From Corrections Officer to the Ditch: My Terrifying Journey with POTS

Living with POTS is like navigating a minefield where the mines are invisible and the map is constantly changing. At 23, I’ve aged beyond my years, marked by the relentless battle against a condition that took eight years to diagnose.

Those years were a gauntlet of medical appointments, dismissive doctors, and the constant, gnawing feeling that my body was a ticking time bomb. I was often labeled a “fainting goat,” accused of faking it, or simply written off as lazy. The truth, however, is that POTS is a puppeteer, pulling strings I can’t see, dictating terms I never agreed to. It’s a daily struggle to maintain control in a body that feels like a stranger.

My work history is a graveyard of opportunities lost to this invisible war. I’ve cycled through more jobs than I can count, each one ending when my body inevitably failed to meet the demands. The good days are a siren song, luring me into a false sense of security before the bad days crash in like a tidal wave.

I remember one particularly terrifying incident: I was working as a corrections officer in a level 3 sex offender yard when I blacked out. Waking up on that cold, hard floor, surrounded by inmates, was a stark reminder of my vulnerability. The scariest moment was when I blacked out while driving, waking up disoriented in a ditch. Now, the mere thought of getting behind the wheel again fills me with dread, a constant reminder of my fragility.

POTS has brought more than just inconvenience; it’s brought genuine terror, etching scars both visible and unseen. There was the time I woke up pinned beneath a dirt bike, my body unresponsive, and the countless times I’ve woken up on the floor after hitting my head during a fainting spell.

Yet, amidst these harrowing experiences, I persist—learning and experimenting with new ways to manage my symptoms. The journey is far from over, but I cling to the hope that one day I’ll find a job and a life that POTS can’t control. More than that, I dream of a future where I’m not defined by my illness, but by my strength in overcoming it.