a different type of love

Due to the circumstances surrounding Ava's birth it took me a while to get that mother daughter bond. I was fighting the physical aspect of child birth and so much blood loss, along with my undiagnosed maternal mental illness, and the stress of starting nursing school. I knew I loved her, but didn't have that  out of your body attachment I felt with my firstborn. I would look at her and wonder if she would notice the love I had for her big sister was different than what I felt for her. I wondered if she would resent me. I wondered a lot of things while I passed her off to someone else's arms who wanted to hold her.

Day by day things got better. Days grew into weeks, and weeks turned into years and my love grew with each passing moment. Now, a few months shy of 3 years, I am head over heels in love with her. She is so much like me its not even funny, which I know isn't a coincidence. I have come to the conclusion that it is ok to love them differently. They are different people who require different love, but that doesn't make one inferior to the other. It is just different, but that's ok.

But the best part of all of this is knowing how much she loves me. Tonight I heard someone coughing so I went to investigate. As soon as my light shined on her face she opened her eyes and gave me the biggest smile and said "kiss?" And of course that is exactly what happened.

And it was exactly what we both needed.

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.

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!)

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.  

 

my journey of growth. This is How We Grow Blog Hop, 2013

(If you are joining me for the first time, please refer to the page on top titled "The Story" to get the details of my own birth experience.)

So a few months back I had a conversation with my teacher at school. I asked if I can precept at the hospital and Labor and Delivery unit I almost died in. I needed to do this. I needed to make sure that L&D is where I need to be. But most importantly I needed to know that I can do it--that I can see someone in pain from contractions, I can see my doctor deliver a baby. I needed to know that that I can be strong enough to not only witness all that but be able to keep my cool and nurse on. In my heart I knew L&D is where I am supposed to be, but could my mind handle it too?

That week before it was rough. I was panicy, grumpy, sad, and everything in between. I cried the whole drive to the hospital the first day. I didn't look down the hallway to my room when I got off the elevator. I couldn't do it. I was a wreck but I went in and I did it. The day was great. I loved labor nursing. The second day, my nurse gave me a tour of the unit which included the OR. For some reason that caught me off guard. Luckily, that was at the end of the tour and there was a bathroom right there that I excused myself to to cry and scream. But other than that it was ok. I witnessed a postpartum hemorrhage, that made me go and cry. ...rather hysterically really. And call my teacher and say I can't do it anymore. She asked if I wanted to go somewhere else, I said no.

But you know what? Now 135 hours later walking the same hall way I was rushed through that night, I have courage. I have strength. I came out of this experience learning several things. 1-I am not ready to take on the roll of a Labor nurse YET. But I know in my heart I will be. It might not be in a month, or in a year. But I know that is my place in this world. That is exactly what I was looking for in this journey. 2- I know there is an important part of pregnancy and labor that is ignored. And that is the mental well being of the mother. I had mothers besides themselves because their last was an emergency, or they lost a child  or what have you. There needs to be more for moms like us. We need someone to come in the room with the knowledge that this person has previously had a hardship and to make sure that they are comfortable being in that bed with the monitors on. They need to know that just because their last one might have been bad, does not mean that this one will be. They need to know that someone cares. They get asked about previous pregnancies and labors all the time. Its not fair that it gets brought up like that to remind them what they have gone through and not have any extra support. I know when the time comes and I am in labor I will be nervous. And I also know that my support people wont know what to do. But someone with knowledge on relaxation, information, ect will do tremendous things. Just knowing that someone is there like that will help to not feel so alone.

I have grown so much as a person and as a nurse. I know where I need to be and I know what needs to be done. I just now need to know where to go from here. All I can say, is I am so fortunate that I have been able to experience this. I didn't have to put myself through that. I could have chosen a billion other places to go. I didn't even need to spend my time with Labor and Delivery. But I knew deep down that that was where I should be, and I'm so glad I was strong enough to be that vulnerable .  Someone has a plan for me, and I fear that it is bigger than I am. But it will be worth it.

I am happy.


I am posting this to the This is How I Grow Blog Hop. feel free to go there and read other inspirational blogs. http://www.drchristinahibbert.com/invitation-join-this-is-how-we-grow-blog-hop/

1 year

** I wrote this for my personal blog July 20 2013. I decided it should be on this blog too as it is very much part of my journey of postpartum PTSD.***

I have tried to write this blog for a while, but it never came out right. Maybe tonight it will.

Today I just finished my RN1 semester. It is hard to believe that a year ago at his time I was at my deepest low. And that's saying something... A year ago at this time I had a 1 week old baby. I felt ugly. Not only did I have normal new mommy self image problems, I was ridiculously puffy still from my body going through shock. I had thought pregnancy was bad.... wrong. I was so weak at this point that I still was afraid to carry Ava upstairs by myself. I was so blessed that Chris decided to take the week off after the baby was born. I honestly don't know how I could have done it alone. I had a hard time even looking at Ava without busting out in tears. I had so many emotions. Regret. Sadness. Hatred. Most of my time was spent downstairs sleeping or silently crying. That was me. A mess, right?

Somehow, I miraculously got everything ready for nursing school. I had to have my dad come over to carry all my books upstairs, but we made it through. We then miraculously moved my now family of 4 out of our HOME and into my dads so I didn't have to worry about working while in school. There were a lot of sudden changes in our lives in such a short time.

Then, when Ava was only 5 weeks old I started on this journey called Nursing School. I was told I was to have clinicals in Labor and Delivery that semester...REALLY?!? Can't a girl catch a break? We learned all about pregnancy, labor, and childhood. It was a struggle to sit through class sometimes. Sometimes I didn't. More than one occasion I had to leave. It was too much hearing about what "should" happen. What should have happened to me!!! The day we talked about delivery was my turning point. We watched a movie about the "miracle of birth." blah blah blah. I could sit through the pregnancy park ok. The labor part was fine, even the delivery. But when the movie said "the mother now delivers the placenta" while showing a happy family with a newborn, I had had it. It is such an overlooked part of pregnancy that they didn't even show anything and merely mentioned it as the mother was cooing over her baby. I snapped. I ran outside and just kept running...and crying. I went outside and just ran. I still remember looking down at my white shoes and blue uniform pants. I must have needed to go to the hospital that night for preassessments. I didn't know where I was going. But I couldn't think of anything else to do to get all my emotions out. I must have looked like a true crazy person running around my school in my uniform with tears streaming down my face. I had planned on going in and telling my teacher, who also happened to be the head of the department, that I was dropping out. I couldn't do it. It was too much. Too soon. But what she did was probably the best thing of my life. She gave me a hug and just let me cry. and cry. and cry. It was the first time since it happened I was able to abandon what I "should" be like and just let go. She assured me that with time and distance I would get better. (she was right. imagine that). She also encouraged me to maybe see a counselor, and that that was ok.

As soon as I left school that day I was on the phone finding someone to see. Counseling was probably the single best thing I did this whole year. I got diagnosed with PTSD, which totally made sense. The flashbacks. The panic attacks. The nightmares. It was all me. He was able to teach me what to do once these panic attacks start. Throughout our sessions the goal was for me to be able to think of the whole situation. Each day I could get further and further until I needed to stop and had had enough. Then one day I was able to do it!! I used my relaxing techniques to get me through it. It was an amazing day. I don't know if I have ever felt more accomplished in my life.

I was able to go through my L&D clinicals, and not only survive them but leave with a renewed love for it. That has always been my goal when I started the process to become a nurse. I had momentarily been scared that I would have to find somewhere else to go. I will be a labor and delivery nurse.

The months following had their ups and downs. Trying to juggle the riggers and drama of nursing school while trying to stay on top of my illness was rough. Sometimes I was better than others. Sometimes I was better to others. And my husband. Poor Chris has had to deal with psycho-stressed-out wife too many times. He has had the brunt of it. We have struggled as a couple on a few things. But we have made it work. I love him.

As each day goes, I am left with a deeper passion that this is my calling. I was made to be a nurse. Before nursing school I wanted to be a nurse. Now I NEED to be a nurse. I can't think of myself as anything but one. I don't know why I never thought of nursing growing up. It was never on my radar as anything. But I am so glad that it got there somehow.

And so now, here I am. 3 semesters down. 1 to go. I am mentally stable. I am so blessed to be in the program I'm in with teachers who are more than understanding. I would have walked out and never come back. I love my class. I love my friends that I have made. I was really worried that I would be that awkward girl in the corner that was just kind of there. I guess I have grown up since high school. lol. But I have made friends, who will probably stay friends my whole life. Its kind of strange coming from me.

For the past year I have lived, breathed, and drank nursing school. It is hard to believe that in a few short months it will all be over and it will all be a distant memory.... or nightmare depending on what test I'm thinking about. Ava's birth changed me more than I ever thought possible. I am a much more independent, confident person. Life is a gift. literally. It has taught me that humans are more resilient that I ever thought possible. I mean, who goes from their deathbed at the hospital to being at the bedside of others in a hospital in a matter of weeks. The human body is amazing. It can put up with so much. Some doctors are stupid. ....its up to me to stand up to them!! I am not the weak and timid Alicia of the past. I am strong. I am Alicia RN....ok. maybe not yet. But oh so soon!!!!!

strength

I am in my last semester of nursing school. This semester we precept, where we follow the same nurse for 12 of their shifts. You spend all of nursing school thinking about precepting, and where your dream floor would be. Sometimes, if you time it right it can become a good foot in the door once you leave. I knew a long time ago that I wanted to do Labor and Delivery. No, not wanted to do L&D, but NEEDED to do L&D. I needed to prove that I can do it. I needed to show myself that I cannot let this define and rule my life. So that was my goal for the past year. Then my teacher who just so happens to be a midwife who used to deliver babies at the hospital where I had Ava. She said she could get me an awesome preceptor. So when the list came around to write the top 3 places we wanted to go for some unknown reason I wrote that hospital as my first choice. What was I thinking!?! I found out that my teacher was able to get me on that floor back in July. I was super excited that I was able to do labor and delivery. I was somewhat concerned to go back, but figured I would have enough time to grow and get used to the idea. Time grew and I got more and more excited.

Well, 3 days before my first shift I was driving by the hospital and all of a sudden it all came crushing down. I cried for probably 10 minutes on my drive. Had I made the wrong choice? How could I be so foolish to think that I can do this??? I was so tempted to call my teacher and tell her that I couldn't do it anymore. If it wasn't 11 PM, I probably would have. So instead I called my best friend and cried for another 10 minutes. All of a sudden the day I had been looking forward to became a day of dread. Somehow the days between then and my first day seamed to go faster that humanly possible.

All of a sudden I was driving myself to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning. Blaring the radio. I was not ready. This was too soon. I thought about turning back so many times. But somehow I did it. I parked, collected myself, and walked in. The elevator opens up and if you look straight ahead you see one room door. That happened to be THE room door. Take a deep breath, Alicia. Here we go.

We got our day going and miraculously I was kept my cool. My first delivery, I stood there as the tech was setting up. BAM! flashback number two. Deep breath. I got through the delivery ok, my heart raced a bit after the baby was delivered until the placenta came out. Then mom held the baby for the first time. BAM. Flashback number three. Or I guess you could call it a flashback. More sadness, as that's what I wanted sooooo bad. That's why I went through my10 hour pictocin induced contractions naturally. I didn't want to be stuck to my bed. I wanted to hold my baby right away, put her to the breast and have a great nurser. I wanted to be one of those granola mamas. But instead all that pain was pointless. I did not get that moment after birth I had waited for for ooooh about 4 years. And I still want that moment, but now know that that won't happen.

But I didn't have time to dwell on that, because there was a baby down the hall minutes from being born. So we rushed down there. That birth turned out a lot better. My nurse was charging, so she wasn't in the room, so I couldn't do anything but watch. But that was fine. It can be done. Birth doesn't have to be scary.

I left that day feeling 10 times better than when I started the shift. Maybe I can do this after all.

Day two was today. My nurse gave me a tour. All of a sudden she was showing me the OR. BAM flashback x10. Those are the memories that I hate the most. luckily that was at the end of the tour and the next thing was a bathroom down the hall, so I excused myself. And I cried. And cried. and screamed. And perhaps cried some more. But then I was done. It was done. I truly hope that that is my turning point.

 I really can do this. I am as strong as I hoped. I have yet to actually step in the doors of my room or the OR. So those days may be challenging. But I have faith that I am there for a reason. I can do it. And I will. I can still use your prayers and kind thoughts during this next month. But for now, today, I feel like this is where I am supposed to do.