It was Halloween day…not the most convenient day to die by any means–especially not with young kids who wanted to be trick-0r-treating, but my husband came home to deal with the kids because I was sure I was dying. It was a heart attack or anaphylaxis or something related to my recent return to medicating my OCD. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was tight. It was going to get worse probably. Looking back, I don’t know how I convinced my husband I was fine to drive myself to the urgent care, but...