I've always thought I'm quite good in a crisis anyway. Rather than panic, I become still. When my brother got his finger shut in a door in 1975, it was me who phoned an ambulance and held his finger-tip on, while others were in hysteria.
I reserve my panic attacks for things like being stuck in Hamleys behind a herd of ambling Spanish tourists. Anyway, if it all goes wrong, I shall just sit quietly and wait until I turn 50. And then go on a SAGA holiday.