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.

hope

There was once a time where time stood still, where I didn’t know how on earth it would be anything more than it was. I was being tormented by my own mind. It was not my own, but belonged to my mental illness. I didn’t see it ever being mine again. I was so very very broken.

I tried my best to appear to have it together. I was living the dream. I was in nursing school, which I had worked so hard to get into. I had the perfect family. On the outside, things were great.

 

On the inside I struggled to make my mind shut off. It would repeat the visions of my last birth over and over.  I couldn’t do it anymore. Multiple times I wanted to run my car off the side of the road. It happened so much that I hated driving by myself because I was scared one day I would actually do it. I thought about leaving my husband and my girls because they didn’t deserve to have a crazy mom or wife who was incapable of being anything else. I was damaged. If I didn’t love myself, how could others?

Well, apparently I had a lot of people in my corner that I failed to see.  They are what carried me through it. It was the teacher who said, it will get better just give it time. I wanted to slap her so bad and say “no it won’t. There is no way that I could possibly get better.”  I had a friend who let me call her and just cry for no apparent reason. I had a husband who, regardless of what I did to him, loved me and told me that we will get through this. I had family, though they didn’t understand my torment (mainly due to my lack of opening up) who tried to help in any way possible. I had a Savior who I knew knew what it felt like to be in my pain. Whenever I felt as if no one understood what I was going through I was constantly reminded that He did. They were there when my accident happened. They gave me a second chance in life. They would listen to my cries of anguish. These are the people who carried me through the darkness.

As I take on a new chapter of healing I can’t help but see the support system I actually had in place that I failed to see. One day, if Heavenly Father is willing, I will give birth again. I will need to rely on them once again. I am scared to death that something disastrous will happen to my baby or me. This is something that I will have to come to terms with when the time comes. Time is no longer stagnant for me. Things are changing. My mind is my own again. I pray that this continues and that I remain free of my captor. I pray that I can carry someone of their darkest days. But most importantly, I pray for hope, because without it, I would not be here.

 

 

Let's celebrate life.

**Possible Trigger Alert**


You know, people don't really like to talk about mental illness too much. They don't like to admit that the time after having a baby can potentially be the worst for the mom and she really isn't enjoying it. But, you want to know what people hate to talk about even more? Maternal death.

Yes, moms still die during or after childbirth. For something as straight forward as insert baby and 9 months later remove baby, a lot can go wrong--terribly wrong. And if it does, we are expected to just be grateful that the baby is here and happy. That is crap. Where is the support for mom? Where is the extra help?  We. Almost. Died.

I was rushed to the OR and the only thing I thought of was Chris raising our girls alone.

But, there is the conundrum. The moment a baby is born, the woman joins the mom club, where nothing is about her anymore, but about the life of the baby. She has the support and opinions of all the moms who have been before her. She now has something in common with half the world, when she didn't a mere 20 seconds ago. That is awesome!

My mom. I missed my girls meeting each other. Note the empty space in the back where a bed is supposed to be.

Unfortunately for some, we also join the maternal complication mom club. This one isn't so welcoming. Mainly, because no one knows who your fellow members are. No one wants to hear your horror story. Our membership is quiet.  No one wants to know. So here I am. Standing up to say that I had a birth complication. I have survived. Heck, I am still surviving. Feeling alone was one of my worst feelings following my daughters birth, and I vow that no one I know will have that feeling too.

I hate this picture because I look horrible.

But, I also hate it because you can't see the blood warmer in my arm the nurses were excited to use for the first time.

I wish I remember what it looked like. That's the nurse in me. :)

Let's celebrate birth. Let's celebrate living. Let's celebrate life.

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!!