I made a mistake.

I made the mother of all mistakes when it comes to being a patient.

I forgot to refill my prescription.

& then I kept forgetting.  I forgot for an entire week .  By Friday, I threw up my hands & figured that since I was seeing my doctor on Tuesday, a few more days wouldn’t hurt.

“Well,” she said as she adjusted her crossed ankles.  “This was unexpected.  How are you feeling?”

Then I admitted that I wasn’t sure – the plan had been to wean me off anti-depressants in the spring but then we decided to keep on keepin’ on with the doctor switch.  & I’d already gone through the hardest part of weaning, so a part of me wanted to just see how I did off the medicine.

You know, since I made the worst mistake ever & took myself off them.  Alone.  WHEN I KNOW BETTER.

“That’s up to you,” she replied.  It’s equally maddening & empowering how much she let’s me control my care.  Ultimately, we decided that I should go back on the Zoloft as this summer will probably be pretty darn busy & I will be back in my original doctor’s care (hopefully!) in August.  She called in the prescription & reminded me that it was my decision, but that I only had about two weeks left of “trace protection” from the remnants of Zoloft in my system.

I waited to fill it.  Another mistake.

I’m tired.  I’m unfocused.  I’m short-tempered at work & quick to bite (not literally).  I’m not sleeping well.  I feel anger at the dog & I feel myself retreating into my little weird brain shell where I kind of hate everyone else in the universe.

Why am I doing this to myself?!  Just because the original goal was to attempt to wean me in the spring?

I know better.

p.s. I refilled the prescription yesterday.  YOU’RE WELCOME, UNIVERSE.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 I made a mistake.

Momma on the verge: signs of Postpartum Depression, the journey through, & what you can do to help.

This post was an original guest piece for a mental health rally, but I felt it was also needed in this space.  As always, different strokes for different folks, but these are the symptoms & solutions that worked for me.

_____________________________

To the mommas that are on the verge, sorting through the muck, or stepping into the light – I know what you’re feeling.  I know how you’re hurting, I understand your  fears, but I have a story of hope.  You will be okay.  You will make it into the light.  You will be whole again.

To the family & friends witnessing her pain – you’re going to be okay, too.  This is a season.

So many questions I get revolve around the “stages” of postpartum depression – how I knew I had it, what my treatment was like, how I knew I was on the recovery, & what family & friends can do to help.

Before.

Postpartum depression can be such a nasty thing to diagnose, because the truth is that it looks different on everyone.  I thought that it meant tears – lots & lots of tears.  So when the tears didn’t come but I was angry & resentful of my fresh baby, I did not recognize it as a problem with depression – I thought it was a problem with me.

  • Anger
  • Frustration over the smallest tasks
  • Resentment of my husband & new baby
  • Feeling that I made a mistake
  • Detachment (aka feeling like he wasn’t my baby)
  • I thought about giving my son up for adoption.
  • Irrational thoughts about harming myself, my family, my baby.
  • Zero interest in food.
  • A fixation with keeping the house absolutely spotless at all times.
  • Inability to fall asleep & stay asleep.
  • Taking long showers. (this seems to be a common thread as a way to hide crying & escape responsibilities)
  • Constant complaints of exhaustion.

Do you know a new momma that feels this way?  Any of these?  Here’s the thing – you can help, even if you’re not a licensed therapist or OB/GYN.

  • Make that momma some good food.  When a friend dropped off a casserole that I just had to pop in the oven, it was bliss.  Especially if there was a frozen one to go along with it.  Tip:  Make something SIMPLE that she can recreate with no pressure.  Do not pull out the big gourmet guns because it may just make her feel more worthless that she can’t match your standard.
  • Keep her company.  Sit at her feet while she feeds the baby -my husband did this & I enjoyed the security of his presence in a situation where I felt vulnerable.
  • Don’t tell her that a clean house or a perfect nursery “don’t matter.”  They DO matter to her & it hurts to have someone brush it off.
  • Guys, leave her alone for sex.
  • When you ask her how she’s doing, more than likely she’ll lie & say “fine.”  Pay more attention to her reaction to the baby’s cries, her sleeping patterns, & whether she’s still “engaged” in life.
  • Simply state that you think she’s hurting & you hate to see it because she deserves better.  She deserves to love motherhood because she is so wonderful at it.
  • Remind her that they will not take her baby away from her.
  • Remind her of that again.
  • Then suggest that she seek help with her trusted OB/GYN.

During

This was the hardest part for me – the fight.  Believe me, any momma that is in the throes of postpartum depression is FIGHTING.  You’re fighting for motherhood, for love, & sometimes for your life.  It is exhausting.  It can really toll on a marriage.  It can be hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel some days.  But it is so worth the fight.  For some, therapy alone can help pull the darkness away but for others (like me) it took a combination of medication & therapy.  For a smaller portion (like me again), it takes intense therapy that is usually done in a hospital setting.

Some options for treatment:

  • Talk therapy with a licensed therapist or psychiatrist.
  • Medication
    • Antidepressants
    • Antipsychotics
    • Anti-anxiety
    • Sleeping aids
  • Light therapy by solar lamp.
  • Exercise therapy.
  • Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
  • Meditation
  • Hospitalization.

As a spouse, family member, friend – you are her most important asset outside of her medical professional.  You see her every day.  You speak with her, watch her interact with her baby, watch her run her home.  You can make the difference between making it or breaking it.

  • Love her unconditionally.  Remember that above all, she is hurting all the way down in her soul.  So be gentle with her.
  • When she says she cannot do something, like change a diaper or feed the baby, do not force her.  Trust that she knows her limits.
  • Gently ask/remind her to take her medication in the morning (this one is for spouses or very close friends only)
  • Go with her to therapy sessions.  (spouses once again)
  • Remind her that this isn’t forever.  She will beat it.  She is strong enough.  She deserves happiness.
  • If she works outside of the home, remind her to tell her human resource department about her treatment.  She is covered under the Americans with Disabilities Act.
  • How is she responding to treatment?  Is she responding?  Remember, there are all kinds of medications that react differently with different body chemistry.  Don’t be afraid to ask the doctor if doses or meds should be altered for better results.  Don’t be afraid to switch doctors/therapists, either.
  • Is she getting worse?  Are her symptoms exacerbating?  Is she showing new symptoms?  If so, tell her medical professional IMMEDIATELY.
  • Remember that there are good days & bad days.

After

Coming through the storm can feel like a big sigh of relief – you see that light & you just want to race, race, race towards it.  Freedom!  Relief!  Wholeness!  Life!!  Beating postpartum depression has been my greatest achievement, past growing & sustaining another human life.  I am so proud of my hard work, so thankful for my family & friends, so absolutely humbled to simply be alive after falling into hell.

How I knew I was whole:

  • When my son cried, I wanted to respond.  I wanted to make him happy & care for his needs.
  • I was waking up refreshed after sleeping the entire night.
  • I enjoyed the “small things” in life again – sunshine coming through the windows in the morning, a good movie, making cinnamon rolls with my boys on Sundays.
  • I started performing well at work again.
  • I felt like he was my son – I began enjoying that he had the same eyes that I did & I began realizing that he reached for me first.
  • When emergencies/stressful situations occurred, I was able to face them.  I don’t always handle them with the most grace, but I do not crawl under the covers & pretend it’s not happening anymore.
  • I could go eight weeks between therapy sessions easily.

So many folks wonder what they can do to help speed up the process & “get back” their wife, daughter, friend….but the best thing you can do is let her take things at her own pace.

  • Be willing to listen as she sorts through what happened -the truth is, she’s been through something traumatic that has changed the way she views life & motherhood & it is a lot to process.
  • Understand post traumatic stress.  She may have recurring nightmares, or irrational fears about certain tasks or events.
  • She may have a bad day here & there where the PPD seems like it’s coming back.  It’s okay & normal.  Remind her that tomorrow is another day.
  • Make sure she’s taking time for herself – as she heals, the guilt may make her feel like she cannot be away from her baby.  Get her out the door by herself at least an hour per week.
  • When she says she can handle it, trust her.  That can be a huge leap of faith for those that love her, as they’ve been pulling her through the recovery, but it is important for her to take her life back fully.

Sometimes pictures make my heart ache.

I loved these pajamas.

jammies Sometimes pictures make my heart ache.

Last May, Harrison’s toes pushed against the fabric feet of his size six months jammies.  My throat caught – my little boy was growing up.  He was gaining independence.  He was outgrowing his pajamas.  So on a Wednesday night, I quickly stole out to our local Kohl’s after tucking Harrison to bed.  I wandered through the racks of baby pajamas, touching them for softness & measuring length.  Comparing tags & styles, determined to pick the best pajamas.

I couldn’t be the best mother, but I could at least pick pajamas.

I settled on a pair of yellow jams with a sweet giraffe stitched up the side with a circus tent.  & then paired it with the blue monkeys.  Two sets of jams to hold him over until he was ready for size nine months.  Two sets of jams to keep him warm during spring.  Two sets of jams to prove that I loved him.

Less than a week later, I checked into UNC’s psychiatric hospital.

While I was there, my father texted over the photo above of my sweet boy ready for bed in the pajamas I picked.  I remember staring at the photo & wishing I was there to inhale that freshly bathed sent & nuzzle my cheek on his back.  Wishing I was anywhere but a sterile hospital room.  A week later, I sat in Harrison’s room with The Momma, folding clothes & healing as my boy played at our feet.

“Here,” she said as she handed me the blue pajamas.  “These are too little already.”

I never got to see him in those pajamas that I picked so carefully.

Sometimes, my heart still aches with the emptiness of everything I missed.

Anniversary.

It’s a big anniversary week.

But not a fun one with cake & flowers & a present.   It’s the one that says, “You’ve lived a full year after seeing demons!”   The one that smells like hospital cleaner & feels like a pounding headache behind my eyes.

It’s been a full year since I was admitted to a postpartum psychiatric ward.  I wonder if I will always feel it following me around, this weird haunting of my past that makes everyone feel uncomfortable.  I look forward to finally paying off my bill so that an envelope from UNC doesn’t serve as a reminder every month.  When Harrison lays his head on my shoulder, I close my eyes & still silently apologize for missing so much.   I worry that the hollow sense of loss will ever completely go away.

but.

I also feel a surge of victory.  I think of the night where I sobbed in the shower with a razor in my hand, willing to cut so deep that I would become numb – I told myself there was no hope.  But here I stand today, healthy & attached to life & my son.   I am proud of the person & mother I am becoming.

Maybe we should get a cake after all.

Changing of the guard…again.

Lately there’s been a lot swirling around in my life.  Mostly good stuff, some stressful stuff, a lot of sitting & waiting & more waiting & OH GOD, I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT IT BUT I CAN’T.

No, I’m not pregnant.

About a month ago, I received a phone call from my doctor’s office requesting that I switch psychiatrists as my doctor would be out of the office.  “Oh, that’s fine.  I’ll just wait for her to return,” I said pleasantly.  awkward pause at the end of the line. “I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible,” the assistant explained.  Before I could truly grasp what was happening, I found myself scheduled to see a different psychiatrist on a different day.  My head spun.

Where is she?  What’s going on?  I have to see a new doctor?!  She’ll know nothing about me.  What if she doesn’t agree to the meds I’m on?  What if she wants to change everything?

Quickly, I pulled up my doctor’s email & shot a quick note to her – that I hoped she was doing well, I was nervous about seeing a new doctor but if it was necessary, did she have any recommendations for a good fit?

I bet it’s a family issue.  I hope she’s not sick.  I wonder if Duke offered her a temporary position to get a postpartum unit running there?

No answer to the email.

Is it me?  Did I get too personal?  Did I say something wrong?  Did I make her uncomfortable with something I said in my blog?

They called to reschedule the new doctor three times.

This is unbelievable.  A new doctor?!  I don’t even know her!  & my other doctor took off without warning.  WHO TAKES OFF LIKE THAT?  WHAT THE HELL?!

This past Monday afternoon, I nervously tapped my fingers & adjusted my skirt in the office of my new doctor.  She’s nice.  Pleasant.  Sympathetic.  She’s a little bit too “oh dear” & clucking of the tongue for my taste, but I think I’m just used to my old doctor’s “That’s bullshit!” hollerings while we discuss how utterly unfair postpartum depression can be, especially when Risperdal adds 15 lbs on your frame & strips you of an orgasm.

But she’ll do.

She did have some excellent insight into some of the things I’ve been “going through” lately – recurring nightmares, anxiety about driving at night, a random hour of hiding under a blanket, detachment during bath time.  “Classic post traumatic stress,” she mused.  “Listen, you can’t go through something that changes your life & body chemistry & not come out unaffected.   The good news is, it seems to all be very isolated to specific events during the worst of your postpartum depression.”  So now the work begins continues.

I still feel rattled at being on my third psychiatrist.  But I’m handling it & am thankful that it’s not like a year ago, when this would have rocked me completely off my heels.

I’m going to keep being okay.

my doctor is on extended medical leave until an undisclosed time.  she’s fine, but i miss her dearly.
Stealing is for losers. Copyright 2008-2012 Beth Anne Ballance