When Sonja and I went on our 50-miler I had my first experience with claustrophobia. It involved a 2-man tent, a mummy sleeping bag and a daughter in the beginning stages of hypothermia. Since I could hang my head outside the tent and deeply inhale the cool, fresh air it was only for a few moments that I actually felt panicked. Since then there have only been a few situations where I thought to myself, "Uh oh, this could make me feel that way again." The worst was probably that time in Bolivia where my sweet and (not so) innocent little sister coerced my sisters and me to ride in an illegal taxi that packed up tighter than a can of sardines. That was a little rougher than the Colorado mountain high rush.
But nothing like yesterday.
Keven and I were on our way to the temple and decided to stop by and see the progress of our office, which is transitioning from the 1st floor space to the 4th floor space (more square footage, better amenities and traffic flow, cheaper rent!). We stepped into the 5'x5' elevator from the parking garage. The doors closed. Keven pushed the button for the 4th floor. Nothing happened. There was no sound of anything running. Keven pushed another button, and another, and another. My heart was pounding and it was the only thing I could hear. I was thinking to myself, "Pushing all those buttons will just jam it up worse!"
Panic began to spread through me: it was getting really, really warm and I was sure we were running out of air to breathe. I wanted to look up to see if there was any kind of trap door but I couldn't move. It felt like the room was getting smaller. I wanted to start punching something but really did not want to hit my husband. I didn't dare say anything because I was afraid I would cry. I was surprised that Keven didn't even look phased when I screamed.
It felt like such a long time, but it couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 minutes. Keven pushed the alarm like a doorbell so it rang several times. We could hear people coming to the elevator, and then it started moving, oh so slowly. I wasn't sure that was going to be good or not because I was afraid we would get stuck between floors. And then the doors opened and we were on the 1st floor. I could breathe again. We got out and walked the rest of the way. We walked all the way back down too, of course. I'm not sure I will ever get on that elevator again.
When I could finally tell Keven how I had felt through that very short (almost an eternity) experience he was surprised. Good - that means I didn't really scream out loud and that my panic didn't show.
And then he said, "So, being stuck on an elevator in Mexico makes you nervous, does it?"
And I realized that being in Mexico had nothing to do with it. But then I started thinking of even more stuff I could have been hyperventilating about - thanks, spouse!
I don't think I started to feel calm until about halfway through our temple session. I was praying for a peaceful feeling, and when I finally recognized it I also recognized what was wrong with the picture in the elevator. And what I hope I will remember if I'm ever in a situation like that again: prayer works! I have too many experiences that it does to even question it. What bothers me is that it didn't even occur to me in the elevator. I like to think it would have eventually, but why didn't it immediately? I'm still learning and relearning, and I hope that means I'll get to stick around a lot longer until I get closer to getting it right.
