I’ve been thinking about blogging this for some time. You don’t need to agree or read it, but maybe someone dealing with post partum depression will be googling someday and try to find some answers, and stumble on my experience and it will give an answer or two. So, feel free to move on, or click to hear my story.
I had my first child in Brasil. I’d just moved there with my husband and didn’t speak the language. Labor was hard, but not dramatically so. The biggest challenge we had was the issue that we still have - she doesn’t like eating. And she really hated nursing. Everyone in the hospital tried to help, but she wouldn’t do it. When we brought WonderGirl home, it took a few devistating days of trying before she grudgingly accepted nursing … sometimes. But every time she latched on, I didn’t feel victory. Sure, there was the physical pain of someone chomping down on a delicate piece of anatomy, but there was something else. I’d almost black out as this wave of… this awful emotion I would just call “suicide” would come over me. I was determined to nurse, but everytime I did or even if I had let-down, my stomach would turn, my eyes would involuntarily close and I had to fight back this crazed desire to hurt either my daughter or myself. My entire body would tense as I tried to control my arms from shaking so I wouldn’t drop her. It was more than depression, I was suicidal. I felt like a prisoner in my body that was constantly on edge, as I tried to mother when my body was physically fighting me.
I got some amazing help from the best doctor I’ve ever had, and began to turn the corner around 3 months, after I stopped nursing. But I was robbed of those first few months of her life She was robbed of me too, since instead of being a loving mom, I was just trying to survive from feeding to feeding. I wish I could go back and just love her and the experience but I was too busy fighting a battle I couldn’t win on my own. When it came to having another, it took a LOT of prayer and time. I felt like a failure, but I knew if it was going to work the second time, I couldn’t nurse. I couldn’t risk being suicidal with two small children to care for. I didn’t want to rob my daughter of her mother again. And even though I wasn’t going to be alone in Brasil, I ended up being isolated in Wisconsin where I knew barely a soul. Labor was again the easy part, and I was able to really fall for my son those first few days as the pressure to get him to nurse was out of the picture. And he also doesn’t hate eating like his sister :) I started wondering if maybe I’d exaggerated the horrible experience from my first child, and maybe I should give nursing a try?
But then a few days into it, my milk came in with a vengance. It was honestly the most painful physical experience I have ever had. But the worst part - all those horrible, suicidal instincts came back. Every time I heard him cry or came near him, I’d struggle to maintain my composure while my body would shake and my mind would race to hurting him or myself. I was devistated. I’d hoped I could have bypassed PPD this time, but here it was, as bad as it could be. I ended up in my doctor’s office a few days in, hysterical and in excruciating pain. I sobbed and asked after all the precautions I’d taken, I hadn’t been able to escape the darkness this time. My amazing midwife took me by the hand, looked me in the eye and told me it wasn’t PPD - I’d have 10 days of the “blues” postpartum, and only after that would it be PPD. She comforted me and prescribed me some medications to hopefully stop the pain and get my milk to dry up faster though the actual “drying” process would take months.
When the physical pain stopped, I was a little better, but for 2 months after, every time I’d hold my dear, darling son, I’d get just slightly nauseous as I felt my milk trying to let down and I’d get that thought in my head to hurt him. It was awful - but I’d shake my head and try to ignore it. It felt so odd, I’d be carrying on a conversation with someone as I held him while my mind vainly tried to tell me I hated him. As the milk supply dropped, I’d be able to pick him up and feel joy instead. I hate that it took that long, but I had to just let go and understand there wasn’t anything I could do about it but try to ignore it.
Because of this, I don’t know if I’m going to have another child. I wish there was something I could do to take the milk and the accompanying mental sickness that comes with it away, but I can’t. If I even think of trying it again, I want someone to take my kids while I just sit in a room for a week or two and let worst of the horror pass. But there’s still the lingering let down and the awfulness that comes with it that I have to live through for a few months after…
5 months in, I’m okay. I see my son, I can hold him, I can adore him, and all I feel is pure joy. It’s night and day from what it felt like those first two months, although this time I knew what was happening and could try and ignore it. I know it sounds crazy to some. I’ve had people tell me I’m a horrible mother for not nursing, but I have learned to let go of that too. My children deserve the best mother I can be, and that means taking care of myself so I can take care of them. I love having control of my mind and body and being able to adore my children. What I went through isn’t typical, but it was real - and it was temporary. I have heard of this happening to women before, but not many. So dear reader, if you are some random person that may be experiencing something like this, I feel deeply for you. And you aren’t alone.
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