Not Enough French Toast (PPD, PTSD and other scary acronyms)

It has been almost 11 months since I gave birth to my amazing little boy.  11 months of feelings.  All kinds of feelings.  I have wanted to share my experience, mostly as a reminder to myself what I was able to overcome, but also to others who may struggle with a similar situation.

Let's back up.  My whole life I have been TERRIFIED to have a baby.  I remember as a child I expressed this to my older sister and she always reassured me that by the time I had a baby there would be some new technology where they could just put me to sleep and I'd wake up with a baby.  Darn it, she was wrong!  So, when I found out I was pregnant (at 12 weeks) I felt a lot of emotions, mostly excitement and fear.  Surprisingly, I stayed pretty calm throughout my entire pregnancy, with all the extra pokes and prods I had to endure being a T1D (type one diabetic).  I had an amazing doctor who had delivered both of my sisters' babies and performed three surgeries on myself previously.

Labor and delivery was not my favorite thing.  I went in on the evening of July 7th and was hooked up to machines and given medication to help thin my cervix.  I was also given a sleeping pill to help me rest, which didn't do much and I was up all night anxious about what was to come.  On day two they started the pitocin and got the ball rolling.  I won't post too many details here, since I already posted my birth story previously on this blog.  I'll just hit the main "highlights". :)  9 hours of waiting followed by 3 full hours of pushing.  Things went surprisingly well up until the pushing, when I was told that the baby's head was hitting my pelvic bone, but that they would still be able to get him out with no problem.  That last 30 minutes were terrifying.  I tried to laugh my way through it, making jokes and acting silly, but I was so scared.  After trying the vacuum, my doctor insisted that forceps needed to be used.  I remember everyone cheering me on, until it got to a point where I started hyperventilating.  That's when my doctor yelled at me to look at him and stay focused.  I honestly thought I might die then and there.  I don't know how women go through that time and time again.

The moment Johnson was delivered and John cut the cord things got real.  The head NICU nurse held him up so we could all see him.  I remember thinking "I can't look!  I don't want to look!"  When John said "Honey, look at your baby!" I replied "I don't want to look at him!".  I will always regret saying that.  How could I feel like that?  He was my baby!  My very first baby!  I don't know if it was the shock of it all, or just exhaustion, but I didn't want to look at my not-so-tiny, blue, limp baby.  :(  That was the first moment I started to question whether or not I would be able to be his mom.  A good mom.

The next 24 hours were overwhelming, but happy.  I ate a wonderful breakfast the next morning of 4 delicious french toast, delivered to me in bed.  The day was stressful, trying to breastfeed and watching my little guy hooked up to all kinds of cords and monitors.  Since he was in the NICU, we were able to get some good sleep that night.  The next morning John went down to be with the baby while I ordered my breakfast.  I ordered the same thing as the day before; french toast.  When it came and I was left all alone in my room, I lifted the cover to find that instead of 4 pieces, this morning they only brought me 2.  That is when things got weird.  I immediately burst into tears.  I was inconsolable.  How could they only bring me 1/2 of a breakfast?!  Why did they hate me?!  In my head I was thinking "This is so weird!  Why am I crying?  It's french toast".  But I couldn't stop.  I was hysterical!  The rest of the time in the hospital was very stressful for me.  Johnson stayed in the NICU and I would go down and feed him.  Each time I held him I would feel this anxiety come over me.  I didn't want to tell anyone, afraid that they would take him from me and give him to a better mom.  It was terrifying.

I cried the whole way back to our house from the hospital.  I was so scared and anxious.  That night I had my first night terror.  I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought someone was in my room trying to take Johnson.  I had that horrible feeling where I was trying to scream but no sound came out.  It lasted for a few minutes until I got out of bed and checked to make sure no one was in the room.  This happened a few times those first few days.

The next few days were the hardest of my life.  I was on an emotional roller coaster.  I began to do what I now refer to as "scream crying" where I would literally get so worked up I couldn't breathe and would have to stick my head out of the bathroom window.  John tried so hard to help me.  He would ask "What is wrong?" and I couldn't answer him.  Was I overwhelmed?  Was I depressed?  Was this normal?  I didn't know.  I would cry when I thought of Johnson growing up.  I had nightmares that he was suddenly an adult and I had missed his whole childhood because I was scream crying.  This went on for a few nights.  Then the panic attacks set in.  The first one happened when we took Johnson to his first checkup.  As the car pulled up the hill toward the hospital my whole body began to shake.  I wasn't even thinking about anything in particular, but my body responded to being at that building.  It happened again the next day when we went to dinner at Panda Express (across the street from the hospital).  I automatically started shaking and crying, but couldn't explain to John what was happening.   I honestly thought I was going crazy.  Like, check me into the nearest asylum, crazy!

After a few more nights of scream crying John called my doctor and explained to them what was going on.  They needed to speak with  me, and when I told them how I was feeling they wanted to see me immediately.  My doctor wasn't in that day, but they wanted me to come in and visit with the on-call.

Walking in to that office was mortifying for me.  I felt like all of the nurses must know what a terrible mom I was and that I was already back in the office after less than a week.  In reality, I'm sure no one gave it a second thought, but I was not in a frame of mind where I could look at things rationally.  When the nurse came in to talk with me she started asking how I was feeling.  Was I feeling overwhelmed?  Did I want to harm myself or my baby?  Those should have been easy questions to answer, but they weren't.  After a few minutes of "yes" and "no" answers, she asked how my delivery went.  I said "okay I guess" and she looked to John who shook his head.  She had me talk with her about what had happened and I shared with her how I felt the moment everyone wanted me to look at the baby.  I was so embarrassed to say that out loud.  Thank heavens for this sweet nurse!  She smiled and said, "you know...that is more common than you might think".  I couldn't believe it!  I began to open up to her a little bit more and eventually the doctor came in to talk with me.  After chatting for a few minutes she said that I was suffering from severe postpartum depression as well as post traumatic stress syndrome.  I had no idea that you could get PTSD from having a baby, but it made perfect sense!  She put me on a high dose of prozac and advised that I start bottle feeding, since breastfeeding was adding to my anxiety.  She also advised that I see a counselor to help with the PTSD.

I had always heard of "baby blues" and my mom had warned me that it was common, but until it happened to me, I never fully understood how terrifying it could be.  Though I am feeling so much better now, I don't think I could have survived that horrible time without the help of my doctors and medication.  I hope that if I ever have a daughter, I can help her to understand what PPD and PTSD are, and that it is ok to seek help.  Those first few days as a mother should be the most amazing, joyous time if your life!  There is hope, and there are answers, if you look and ask. :)