Here I am. Again.

Truths about PPD:
1) it sucks
2) you do get through it

False about PPD:
1) you're going to harm your baby
2) you're going to leave your husband

Coming out of PPD is like hiking a huge hill.  As you're hiking up and up and up, there's no end in sight.  All you see is hill in front of you.  And then suddenly you reach the top, and you see the view and you remember why you started hiking in the first place.  But you've changed on the way up.  Your muscles are tense.  You're out of breath.  You're starving and thirsty.  You look back down at where you came from and you realize that it's over, and you don't have to climb it again.

I've been going to therapy, which will be done next week.  I took anti depressants for a bit- but they made me sleepy and they made me foggy, and they made me not want sex.  So I stopped them.  I haven't told anyone.  I'm supposed to be on them until October.  Shhh.  They are sitting beside my bed on my nightstand, but unless someone shakes the bottle or notices no water is gone from my water bottle, my secret is safe.

I'm going to the gym on a regular basis and I'm back in my pre pregnancy clothing.  This does HUGE things for your morale.  HUGE things.

Andy and I have been working through things together.  We're working on being kind.  Just.  Kindness.  Saying things like "thank you" and "please."  He's been getting up with Liam, which is very kind.  We've been putting down the phones more and playing with our son more.  And slowly the healing is beginning. 

Liam has been sleeping through the night again, which means I have more energy to do things like clean and do dishes- doing all of this while holding Liam in the front pack.  Maybe that's how I've lost the weight?  Because I have a 16 lb weight on my chest at most all times!

But all things considered- it's good to be back.  My sweet boy turned 7 months yesterday.  He falls asleep every night with his forehead on mine and his hand on my cheek.  I'm blessed beyond measure.

Not in the mood

I haven't posted in a long time. Don't take it personally. I just haven't felt like it. That's the thing with depression- sometimes you just don't feel like it. So you don't. You don't ANYTHING.

I'm writing now because I feel compelled to do so. You see, since writing this blog, many ladies have confessed many secrets to me. My calendar is now filled with initials followed by dates, times, treatments and week counts. I'm keeping up with all of them- rejoicing with those who rejoice, crying with those who cry.

Tonight I wait with bated breath for a gal who is expectantly waiting to call her doctor first thing in the morning. Who has seen the second line, however faint, and is now cramping and spotting. And though I am a girl of many words, I have no words for her. My little black letters on the texting screen on my iPhone seem few and pointless.

So tonight I hold my little Liam tight and pray for B's someday baby. Life is hard, but God is good.

Opening Day

Any ideas on whom my husband is teaching my son to root for when it comes ot baseball?

Just so happens that Daddy's day to watch Liam turned out to be opening day for baseball, so they shared the moment.

 

Liam doesn't go anywhere on Daddy Day without his Sox hat :)

 

And he clearly didn't last the game.  I got home in time to hear Andy whisper to him, "We won your first game, son..."  And my heart melted a little.

Pushovers.

It's no secret that one cannot go to Target without coming out with a full cart of unnecessary items.  My husband and I have been working on cutting down on extra spending, so when I go to Target, I now bring a list and stick to it as much as possible.

We were driving home from dinner the other night, and needed a few things at Target.  I whipped out my list and we began the trek through the big white and red store.  We almost made it out while sticking to the list.  ALMOST.  We got our new pillows, we got our cat food, we got gas drops and a nasal aspirator for our little teething son.

Then, the toy aisle beckoned us...

So we casually strolled through...

And suddenly this small, plush Kermit the Frog mysteriously landed in our sons carrier...

And...and he really liked it.

And then we walked a little further and decided to check the price...$9.99.  Yikes.  There are few things in life I will pay a full $10 for.  A plush toy is not something on which I'm willing to drop a Hamilton.

So we took Kermit away from Liam and put him with the soap, right by the price checker.

Liam looked at us, perplexed, as if to say, "You just left my best friend with the soap."

Andy and I walked away to obtain more "list approved" purchases.

Andy and I came back and Kermit was still there, stuffed between the soap and the rack.  One floppy arm and floppy leg up in the air...looking really sad.

And then suddenly visions of the books "Corderoy" and "Velveteen Rabbit" came flooding back to me.  And then Toy Story 1 and 2 began playing back in my brain.  Sarah MscGlaughlin singing, "When Somebody Loved Me" began to haunt me.  Poor Kermit!  Poor Liam!

Kermit ended up back in our basket, back in the safe confines of Liam's arms.  $10 later, our son was happy and we were labeled as "Pushover Parents," who left the store vowing that this wasn't going to happen every time he wanted we thought he needed.

Therapy...

How come celebrities go to rehab but regular schmoes go to therapy?  How LiLo would it be of me to name this post "Rehab?"

So you go to the "psych ward" at the hospital, and immediately you just start staring at people.  You kind of want to sit down really sly next to someone and be like, "So.  Whaddya in for?"  You look at all the closets and wonder if THAT'S where they keep the straight jackets.  You contemplate if the glass at the receptionists desk is bullet proof.

They hand you 5,673 papers to fill out and sign, but at least they give you a clipboard.  I of course didn't get them all finished.  Andy filled out all my paperwork in the actual hospital, so I'm just looking for the X's to sign beside.  They had a 25 question survey that was very eye opening.  No 1-10 scale here.  They were more "statements" then questions:

-I have no trouble sleeping.
-Some nights it's hard to fall asleep
-I fall asleep but can't stay asleep.
-I can't remember when I slept last.

-I am happy with my appearance.
-I am okay with my general look.
-I do not like the way I look.
-I am disgraced with my appearance.

-I do not drink.
-I drink socially.
-I drink more than I should.
-I am never sober.

-I do not want to kill myself.
-I've thought of killing myself but never would.
-I've tried to kill myself.
-If I had the chance, I'd kill myself.

And on and on.  25 of these.  And I was being really really serious with myself and realized that I was in worse shape than I thought I was.  I've never wanted to harm myself.  I'm not a drinker.  I'm not a smoker.  I wouldn't know what to do with street drugs if you laid them out in front of me.  But I'm a chronic "self-basher."  Like, for everything I have going for me, I really really hate myself.  I look in the mirror on a daily basis and just...cringe.  And I hate my job.  And I hate that I have to work so much.  And I hate that I'm missing out on my son's tiny life.

So I go in to see Pat.  She's short.  She walks slow.  Her hair is thinning.  Her office is worn and stuffy.  But I sort of felt at ease when she shut the door.  She started to ask me about myself.  About Andy.  About my life.  And I told her.  She was scribbling on a piece of paper, and three pages later she said- "Okay, let me read this back to you."  And she summarized my life in about 20 sentences.  I just laughed at her, because it was absurd, but it was my life.  But as I was listening, I realized the problem was not my life- the problem really was me.  It wasn't my husband or my mother, it was how I deal (or don't deal) with all the crap life hands at me. 

She said I needed to come in more often.    She suggested every two weeks.  This means I will have to take off work to come, but I'm dedicated to getting better.  So be it.

When I went home to Andy, I felt a little freer.  He asked me if I had to lay on a couch.  I said no, but I did SIT on a couch.  And he said, "Ah, so there WAS a couch..."  :)  I expect nothing less from him.  I instantly fell in love with him all over again.

So here we go.  Shout out to all my friends who at first were like, "Who?  You?  PPD?  You're like, the happiest person I know!"  And now are like, "Oh my goodness, we love you so much." 

What's Next?

My husband sang in church on Sunday, and my mom purchased Liam a little matching outfit.  It was too much :)  I was just laughing all morning every time I looked at them together.  That daddy loves his little boy so much.  Next week for Easter, Liam has got seersucker with a bow tie.  That boy DOES know how to bring the fashion.  I was hoping I could find a bow tie for Andy as well.  We'll see.

...so...how 'bout them Red Sox?

No, I'm just kidding.  Beating around the bush.  Avoiding the unavoidable.

I saw the doctor on Friday, and amidst my tears and sniffs, told her the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  The hallucinations.  The feelings of regret and depression.  And surprisingly, she didn't want to haul me off.  She didn't want to take Liam from me.  She didn't call me an unfit mother.  She just mentioned, quietly, that I should get some help, and she'd see me in two months.

She put me on a low does of an antidepressant.  She said it would help with the anxiety.  And then we started to discuss therapy options.  I called the number she gave me and set something up for tomorrow evening.

I think people- women- have a hard time coming forward about this.  IF you would have spoken to me last year this time, and told me I'd be seeking help for PPD, I would have probably chuckled.  Just like if you told me I wouldn't be able to breastfeed.  I would have just laughed you off.  Because you literally think it will never happen to you. 

My husband is still in...denial?  Maybe?  When I told my mom she wasn't surprised.  When I told a few other friends, they stood with mouths agape.  "YOU?"  Yes, me.  I guess I put on a pretty good mask.  Maybe that's why when I told my husband his comment was, "Isn't it a little late for that?"  I answered, "Well, it can happen up to a year after birth." and finished up with, "I haven't been telling you about it."  On the scale of One to Dr. Phil, my husband does not rank high on the compassion scale.  There are times he decides how sick I am or how poorly I feel.  He doesn't see it that way, but I do.  Which is why I've kept a closed lip on my feelings, because I guess it felt like he couldn't do anything anyway.  He wasn't raised with compassion, so I can't expect him to turn it on when I need it.

I think women don't come forward because they're scared.  I think that women also feel like they're probably just tired.  Or probably just stressed.  Or probably just in need of a vacation.  And that could all be true!  But without a woman, the house falls apart.  Without the wife, things go undone.  Without the mom, issues go unresolved.  And I'm learning this.

So more as I journey.  More tomorrow.

PPD

Ever feel like we as a society have an abbreviation for everything?  For instance, how often do you type "lol" in a 24 hour period?  We all seem like mad men, laughing out loud at everything.  Or PTSD.  It's no longer "I feel sad because something bad just happened to me."  It's POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER.  We live in a world filled with ADD.  ADHD.  PCOS.  IVF.  I'm sure there are more.

Especially in pregnancy, there's always an abbreviation to be concerned about.  One of them is PPD.  Postpartum Depression.

As soon as you pop that baby out, they stick this paper in your hands with a test for PPD.  Mine was a "scale of 1-10" jobbie.  And it asks you things like, "I am able to view life as positively as before giving birth."  "I find as much joy in doing my favorite things as I did before giving birth."

You're literally sitting in your hospital gown, exhausted beyond measure, and your husband is reading you this list.  And you're like, "I haven't slept in 24 hours.  No.  I'm not going to find much joy in hiking and kickboxing as I did before giving birth."

So they give you the same test about 6 weeks later.  This time you're sitting naked from the waist down with a purple drape over your knees and they give you a pen, and after the third time of poking a hole in your test sheet, you kind of give up and answer all the questions "5."  The doctor is like, "Ah, no real problems here!"  And you're on your way.

I want to make sure you know that there is a real stage after pregnancy called "The Baby Blues."  They WILL happen, and essentially it's just this huge letdown of hormones.  It's like your body turns on this waterfall of emotions and you're scared and happy and depressed and in love and in hate and everything in one moment.  It's like a whole Spanish soap opera in about 30 seconds.

PPD is not "Baby Blues."  Sometimes PPD will sneak up on you later- months later.  Up to a year later.  And suddenly you're crying for no reason.  You want to divorce your husband- quite literally.  You consider yourself such an unfit mother, you consider giving your child to someone who can raise him better.  You think you're fat.  You think you're ugly.  You avoid any pictures being taken.  Your stomach is constantly in knots, and your appetite is nowhere to be found.  You can't sleep.  You're too sleepy to stay awake.  You cannot hold two thoughts together.  You stare at something for minutes, wondering how you did it before.  Everything looks foreign to you.  You drive somewhere and you don't remember getting there.  You can't remember how to get back.

And then it gets worse.  You envision the worst possible things happening to your baby.  You'll be walking down the stairs and you're like, "What if I drop him?  What if he breaks his neck?  What if he cuts his head and bleeds all over the floor?  Who am I going to call?  Will the police take me in for questioning?  Would we move because we couldn't live in the house where our son died?  Would we get a divorce?  Would my husband then commit suicide because he can't live without our son?"  And that all happens within an instant of thought.  Or you'll be making supper with the baby in the front pack, and you'll be cutting up carrots and you'll start to think, "What if I accidentally slip with this knife and it cuts his arm?  Could it cut it off do you think?  Would I call 911?  Would he need stitches?  Do you think they would take him away from me?  Would I be able to ride in the ambulance with him?"

This happens literally all the time.  Bath time (what if his head goes under?).  Car rides (if we're in an accident, and I black out, what's going to happen to him?).  Bed time (What happens if he suffocates while he's sleeping?  Would he turn blue?)  When others hold him (what if they just drop him?  Or shake him?  Or throw him?)  And it's literally paralyzing.  For a moment- a brief moment- you know where the women who kill themselves and their children are coming from.  Not that you'd act on it...but you get it.  The mental pressure is just...overwhelming, like that.

Symptoms of PPD include:

• Agitation or irritability
• Changes in appetite
• Feelings worthless or guilty
• Feeling withdrawn or unconnected
• Lack of pleasure or interest in most or all activities
• Loss of concentration
• Loss of energy
• Problems doing tasks at home or work
• Significant anxiety
• Thoughts of death or suicide
• Trouble sleeping

A mother with PPD may also:

• Be unable to care for herself or her baby
• Be afraid to be alone with her baby
• Have negative feelings toward the baby or even think about harming the baby (Although these feelings are scary, they are almost never acted on. Still you should tell your doctor about them right away.)
• Worry intensely about the baby, or have little interest in the baby

So today I go to the doctor about it.  I'm speaking to the midwife that delivered Liam and we're going to get it hashed out.  I haven't spoken to my husband about it- there's no way he'd handle it well.  In fact, I've really spoken to nobody about it.  At first I was convinced it was from lack of sleep only, but then I came to realize that the lack of sleep was actually part of it.  It's gotten increasingly worse after I've had to stop breast feeding.  Before it was here and there.  Now it's constant.

So we'll see.

And as always, I will blog about it.