Chapter Twenty-Three
November afternoon is perfect for soccer practice, warm but not hot, with a breeze coming off the ocean that makes the air feel fresh and clean.
Coach Martinez has us running corner kick drills, my specialty, and I should be in my element.
Instead, I feel off-balance in a way I can’t quite identify.
“Kline, let’s see that beautiful curve you showed us at championships,” Coach calls from the sideline.
I set up the ball, focusing on my approach angle and foot placement. Everything feels normal as I run toward the ball, but halfway through my approach, my chest tightens, my breathing becomes shallow, and suddenly I can’t get enough air.
I stumble through the kick anyway, sending the ball weakly toward the goal instead of with the precision I’m known for.
“You okay, Olivia?” Maya calls from the side.
“Yeah, fine,” I lie, bending over to catch my breath. But I’m not fine. My chest feels tight, my hands are starting to shake, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“Take a water break,” Coach Martinez says, appearing beside me with concern written across her weathered face. “You look pale.”
I walk toward the bench on unsteady legs, my teammates’ voices sounding distant despite being only yards away. Derek, who’s been practicing with the goalkeepers on the far field, jogs over when he sees me sitting down.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, crouching beside me on the bench.
“I don’t know. My chest feels tight, my heart’s racing, I can’t seem to catch my breath.” I look up at him, trying not to panic. “What if something’s wrong with my heart?”
“Coach!” he calls out. “I think we need to get Olivia to the nurse.”
“No, I’m okay,” I protest, but even as I say it, my breathing becomes more labored. “I just need a minute.”
Coach Martinez appears with her car keys already in hand. “Derek, help me get her to my car. We’re going to the urgent care center.”
“Here, drive my car.” Derek says pulling his keys from his pocket. “It’s closer.
“Let’s go.”
The drive to the urgent care center passes in a blur of Derek’s worried voice, Coach Martinez’s steady reassurances, and my own increasing anxiety about what might be happening to my heart. By the time we arrive, I’m hyperventilating and my hands are tingling.
“She has a known heart condition,” Coach tells the intake nurse. “Tricuspid regurgitation. She was doing fine at practice and then suddenly became short of breath with chest tightness.”
“How long ago was her last cardiology appointment?” the nurse asks, taking my blood pressure.
“Not that long ago, maybe a month, month in a half? Dr. Kasey said everything was stable.” Derek says.
They take me back immediately, which somehow makes me more anxious rather than reassured. Derek holds my hand while the nurse attaches EKG leads to my chest, and I can see the worry in his eyes even though he’s trying to stay calm for my sake.
“Try to relax,” the nurse says kindly. “We’re just going to see what your heart is doing right now.”
I take a shaky deep breath as Dr. Harrison, the urgent care physician, reviews my EKG results with a calm expression that gives nothing away.
“Well,” she says finally, “your heart rhythm is completely normal. No irregularities, no signs of distress.”
“But I couldn’t breathe. My chest was so tight.”
“I believe you had a panic attack,” Dr. Harrison says gently. “Everything you described—the chest tightness, rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, tingling hands—those are classic symptoms of anxiety and panic, not cardiac distress.”
I stare at her, confused. “But I wasn’t anxious about anything. I was just playing soccer.”
“Panic attacks don’t always have obvious triggers. Sometimes they’re the result of accumulated stress that we’re not consciously aware of.” She sits down across from me. “Have there been any major changes in your life recently? New stressors, relationship changes, family situations?”
“A few things,” I admit.
“It’s possible your body is responding to stress that you haven’t fully processed mentally. Even positive changes can create anxiety.”
Derek squeezes my hand. “You have had a lot going on lately.”
“But I’ve been handling everything fine. I feel good about the family stuff, happy about Derek and me, excited about college. I’m not stressed.”
“Sometimes our bodies respond to change even when our minds think we’re handling it well,” Dr. Harrison explains. “Have you been sleeping normally? Eating regularly?”
“Yes, I mean I have a bit of insomnia but otherwise I feel rested, and I do eat regularly.”
“What about your usual stress management techniques? Exercise, relaxation, time with friends?”
“Soccer has been normal, but everything else…” I trail off, realizing that my routine has been disrupted by family visits, extra phone calls with Emma, longer conversations with Derek about the future. “I guess things have been different.”
Dr. Harrison nods. “Your body is telling you to slow down and pay attention to your stress levels. The good news is that your heart is fine. The concerning news is that you’re pushing yourself harder than you realize.”
“So what do I do?”
“Start by acknowledging that major life changes, even positive ones, require energy and adjustment. Make sure you’re getting enough sleep, eating regular meals, and maintaining some of your normal routines.
” She hands me a pamphlet about managing anxiety.
“If you continue having panic attacks, you should talk to your regular doctor about strategies for managing stress and anxiety.”
The drive home is quiet, with Derek concentrating on traffic and me processing what just happened. Coach Martinez follows us to make sure I get home safely, and I feel embarrassed about disrupting practice for what turned out to be anxiety rather than a medical emergency.
“How are you feeling now?” he asks as we pull into my driveway.
“Embarrassed. Confused. A little shaky still.”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
“I should have realized I was stressed instead of assuming something was wrong with my heart.”
“You’ve been managing everything so well that it didn’t occur to any of us that you might be overwhelmed.”
Inside, Mom and Robert are waiting anxiously in the living room. Coach Martinez had called ahead to let them know what happened and that I was okay.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mom asks, pulling me into a hug that smells like her perfume and worry.
“Better. But embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about that,” Robert says firmly. “You’ve been through a lot of changes recently, and your body was telling you to slow down and process everything.”
“The doctor said the same thing. She thinks I’ve been under more stress than I realized.”
Mom and Derek exchange looks over my head.
“What?” I ask.
“We’ve been worried about that,” Mom admits. “You’ve been handling everything so well that we didn’t want to add to your stress by suggesting you might be overwhelmed. But you’ve been staying up later, picking at your food, seeming distracted even during family time.”
“I thought I was handling everything fine.”
“You have been handling everything fine,” Derek says. “But handling something well doesn’t mean it’s not stressful. Meeting your father, building a relationship with Emma, college applications, our relationship getting more serious; those are all good things, but they’re also big changes.”
“What about Emma potentially moving here?” Robert asks. “How are you feeling about that possibility?”
“Excited. But also nervous about how it would change our family dynamic, whether she’d fit in at school, if Jeremy would be happy here.”
As I say the words, I realize how many things I’ve been thinking about without acknowledging the emotional weight of all that mental processing.
“That’s a lot to be carrying around,” Mom observes. “Even if you’re handling each individual thing well.”
“So what do I do? I can’t just stop caring about any of these things.”
“You don’t have to stop caring,” Robert says. “But you might need to be more intentional about managing stress and taking care of yourself while you’re dealing with big changes.”
“Like what?”
“Getting enough sleep, for starters,” Mom says. “And eating actual meals instead of grabbing whatever’s convenient while you’re thinking about other things,”
“Maybe talking about what you’re feeling instead of just trying to handle everything internally,” Robert suggests.
“I talk to you guys all the time.”
“You update us on what’s happening,” Mom corrects. “But you don’t usually tell us how you’re feeling about what’s happening. There’s a difference.”
That evening, Derek stays for dinner and we spend time actually talking about how we’re feeling about various changes instead of just what’s happening with them. It’s a different kind of conversation than we usually have, more introspective and honest about uncertainty. It’s nice.