't find anything wrong, so I was sent home.

However, the feeling didn't go away that night, so I started to worry again and went back to the ER. I had another round of blood tests, but again, nothing abnormal was found. I had two tests that night and my results were good. I actually remember the doctor telling me, 'Your blood results are better than mine!' I know she was trying to calm me down.

At some point during my stay, one of the paramedics asked me if I had reflux. I did, but I was too overwhelmed by my own worries to answer the question, so I just said 'no'.

Given that the blood work came back twice as normal, they sent me home, but asked me to call back in the morning and ask for the cardiologist, which I did.

I went back for a third time that morning, when they ran the third and final blood test. Again, nothing showed up. It was probably at this point that they realised I was having a panic attack, so they sent a psychiatrist to talk to me. After a brief and seemingly unempathic conversation — or at least I felt it that way — he diagnosed me with generalised anxiety, and soon after I was sent home.

Although I felt relieved that it was 'only' anxiety and not heart-related, I was not aware that the first panic attack I experienced there would become my new normal, disrupting every aspect of my life, including work, sports and travel. And that is where everything began.

It has been the hardest period of my life, but it has also brought some of the most beautiful and unexpected gifts, and today I want to share them with you.