Two facts I want to share upfront:
1. PPA can actually start DURING pregnancy, but is still called the same thing (makes absolutely no sense!)
2. The other, (I didn't even know that it even existed) AND can be separate from post-partum depression, but is often associated as the same thing.
It started very early on in my pregnancy, but it wasn't until I was about 3 months pregnant, that I put it all together, and realized I wasn't okay. It was a Sunday night, the day had been crazy, I was extremely emotional, my daughter was still awake at 10:30 at night. My husband had lost his temper because he was beyond tired, which made my daughter cry. He lost his temper with me, which made me cry. We snuggled in her bed together, both of us crying, but my cry was different. It was a type of cry I had never experienced before. It came with deep sadness, uncontrollable crying, heaving, heavy heart, my chest felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, my mind was racing a million miles an hour, and I couldn't stop. I fell asleep crying, and I started crying all over again once I woke up in the morning. I cried that whole day every time I had a few seconds just to sit. I cried and cried, more than I had in years.
That night as I was getting ready for bed, doing my nightly routine, and popping in another Unisom, I realized I had slept the best I had in months lately, because for the past 2 weeks, I had taken sleeping pills. Then I realized that unless I took sleeping medicine, I would average 2-4 hours of sleep per night. Then I realized, it had all started since I had become pregnant. Then I noted the crying, the worrying, the stress, the constant worry and mind racing that I couldn't ever turn off, I recognized the irrational thoughts, the destructive thoughts, that I felt anxious often, my heart raced multiple times a day (and not from exertion by any means!). THEN it hit me, and hit me hard. I was not okay, and I didn't recognize this person I had become over the past few months.
- I was begging to be sick because then I knew I was still pregnant and my baby hadn't died. I was constantly afraid of miscarrying after we had tried so long for this baby. I would be a nervous wreck EVERY time before my doctor appointments because I just KNEW they were going to tell me my baby was dead.
- I would worry about how my relationship with my daughter was going to be affected by this new baby, and how to split my time between them. I worried about breastfeeding, I worried about whether or not to have a VBAC. I worried about if I would die on the operating table and leave my husband with a brand new baby and preschooler.
- I could literally only sleep with the assistance of sleep medications
- I prayed and prayed to not have a boy, because I did NOT want a boy. I was truly (NOT exaggerating) afraid of being peed on in my mouth, I was worried about how my relationship with my husband would be over arguing over names.
- I was angry that my husband wanted to name my son a ridiculous name that I hated SOO badly, and I didn't want to hate my son's name his WHOLE life! I did NOT want to have a Henry. I prayed and prayed, Please GOD, don't make me do it! I don't want it even for a middle name. (This was something I knew was coming before we even had kids, and I hoped then, that I wouldn't have any boys so I could avoid this. This was actually a LOT of where my anxiety came from.
- I would have thoughts that went from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. I'd be driving, making a left hand turn, and think, I wonder what would happen if I missed and ran into that wall.
- Household chores took EVERYTHING out of me, I had to force myself out of bed everyday and resist the urge to just jump back in multiple times a day. It was a total accomplished day if I fed myself and kids all 3 meals, let alone brush my teeth or get dressed.
- I would be paranoid about my daughter, and anything she would do. I was so convinced that anywhere we went or did, something was going to happen to her. She was going to drown, going to get lost, I was going to lose my patience with her and hurt her.
- I had all of these thoughts, and in my head I KNEW they made absolutely no sense. I KNEW they were irrational, and would most likely never happen, and weren't really that big of a deal. But in my mind, I couldn't turn it off, I couldn't make it stop, and I couldn't do anything but think about it over and over and over, when all I wanted was for my brain to shut off.
I had a doctor appointment a few days later, and I brought it up with my doctor. I explained to her what I had been experiencing, looking more so for confirmation that I wasn't crazy, and it was all hormones. She asked me all the questions that I had read to myself online about post-partum depression, and NONE of them applied, so I thought I was off the hook, just a little hormonal. She kept asking me about if I had wanted to hurt myself, which honestly at that point, I hadn't. EVERYTHING she said to me, did not apply. She asked if I wanted to try some medication for PPD and I immediately said NO! It wasn't really THAT bad, I wasn't crazy, and I wasn't going to go on medications when there was nothing wrong, I didn't have PPD as she CLEARLY also noted. I wish then she would have said, "You have post-partum anxiety!" I left the doctors office feeling discouraged, and that there wasn't an answer to all these crazy things happening to me.
I continued my pregnancy, and Spring months came. I spent more time outside, relaxing and enjoying myself, I thought I was making improvement. I was able to function most of the time, and get things done, but I was in such a fog, and so lost, but I got used to it, and learned to deal with it.
Fast forward to after my cute little guy was born:
Wyatt was born in mid-June, my husband started online classes for his teaching license June 22nd throughout the whole summer. Two weeks after he was born, we also found out my husband had a benign cyst (which at first they were telling us it was cancer). I struggled and struggled with breastfeeding. I cried almost everyday, he cried everyday. The doctors were concerned because he still wasn't gaining weight, and I was frustrated because I was giving it my all, and obviously wasn't working. I hated to be around my baby. I never wanted to hold him, and I HATED trying to breastfeed him. After a HUGE emotional battle with myself, I decided to pump and bottle feed Wyatt. He immediately started gaining weight, I became happier, liked to hold him, and things settled down a little bit.
July came, and my husband started "in-person" classes. I was dreading it. I was terrified of him leaving because I felt like a mess. I couldn't figure out what the deal was, but I was not bouncing back like I thought I would. I was so lucky to have my mother in law come for a day here and there to help out, which was a lifesaver! Late July, I FINALLY had my post-partum checkup (after them rescheduling 3 times...grr!) I talked with my doctor once again, and she suggested I had Post Partum Anxiety! It was like a burden was lifted, because I could finally say yes, I know what is causing it! Everyone kept telling me it was baby blues, or depression, but I knew it wasn't. This time, I accepted medication, and boy was I glad I decided to wait to take it in the long run! I didn't find out until afterwards that I have a family history of bad reactions to taking Zoloft. I had to live the experience, feel like a total nut job, and then my family said, Oh yeah by the way...
The first 2 days I took Zoloft, I didn't sleep at ALL. My mind raced a thousand miles a minute, my texts to people made absolutely no sense. I felt like I was watching a movie on fast forward all the time. Day four, I started hallucinating. I called my doctor to report these and ask if it was normal, and she was surprised. She had never had a patient report those symptoms. She told me to try to make it 2 weeks if possible, because this was the only medication I could take while breastfeeding, but if I felt like I couldn't handle it, to stop immediately. I tried for a few more days, and the day I decided I had had enough was the day I had my first panic attack EVER. Alan had his surgery and was about a week or so recovering. He was outside letting the dog run, when the dog hit his surgery site with his tail. Alan came inside bawling and in pain and said, "HELP ME!", Elli came inside bawling because she had fallen and scraped her knee. Wyatt was in my arms screaming because he was hungry and I was trying to make a bottle. Instead, we all laid on the floor in the living room, Alan face down hunched in a ball, Elli next to him, Wyatt next to me, while I was in child's pose hyperventilating and gasping for air. Then I decided that it wasn't worth it!
My mother in law came to stay with us during Alan's surgery, and stayed for 2 weeks total, when she originally only planned about 5 days. Those two weeks, were for me, and not my husband (even though he had just had surgery haha!) She could tell I was struggling, I wasn't functioning, I was overwhelmed, and I wasn't making it. Luckily those first few days of medication, she was here with me while I went to La La land, to take care of my kids and my husband, and ultimately, myself. I can honestly tell you, I don't remember those two weeks at all. I don't remember a lot of Wyatt's first few months. I remember being truly shocked when she told me she was going home, and that she had been here for two weeks and needed to get back to a few things at home. I was shocked! I said, "Are you serious? You've been here for 2 weeks?!" It literally felt like only a few days.
After my experience with the medications, I was still pumping at the time, so I couldn't try anything else, but I was afraid to try anything else. I was afraid of what would happen to me, and I didn't have anyone around to help take care of my kids at the time, if I went crazy. So I dealt with it. I struggled and struggled, but we made it, day by day. My house was a mess (and I am not exaggerating), we ate oatmeal for dinner 3-4 days a week, I showered maybe once (gross), but my kids were fed. They watched TV all day, but they were fed. I had many friends who had me try homeopathic medicines, and they helped, I did feel better, but I didn't feel like I should have. I still needed more. I decided to quit breastfeeding so that my options would be greater as far as what I could take, but I couldn't get the courage to actually do it. So I prayed and prayed, for weeks, Heavenly Father please help me get through this. Please help me be able to function. I can't keep living like this. I kept getting this thought in my head, just take half. I ignored it, and ignored it. I thought NO way! I know what that stuff did to me the last time I took it, I am not doing that to my family again. Then one day, after weeks of struggling, after weeks of begging for an answer (and being TOTALLY jealous of Hayden Panttiere of being admitted to a mental facility for PPD), I finally caved and I did it. I warned my husband to watch for signs, and I did it. Luckily this time, it worked out, and I was able to take it for several months, and finally be able to feel like myself again. To be able to function, provide and take care of my family, my home, my dog, and most importantly myself.
It was an experience that was so hard on me, my husband, my marriage, my kids, my body, my emotional and mental state, and would I want to do it again? NO. But I am so grateful that I had the support I did, and that eventually I found an answer. I don't want someone else to be like me, struggling for months and months wondering what is wrong with them, because they have no clue that post-partum anxiety exists, and that it is NOT the same as PPD. I wish so badly I would've known sooner, I wish so badly my doctor would have said something the first time, I wish so badly that me and my family didn't have to struggle through that time, but we did. We did it together, and we eventually came out on top! We are making our way back to our normal selves, and enjoying the things we do. While this trial was awful and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, it did strengthen us in the end, and I know we were blessed for enduring it, even if sometimes it felt impossible.
I made it.
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