Trouble started in the form of rivulets of sweat dampening the waistband of my underwear. It was a bluebird afternoon in Phoenix in December of 2020, mid 60s, desert dry, and my heart was jackhammering against my ribcage. Breathing felt like I was sucking air through a stir straw. A small ABC News crew was arrayed before me, ready to broadcast the report I’d written that day, but with my vision narrowed to a needle’s eye, I could barely see them. I tried to swallow away the sandiness in my mouth but realized I’d forgotten how. [time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”] “I can’t swallow! How do I swallow?” I quickly recognized my body’s reaction for what it was: not a stroke or a heart
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