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!)

sigh

Guys, I am so torn. My third shift at L&D was full of everything. The start of the shift I was so in love with nursing here in L&D. It just felt right. Then the mother started to hemorrhage after she had her baby. I couldn't take it. I left and cried for 15 minutes, then called my teacher and cried for another 10 minutes. I told her I couldn't do it, and she said we can talk about moving me somewhere else. But I said no. I can't leave. I need to be there. I wish this wasn't such a big trial in my life. I wish it never happened to me. I wish I didn't have to deal with all these conflicting emotions. I know that's where I need to be...but can I really do it? Will I be putting my patients at risk for being selfish? I just don't know. Only time will tell.

husband

My husband and I had a good talk the other night. It started out simple enough. We went to Breaking Dawn. I sat there innocently enough then all of a sudden they were giving Bella a baby she hadn't met. Thats when the panic attack started. She missed those first couple days. Jake had met the baby and she didn't. That was it. I ran out of the theater and cried and cried in the hallway like a crazy person. I came back and he asked if I was ok. Nope. Not ok. But he did the best thing for me. "do you need to hold my hand." Not do I want to. Would I like to. But need. And at that moment I needed my husband. I had never needed him more in my life. Later on we were lying in bed going to sleep and then all of a sudden I coudn't control it anymore. I just started shaking. And he held me tighter than he ever had. It was the first time we really talked about how this has impacted me. I didn't realize how different I have been. But he made me feel safe for the first time in months. He acknowledged that what I'm feeling is ok. He said that we will make it through this. It was the best thing that could have happened. He isn't the one to talk to about feelings and here he is talking about nothing but emotions and mental issues. Its hard to really put into words, but I really wish we talked about this earlier.

The diagnosis

I knew that how I have been feeling since Ava's birth wasn't "normal." But I was somehow managing to get through it. Then this week in nursing school we are learning about "labor and delivery." I didn't know how much I internally was dreading this. That morning I was so tempted to just stay home and sleep. If it wasn't for someone waking up early to take care of Ava I probably would have. I got through the pregnancy part ok. I though I could do it. We took our break and was going to start labor when we got back. I sat at my table waiting for class to start trying my hardest not to just burst out crying. I can do this. I can do this. My teacher was well aware of my situation and said if I need to step out I can and she would understand. I can do this. We got to the third stage of labor, where the placenta is supposed to come out. I just kept my eyes down and wiggled my foot back and forth trying to not think much about anything. And then it was done. I did it. Only problem is there was a movie after. I could watch the labor part. Most of the women in the movie had an epidural, so it was different from mine. It was ok. I can do this. And then it went right to the mom holding a baby. There was only a momentary mention of the placenta. And that's when I broke. I didn't even realize what I was doing, but I was out the door and outside walking in the parking lot. I just kept walking. And crying. and crying.

That's when I realized I can't do this.  I finally made my way back and the class was gone for the day. My teacher saw me and asked if I was ok and I just bawled. She gave me a hug and I just cried harder. Someone understood my anguish. Someone told me that I could talk to her whenever I need. I felt kind of silly giving the head of the nursing department a huge ol hug crying my eyes out. But it was needed.

I left the school with two things in mind. 1) I was put in this school for a reason. I am going through this for a reason. It sucks. A lot. But sometime in the far far future I will be able to use this and help someone the way my teacher helped me. 2) I need professional help. So I called my OB office and asked for a referral for a therapist.

I called him and he was able to get me in two days later. I felt kind of strange because his office is at the doctors office. So I was sitting in the same waiting room I had waited in all year. Only then I was filled with excitement that I got to see my baby. This time I was full of trepidation.

I started talking to him and in no time at all he told me I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So I'm not crazy. And it totally makes sense and not really too shocking to be honest.
So here is my story of trying to live my life as normally as possible with this disorder.