I want to be upfront about why I'm writing this post and sharing something so very personal, so publicly...
I want to help others who may be enduring the same pain I was,...The brutal, yet indescribable to others, type of pain. God has been guiding me towards sharing this, and I trust Him fully. People just don't talk about this for fear (I think) of what others would think. As a society, we place a certain stigma on mental health and look at mental health struggles in a different light than physical struggles. Many think that if the problem is mental, the person has control over it....so, surely, they should just have a little more willpower and 'get over it,' right? I wish it were that simple.
I can tell you I had no more control over this happening to me than if my legs were cut off in an accident, or if I were diagnosed with cancer. It was entirely out of my control.
Most importantly, if it weren't for another woman being so open (and brave!) by sharing her story publicly, I don't think I ever would have realized what I was suffering from and gotten the help I did. I thought how I felt was just my new life and I was struggling to survive it.
I fear what would have happened to me if I hadn't gotten help. Did I have thoughts of harming myself or my baby? No...goodness, no. But I was hurting immensely...indescribably...so much so that I believed my heart would give out and I would die...and I was growing to accept that. Did you read that last part? I was okay...truly, I was at peace with me dying, because I was in so much pain...emotional pain that manifested in physical pain as well.
So, if I can help even one other woman and her family, that makes this worth it. And, if I can help educate others to be on the lookout for this, that makes this worth it too, as probably many don't understand what this condition truly looks like...I sure didn't...
On September 24, 2014 I was diagnosed with Post Partum Depression & Anxiety.
Just prior to Ava turning four months old, I decided my heart could no longer take waking every morning with a panic attack. I literally felt as though I would die my heart would race so fast the moment I'd wake, before I would even step out of bed. I'd have to run to the bathroom, it would make me so violently sick (I'll spare you the graphic details). I was so very anxious for the day, before it had even begun. This was all after sleeping a total of 2-3 hours tops, broken up in 30-45 minute stints, as I'd jolt awake after every sleep cycle, soaking in sweat, nearly bursting in tears from vivid, realistic, horrifying nightmares...mostly involving my new, precious baby girl being harmed. All while my baby was finally sleeping through the night. This happened every.single.night. That kind of prolonged poor quality sleep combined with intense panic attacks would take a toll on anyone, but especially a new mother.
Why was I waking with severe panic attacks EVERY morning? I was dreading the fact that we had to start the day giving Ava medicine that I despised putting in her, that she would choke on, that she would scream (and I mean, SCREAM) and cry her way through while we pinned her down and forced it in her mouth, and then having to let her cry while SIXTY minutes passed by before she could eat, when she was clearly starving having gone hours without food overnight. Do you know how long that is for a baby to wait, especially after just enduring the traumatic experience of having medicine choked down her throat?! I would ball my eyes out right along with her until I was able to feed her,...only to get a few seconds reprieve before she'd start crying in pain again as she'd reflux and the acid would badly burn her throat.
I was dreading spending all day alone with a baby who wailed and screamed in pain, and the agony I experienced as I was powerless to help ease her pain. I was dreading trying to feed her, as she refused to breast feed, learning it gave her pain...and then as she kept her mouth shut when she saw the bottle come near her, turning her head from side to side and screaming and crying, not wanting to eat as she learned it gave her pain. I was dreading spending every single minute I wasn't holding, rocking, or feeding her, pumping what little milk I could produce, but I was determined to still give her the best nutrition I could. I was dreading how I would make myself something to eat all day, as I had not even 5 minutes usually to do so and had to ensure it was dairy, soy, wheat, egg, nut, and fish free to help Ava's silent acid reflux. I was dreading eating plain chicken and brown rice for the 20th time a week. And, I was dreading even one more person responding to my description of the agony Ava was enduring with "but, she's gaining weight so well - you have nothing to worry about!," as clearly they had not a clue to what a horror silent acid reflux is.
I was dreading my life essentially, and feeling absolutely heartbroken that my baby was in so much constant pain that I couldn't fix, or explain to her. And, I'd be lying if I said I didn't believe it was my fault...that my highly complicated pregnancy is the reason she was now suffering (though every doctor assured me there was absolutely no link). That guilt made the pain infinitely worse for me.
The only things that kept me going were the smiles Ava would give me in between the screaming and crying, and my husband that would rush home from work at night and take her so I could go escape my life in a hot bubble bath for a few minutes, sobbing my eyes out with overwhelming worry about my daughter. I was truly convinced she would die, she was in so much pain. I learned to turn a loud fan on, as otherwise, I'd hear Ava cry and my heart would surge into another panic attack, as I'd jump out and run to her.
My breaking point was sobbing (for what seemed like the millionth time) on the phone to my mother and saying the sentence "I shouldn't have become a mommy....I can't help her, and she's hurting so badly...and I can't stop crying as I hold her...I should be able to take her pain away!!!"
So, one day in late September, I decided I had to go see my doctor about my heart, as I truly thought I would have a heart attack soon, enduring panic attacks multiple times a day, not sleeping more than about 2 hours a night, and feeling as though every bone in my body was on the verge of snapping I was in so much pain from the constant heightened anxiety. I sat in front of him as he asked me, "so tell me how you've been feeling," and I burst into tears not able to get a word out. When I finally could speak, all I could say was "I'm sorry," as I took the end of my dress to wipe the river of tears now flowing down my face. Being the amazing doctor he is, he told me there's nothing to be sorry for, and to tell him all that's going on...
I told him how my daughter continues to struggle (he is our family doctor, so he treats Ava too and had seen her countless times over the past four months), despite all these medicines we've been told to try, medicines that have severe side effects and make her sick in other ways and medicines that are meant for adults, how excruciating it is to watch her struggle and be in pain, how I have severe panic attacks, how I can't sleep hardly at all despite the fact that she sleeps 8-9 hour stretch at night, how I spend every minute I can researching her condition and anything new I can try to help heal her, how I cry all day with her, how I sob at night when she's finally asleep, how I can't sleep because I'm so worried about her, how I fell to my knees a few days ago pleading with God to please help bring me out of the nightmare I'm living in, how I sob nightly to my mother on the phone telling her how much I wish she were here to help me through what is the worst pain I've endured and am forced to endure over and over again all day every day, how worried I am about breastfeeding, as I'm forced to pump and on a severely restricted diet and my supply drops every day, how I feel formula would be the worst option for her, how my body aches in ways it never has before - I have pains in my legs and back that are excruciating, how I rarely venture outside my home, and how I'm worried about being a horrible wife as I have no time or energy to devote to my husband and household. And, how glad I am that I'm on an unpaid leave of absence from work (which was supposed to be a happy extension of my maternity leave), but at least I don't have to worry about work on top of all this.
He asked me a couple of simple questions and then told me that I have Post Partum Depression & Anxiety.
But isn't that when you want to hurt yourself or your baby? No, in most cases actually it's not. In my case, I would have given my life to take away my baby's pain...I could not have been more opposite from the stereotype, which is why I was in such denial about what I was suffering from (and one of the reasons why I wanted to share my story here - to help others understand what it is most often like).
I had no idea that Post Partum Depression could manifest in the form of paralyzing anxiety. I had no idea that my body becoming physically ill on a daily basis was from it. I was even warned about it by doctors during pregnancy, as apparently women who experience high risk/complicated pregnancies, especially where the baby's life is at high risk as mine was, are far more likely to experience PPD, though any woman can. I still had no clue I had it...and let nearly 4 months...4 excruciating months... go by before it was diagnosed.
For me, I was living in a nightmare with a heart that would race so badly all day, I'd vomit, experience insomnia every night, feel nearly paralyzing aches and pains all over my body so intense I could cry and honestly could barely walk around my house, and just worry endlessly about the pain I had to watch Ava endure all day long. It took up to 90 minutes to feed her because she'd scream through the whole bottle, so I essentially spent all day trying to feed a crying baby in pain, and then trying to fit in time for pumping every 2.5 hours, and trying to cook so I could have something to eat since there are no convenience foods for the super restricted diet I had to follow. I felt like a failure. I felt trapped, because we couldn't go anywhere...I couldn't imagine trying to feed her in public while screaming bloody murder. So, I never went outside. I never went anywhere. I stayed in my prison/our house and spent my days trying to console a crying baby that was in pain and pumping as often as I could. In total, I could sum up the time I spent not trying to feed Ava or being hooked up to a breast pump throughout the course of the day in mere minutes. It was no way to live. And certainly no way to spend the first few months of Ava's life.
The doctor's orders were straightforward and simple. I had to go on anti-anxiety/anti-depressant medication, I had to quit breastfeeding (which is still a decision I'm extremely emotional over), and I needed family help ASAP.
Yes, the person who won't even take cold medicine or eat non-organic grapes, willingly went on anti-anxiety medication. I had absolutely no choice.
When I texted my mom to inform her of my diagnosis, she called a few minutes later and said, "your father and I were just talking about the fact that we think you have PPD the other night." That sealed it for me...I do have PPD. She also said that my dad would be out there in less than 48 hours. I never expected my family to drop everything and come to my aide, in fact, I never even asked. I still don't know how to thank them properly.
My dad came out on September 26, 2014...Ava's 4 month birthday. We went to breakfast - the first time I had been out in public with Ava (aside from obligatory dr appointments) in nearly 2 months. We went out to eat every day, we went on walks, we ran errands - all of which were excruciating for me to do as I was still nearly paralyzed with anxiety, but my dad helped me do them. He showed me how to cope, while I waited weeks...well, a full month actually... for the medicine to kick in. He made me smile and laugh. And, he showed incredible patience as I struggled with overwhelming anxiety feeding Ava and comforting her while she was in pain.
As part of my treatment, my dad spent a week with us here in CA, and then took me and Ava home for two weeks to Arizona. Dee flew down each weekend to be with us, which was wonderful.
When I look back on all that I endured in a 12 month timeframe (from an 80% chance of miscarrying Ava, to undergoing serious surgery at 16 weeks pregnant to remove a tumor from my neck, to Ava in the NICU to her being diagnosed with silent acid reflux that wouldn't respond to medication), I'm not surprised at all that my body and mind suffered from it. What I am surprised by is how unaware I was in the moment...that 4-month-long moment...of what I was suffering from. It didn't "feel" or "seem" like depression to me. After all, I was getting out of bed each day, I was caring for my daughter each day, I was doing my best to care for myself and my husband (though falling short very often) each day...the stereotype is so unfortunate, because it's nothing like it was for me and that's what made it so hard for me to realize what I was suffering from.
Aside from pictures in the hospital after she was born, there are no pictures of me with Ava during those first four months. There are MANY pictures and videos of my precious baby, but none of me with her...none of me period, actually...that in and of itself should have been a red flag to me, as I love capturing pictures.
In mid-October, after 3 weeks of being with my parents and Ava away from home and being on treatment, we returned home and gradually, yet much quicker than I expected, things improved. We ventured outside for walks each day, we went out and ran errands, I did my hair and put make-up on...simple things that made me feel alive again. And, Ava and I would giggle together instead of cry. When she did cry from pain, I would calmly comfort her. I hired a (very expensive, but well worth it) feeding therapist to help me work with Ava to help her feed comfortably without nasty acid reflux meds, and we progressed....very very very slowly, but we progressed nonetheless. I learned that she will tell me when she's uncomfortable and she will eat only when she's ready to...and some days that means she eats a lot less than she's "supposed to," but to not let it worry me as long as she was happy most of the time. And, we went cold turkey to formula since I didn't want her receiving my medication I was now on, and the time (3 hours a day in total!) I was spending pumping we now could spend playing, going for walks, and bonding. The sadness and guilt over our failed breastfeeding relationship is still with me...and probably forever will be. She's incredibly healthy, thriving, and happy...so much more than she was on my breastmilk, but it still kills me (I liken formula to like a frozen dinner from the grocery store and breastmilk to a organic, home-cooked meal....they're not the same)...but, I've had to get over that.
On December 1, 2014, I returned to work, having been gone since mid-April. It was tough...no, excruciating, but it was an important part of my healing too.
Now, in May 2015, I'm weaning off my medication, Ava still has silent acid reflux, but it continues to (very) slowly improve, and most importantly, Ava is an incredibly happy baby. She smiles and giggles, and we are all so very happy.
The only sign I have now of the battle I endured is the immense weight gain due to the medication I was put on...a very small price to pay for regaining my life and happiness back. And the weight is already starting to (very slowly) come off as I wean off the medication.
I've reduced my work schedule significantly so that I am only away from her Mon-Thur for 6 hours/day...we get all our afternoons and 3-day weekends. It's so important to me, as I truly believe it is both the quality and quantity of time spent with your children that matters...one is nothing without the other. My career that was white-hot and on a fast track is now on an indefinite hold and I'm quite okay with that for now. We're very blessed that we're able to still live our lives (just with a little less frivolous spending!) with me working so much less.
Ava is still the most difficult baby on the planet to feed, and Dee and I are the only ones who really can, but thankfully I can work from home and help the nanny do so (and thankfully we have the financial means for a nanny as no way could a childcare center devote the time and attention needed to feed her!).
Despite this being the most excruciatingly painful experience of my life, it is full of meaning...it brought me a new appreciation for health, my relationships, and my daughter. I'm grateful to so many people for helping me through it - first and foremost is God. It was no coincidence that the morning after I fell to my knees pleading with him, tears running down my face, to help me, to save me, I made an appointment to see the doctor...the appointment where I was diagnosed.
It's somewhat painful for me to share this story...I'm not too sure why. I'm not embarrassed by it whatsoever...I guess it's just that I am a rather private person, and putting this out for the world to read is a big step for me, but I hope and pray that it educates others to be on the lookout for the not-so-obvious, but apparently more common, PPD symptoms and experiences. I wish so badly I had gotten help sooner, but am so grateful I did at least get help and am now happier than I've ever been in my entire life.
I end with the bible verses I leaned most heavily on during this time...
Proverbs 3:5 Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
Psalm 118:13-14 I was pushed back and about to fall, but the Lord helped me. The Lord is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation.
Philippians 4:6-7 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
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