In the open

It's 3:45am. Both children have woken me up tonight, right after the other. And, thus, I'm wide awake. In light of the passing of  Robin Williams I feel like I must say something while mental health is the buzz right now.

*if you are in a sensitive spot right now, perhaps this isn't the best thing to read. Take care of yourself. Know I care for you.*

I don't understand why it takes a tragedy such as this for people to be comfortable talking about depression, suicide, and mental health in general. I have heard many people saying how can someone so funny, someone with so much money, someone with such great things can be so sad about life to take his life. Well that's the thing about depression, it ravishes it's victims no matter who you are and what you "should" be feeling. It's not something you can just turn on or off, because if it was I'm sure everyone would have it on the off switch. Ain't nobody got time for that.

But I digress on what I wanted to say. We need to be open about mental illness. It can't be something we only talk about when someone does something newsworthy. People fight it every day. And that is a triumph worth mentioning. Perhaps if, as a society, we were more open about it people wouldn't suffer alone and take the same path as Robin. Perhaps, one more person would seek help because they weren't afraid. Perhaps, one more person would choose life. Choose hope. Hope that today-this moment- might truly suck, but tomorrow will be better. Because it does get better. I know living with a brain you don't feel like you have any control of is an awful thing. But, I also know that saying I used to be in a dark place, but now there is a glimmer of light in the future is one of the best feelings. Then that glimmer gets brighter and brighter. And it will, I guarantee it. It might not today, or tomorrow, but it will. That's the hope you must hold onto.

And so what can we do? Talk. Talk. Talk. Let people know you care about them. Don't be afraid to say depression, suicide, bipolar, PTSD, anxiety, OCD, addiction, schizophrenia. The more you are willing to talk about it, the more the next person will be. Call up someone who has been having a hard time and let them know you care. You might not understand what they are going through, but you do understand the importance of having someone on their side. If you currently struggle, talk to your doctor. There are lots of help available to you if you ask. You will have a harder time feeling better without any help. And hopefully by doing this we all can make someone's journey lighter.

Return

It has been a long time my dear readers, and for that I am sorry. Take my absence as a good thing, rather than bad. I have been too busy getting out and living my life. I have taken charge.

A few weeks ago I participated in Climb Out of the Darkness with Postpartum Progress. Let me tell you, it was amazing. There were 5 other moms who have had/are going through postpartum depression and mood disorders. It was awesome to know that for this short time together we were united. I hadn't felt that happy in I don't know how long. And the best thing is that has stayed with me. I officially feel like a normal person again. It will be 2 years next week to be exact. So I just want this to be a friendly reminder that it does get better. There is hope. The you you knew will return....only much better for the journey you have gone through.

Journey of finding strength through postpartum PTSD

The hospital I was at included discharge teaching on postpartum depression. We even got a cute little handout of the signs and symptoms to keep an eye out for. They were even really smart, and the nurse addressed my husband and said that it is often the husband that notices before the mom does.

So when I started to feel out of whack, I got my handy little paper and looked at the symptoms. Lack of joy? Not really. Feelings of inadequacy? Nope, not that either. withdrawal from friends and family? Only because I was in nursing school and had no choice. Thoughts of harming myself of my children? Negative. But really, it all came down to the fact that I wasn't sad. I've been depressed, and this wasn't it. So I just kept going, trying to fight a battle I was unprepared to fight.

I had panic attacks on a daily basis. Flashbacks of my birth haunted me like the plague. My dreams had turned dark. I cried all the time, but not because I was sad, but because I kept reliving those key moments of my birth where I thought I was going to die, heck where I should have died. I hated not being able to go through the day without something hitting me and taking me back there. Even the simplest things, like looking at a clock. Showers were bad, because they were really the only time I had to myself. And so I would go through it over and over in my head, while my tears fell down faster than the water. I was very edgy with my family, and  had very little patience for my 2 year old. The worse thing was looking at my sweet baby and all of a sudden flooded with resentment for causing so much terror in my life and guilt for not being the mom I wanted to be.

This was not me.

One day, after leaving class because it was too much for me, I talked to my teacher. She told me that with time, the pain will dull and not hurt as much. And then she told me that it is ok to talk to someone about all this in the meantime. That was the first time that I realized that I needed help, and so I called up my OB office and they referred me to a counselor they work with.

I was diagnosed with postpartum PTSD. Therapy involved some relaxation techniques, that I originally thought was totally dumb. But it turned out it wasn't, as I now do it every day a year and a half later. This helped my recovery tremendously. I finally realized that I wasn't crazy, and that there was something behind the new, post baby me.

Through therapy, on line support such as postpartumprogress.org, and a continual fight to not let it control me, I was able to return to the floor I had my daughter in for my senior capstone and work there for 130 hours. I was not only able to see my doctors face and walk in my room, but witness a birth in there. Were there hard moments? oh, yeah. The bathroom was a great friend for ugly crying those first couple days, and I may have called my teacher to say it was too much. But, when she said she could find me a new place to finish I said no. I had to finish it. I am so glad I did. I have never felt more strong than walking out those doors that last day. I did it. I am stronger than this disease. I will not be held captive by it again.

So, this is my plea to you, dear reader. If you are questioning if what you are feeling is something, chances are high it might be. So please, seek help. It does not mean you are weak. It does not solidify that you are crazy. In fact, it is the opposite. Taking that first step takes great strength, and I know that you have the strength to do so.

Much love. xoxo

(horrible picture. But this was me in going in the hospital to have my sweet baby!)

What is an uterine inversion?

A uterine inversion is when the uterus turns inside out after childbirth. It can happen in various degrees, varying from still within the body to completely outside (which is what happened to me.) The biggest problems come from it's inability to clamp down and stop bleeding and after the body senses the placenta has detached (or at least moved out of the cervix and still connected to the inside out uterus), the body closes the cervix shuts once again. To your body, the mission is complete. Because of this, the doctor must move quickly to get the uterus back in place before the cervix closes completely. My doctor said that there are three options when there is an inversion: 1) manual correction 2) laproscopic or other surgical correction 3) hysterectomy. This is a very rare complication, but it does happen. I have my own theory on why it happened to me. But that is neither here nor there. Any other questions? Please leave them in the comments!!

Recovery

Recovery. At what point can you say you are fully recovered? I don’t know. But as every moment passes I become ever so much closer to that point, if it really exists.

Birth is notorious for ravishing its victims, even if everything goes as planned. But what happens when things don’t go as smooth as you would like? Here is my story of recovery.

After a nearly perfect natural birth my placenta decided to give everyone some problems and failed to detach, consequently my uterus came out inside out with the placenta still attached. My doctor tried to fix it in the room, all the while nurses were multiplying to help out, some giving me shots to stop my bleeding, some putting oxygen on me. My uterus wouldn’t go back, so I got rushed to the OR where I was put under and they were able to fix me without surgery. I came to and was back in my room, listening to the nurses and my family talk. I had an oxygen mask on, a new IV on my left arm where my 4^th blood transfusion was running, and a blood pressure cuff hooked up to my other arm. I was too weak to move. So I had no way of communicating that I was awake, so I just laid there looking at the clock periodically. And thus my journey of recovery started.

After about 30 minutes of being back in my room, my nurse gave me a mug of ice water. It was too heavy for me.  She poured out half and I still struggled with it. I told her I was fine because I didn’t want her to know that it was still too heavy. So once she left I made my husband pour even more out. I ended up just giving up on the water and went to sleep.

I was able to hold my baby and try to feed her 5 hours later. It still kills me that I was too sick to even register that I had another daughter for half of that time. We had to use a billion pillows for her to be on since I still had no strength to hold much of her weight.

I stayed in the hospital for 2 days. The whole time I was there I would get episodes of feeling very light headed, dizzy, and almost pass out. They questioned if I would need another unit of blood, but the blood work said I was ok, so they just gave me more IV fluids. When I got home the weakness and light headedness stayed. I refused to hold the baby while standing for several weeks. I would be fine and normal, and then all of a sudden it was like the floor fell from under me and my head was spinning. The only relief I could find would be to sit down and close my eyes. It was a horrible way to live for over a week. Eventually, the lightheadedness turned into headaches. They became a very constant part of my existence for several months.

At my 6 week check-up I was given the go ahead that I was completely healed. If only it had been so easy.  I was being tormented daily by panic attacks. My uterine inversion was constantly on my mind. I started nursing school, which gave me a large distraction. But when I wasn’t thinking about school, my mind was reliving the whole event. My husband would try to cuddle with me and I would see my doctor’s bald head. That bald head soon became a sign of frustration, sadness, and anger.  I would feed my baby and remember my first time holding her with contentment. And then I would cry. The littlest things would bring on a panic attack. This is not how my life was supposed to be.

Several months later, we were learning about labor and delivery in school and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there and listen to how birth was “supposed” to be, I couldn’t look at the happy family with a new baby. So I left class, and just ran. I ran from everything. I ran from school, I ran from the trauma, I ran from life. …But eventually I had to come back. By that time, class was over. My teacher noticed me walking in to get my book bag and gave me a hug. Then she said something that I will never forget—that I was not crazy. I went through a traumatic event, and this is how my body happened to process it, but eventually there would be enough time that it wouldn’t sting so bad. She also suggested that I talk to a counselor. Recovery.

This was the turning point to my recovery. I saw a counselor who diagnosed me with PTSD. He taught me coping mechanisms to help calm my attacks before they controlled me. Soon I found myself going from multiple attacks a day to one a day and then weekly. I learned what a lot of my triggers are and what to do when they come up. Now this is recovery.

My PTSD has changed my life. I still have a lot of guilt over not being with my baby for her first few hours, and consequently her first few months because I was in the depths of this creature. A lot of my flashbacks stem from this guilt now days. I get strange panic attacks that are different than my PTSD attacks. I don’t know what is worse, because they just pop up for no apparent reason. Luckily, I am prepared with better coping skills to help calm them down before they turn into something more.  I also have spent a lot of time crying. I thought I had done a good job hiding it until my 4 year old asked me why I cry all the time. How do I explain that my tears come from somewhere deep down that yearns for an escape of this madness? Recovery. 

About 14 months after my baby’s birth, I had an awesome opportunity to pick a floor to do my senior capstone for nursing school. I picked labor and delivery at the hospital it all happened. I had to do it. I had to prove to myself that I am stronger than my situation. My PTSD was not going to control me. Walking in those doors and staring down the hall to my room was the single hardest thing I think I will ever have to do. My 135 hours there brought back so many flashbacks. Some just by walking in my room or the OR, and some by the experiences I witnessed. However, with each one I got stronger and their hold on me got weaker. I learned that I am not ready to be a labor and delivery nurse, which is what I needed to know. But I also learned that my experience came to me for a reason.  Recovery.  

Now, 18 months later my attacks are very mild compared to where they used to be. They still sneak up on my when I least expect it, such as reading a blog about newborns, but they don’t have that hold on me anymore. I actually welcome them for a moment because it reminds me of what I have gone through and that I am, in fact, a warrior mom.