Posts in category: Recovery Stories

In 2008, my baby in utero was diagnosed with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS). Caleb had an open-heart surgery at four days old, spent two weeks in the hospital recovering, lived for five weeks at home, and then had an undetermined traumatic event the Sunday before he turned eight weeks old and passed away in my arms.

Talking to other people who were further down their path of grief also gave me hope that my grief load would get lighter, that I could survive and eventually have a happy life again.

You hear it a lot, but it really was true for me that the first year of grief was the hardest.  Every month represented a new milestone that Caleb would have been hitting if he were still with me. I kept saying to myself, “Caleb would be learning how to sit up this month.” Or I’d catch myself staring in resentment at the little babies born around the same time as Caleb and envying every little accomplishment they made. These “what if’s” were crippling. I tried going to a Helping Hands support group, but they were all sharing memories of their older children. For me, it just made my lack of memories that much harder to deal with.

Then I found two online support systems. First, I was literally kicked out of an HLHS parents’ forum and on the farewell email, they told me about an HLHS Angel Parents’ forum. Then my cousin mentioned a blog that was closed to the public and only invited mothers who had lost a child. Both of these support systems helped immensely.

They helped me know how to deal with grieving siblings, how to answer the innocent probing questions of strangers without falling to pieces, and they told me how to manage well-meaning comments from friends and family that unintentionally hurt more than they helped. Most of all, they showed me that everyone grieves differently and that there is no wrong way to grieve.

Where family and friends could only offer a listening ear, these angel parents could give helpful advice based on their own experiences, and they wouldn’t judge my feelings, which allowed me to vent openly. Sometimes grief isn’t pretty, and it was nice to have a safe place where I didn’t have to pretend that everything was okay. Talking to other people who were further down their path of grief also gave me hope that my grief load would get lighter, that I could survive and eventually have a happy life again.

One of the other Angel moms shared with me a story that really helped put hope and perspective on my grieving process. The speaker compares grief to a piano dropped on stage in the middle of a play. At first, the actors bump into it and get hurt every time they turn around.  The piano seems to consume the stage and disrupt everything. Eventually the actors remember the piano is there, and eventually they find ways to incorporate the piano into the play itself.

I am LDS and going to my church also comforted me and helped me heal. I have to admit that, at first, it was really hard to go to church. I remember sobbing through the whole service one Sunday. Hearing miraculous stories of people being healed was really hard for me, but I knew that ultimately I would gain peace and find the answers I was looking for if I kept going to church.

Everyone has different ways of honoring and remembering their lost loved one. For us, we have two annual traditions. Our first tradition was inspired by a dear family friend who offered to set up a memorial 5k run in Caleb’s honor. Raising money to help other HLHS families gave me something positive to look forward to on Caleb’s birthday. It also showed me that other people loved and cared about Caleb and still supported our family.

Our second tradition happens every Christmas when we hang up a special angel stocking for Caleb. Our family tries to fill up Caleb’s stocking with gifts of service for other people. I love that this tradition keeps Caleb a part of Christmas and also helps our family (especially me) find positive things to do for others.

I still have days where grief takes its hold and won’t let go. Back when we first lost Caleb, these low points seemed to happen often. If I tried to hard to push them away, it seemed like they just got worse. I think it’s important to recognize those feelings and give them a place in your life. Sometimes I wanted life to stand still while I processed everything. Other times, I wanted to move and get going, but didn’t know how to start.

For these days, I found a strategy from another Angel mom that helps me keep functioning and working through things. On hard days, I try and make sure that I do at least one thing physical, spiritual, social, and mental. It really helps me to have a checklist that is flexible while at the same time pushes me to “go through the motions.” Sometimes it feels like the “fake-it-until-you-make-it” strategy, so I want to make sure and add that I wholeheartedly believe that acknowledging your feelings is important, too. I guess for me, this strategy just makes sure that I don’t get stuck while I’m wallowing in my grief.

Blog Author: Kristine Stecker.

The night before you were born, there was so much lightning. It wasn’t raining though, just hot – the hottest night of the year. Sitting on the big blue birth ball, rocking from side to side, I’d rest my head on the hospital bed during the in-between. When a contraction came, I’d sit up, open my eyes and watch the jagged stabs of light through the window as they punctuated the clear, distinct pain in my body.

Later, the white haze of high noon would blur the edges of the clouds. By then, nothing would be clear for me. The pain and the urge to push or not push and the exhaustion and the panic would all run into and over each other, a hot, foggy murk, and I would not know when or if or how you were coming, or what my body was doing, or if both or either of us would survive.

Everyone said it would be a snap. A breeze. A walk in the park. There will be nothing to it, they said. They said, he’ll slide right out. Nothing is like the first one, after that, it’s all downhill. Your body is ready, they said. Your body knows what to do. Your body will take over. You’ve been through it all already.

Everything they said should have been true; but nothing could have prepared me for birthing you.

I cannot say your birth tore me open. My body did not literally tear. Somehow, I managed to expand beyond my own capacity to accommodate not only your body, but also the hands and wrists and forearms of the midwife who reached inside to turn you and free your shoulder from the umbilical cord that had wrapped and twisted its way around you.

And yet, later, I needed to mend.

It’s hard to know what happened to me afterwards, where I went. I thought I knew how to have a baby – how to birth a baby and then how to mother an infant back at home. I’d done it before – I knew how.

But I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know how to handle you, the colic. Who could blame you for being so fussy! You had swallowed so much amniotic fluid, having descended into the birth canal, then waiting there for much longer than you should have. The fluid was in your ears and eyes and belly. You needed to recover from your own birth. You needed to be held all the time, and of course I wanted to hold you, but you have a brother too, and he also needed my love and attention.

It’s not like things ever got That Bad, really.  I was not incapable of joy, because I did laugh and love with you. I could never not get out of bed. I did not want to harm myself or others. I never fantasized about abandoning you or dropping you out of the upstairs window.  I said “no” to many of the criteria on the doctor’s checklist when I finally went, nine months later, to get some medication.

It was hard to describe, other than to say that I didn’t quite feel like myself. But then again, it was hard to know who my “self” was anymore. There was a dark heaviness, an anger and sadness and loneliness. There was a feeling that nothing was wrong, but everything was wrong.

I slept upstairs for months, on the guest futon in my office. I did not know how to be married. I had no space. I felt so empty and hollow and heavy, there was no way anyone could meet me where I was.

It was, and still is, vague and blurry and hard to understand.

Maybe I just needed time to breathe, to mend my overstretched ligaments and allow the holes in my psyche to close back up again, after experiencing what was beyond my comprehension, to replenish the reserves of energy and fortitude that had been used up in birthing you.

Maybe if I had been allowed to stay in the hospital for another day or so I would have been okay. Just some time to collect myself before heading back out into the world where so much would be asked of me.

Maybe it’s because I felt so inept.

Maybe it’s because the only ways I knew to love were suddenly limited by time, attention, and energy.

Maybe it’s because your birth was so difficult, but maybe it’s also because that type of difficulty is not recognized as trauma.

Maybe it’s because I wanted to tell my story – the story of your birth – over and over and over to make sense of it, to find a context, but once everyone knew the basic details – twenty hours of active labor, the cord around your shoulder, no c-section, nine pounds, two ounces, everyone’s fine – they had heard enough.

Maybe I had post-partum depression. Maybe I had a chemical imbalance.

Maybe I just needed help. Everyone had told me – two kids is more like ten kids, the workload increase is exponential, etc., etc. But no one ever said, you will not know how to handle it. You will not know how to love so much, so separately, at the same time, and this not knowing will tear you apart.

Maybe it was simply that I was an almost-forty-year-old woman who spent many long days alone with a toddler and an infant, and I could have used some time to myself.

Maybe it was nothing more than that.

My water broke first. That was a surprise. It hadn’t been that way the first time. Later, I was told that that there is much lore and myth around births where the water breaks before contractions have begun because, contrary to common portrayals on TV, this sequence of events is actually rare.

I had just gotten your brother into the bath and I bent down to kneel beside the tub and there it was, as if the bathwater had overflowed onto the floor. Of course I knew, but I still wanted to be sure. I waited. Soon, there were puddles of amniotic fluid all over the house. We called your grandparents to come for your brother. I stood on the front porch, waving until the car disappeared around the corner into the clear evening light. My heart ached, saying goodbye to an only son, bursting to welcome you.

Back home again when everything was over, I was nostalgic for the hospital. There was a hippie deli down the street, and I missed the tuna sandwich on thick, soft, grainy bread, with tomato and sprouts brought to me on my day of convalescence. I would miss the quiet, the solicitude, and that one night, alone with you, in the bed beside me, swaddled, nursing, as we figured out how to be together with you outside of me.

Afterwards, I wanted to do it again right away, which was crazy, given what I’d just been through. I thought it was the postpartum euphoria, the hormones and dizziness. But the feeling lasted.  I wanted a third. A girl. I felt myself clinging to the hope that I would go through it all again. I knew that if I was going to do it, it was going to have to be now, that I could not make the transition in and out of this space again. I needed to keep the momentum going.  As the months wore on, though, I knew I could not handle more. This was plenty. We were enough.

But first I had to be sad.

I had to be sad that I am not younger. I had to be sad that I didn’t do this sooner. I had to be sad that I’m someone who needs a lot of solitude in order to feel fully whole. I had to be sad that I will never have a daughter, a Violet or Ruby. I had to be sad that your birth marks an ending for me. I had to mourn the loss of possibility, that while it is still technically possible, it is not actually desirable, given our circumstances, our lives, to have more children. I had to actually say the words to myself, “No, I can’t handle more.” And then I had to be sad that I can’t handle more. I needed to be sad that this will be all, and I had to go through all of that to recognize that this is plenty. That you, I, we are enough.

Last time, I had birthed naturally, as I had wanted, but in a traditional hospital, with an O.B. With you, I was going to have a water birth. We had switched OB practices so that I could employ a midwife and use the Alternative Birthing Center and give birth in the giant bathtub. I could labor in water, which was said to be so relaxing and warm and peaceful. Floating took pressure off the joints and alleviated the affects of gravity and you would not be shocked by the sudden change from water to air and I could catch you myself as you slid out.

But the night you were born was the busiest of the year in the birthing wing. Someone said it was because of the lightning, the way it pierced the atmosphere which induced labor. The tub was not available. It’s rare that so many women are laboring at the same time that those who desire the tub suites cannot have them, but as I breathed through my contractions in the triage room, I was told that there was a chance we might not be able to have a water birth.

There was much confusion then, and conferring with various staff members. But I left that to the trusted others to handle, your father and godmother, who were with me in the hospital. I was busy, breathing, focusing, rocking, turning further and further inward in preparation for the work I would do later.

The lightning began to fade as the first signs of daylight appeared in the sky. There was a shift change for the staff, and once my regular midwife showed up, I knew we would be alright. She was taking charge of the situation and said that yes, we could get into the tub room because I had been there longer than the others. I only had to be dilated 5 cm before I could get into the room but that surely that would not be a problem because I had been there all night.

But when she checked, I was only at 2.5 cm, still. I didn’t know why it was taking so long, what was wrong, what I was doing wrong.

Even at this hospital, with all their alternative methods, there were still rules; they followed the standard hospital procedure which allowed no more than 24 hours to elapse between when one’s water breaks and when the baby is delivered. Without amniotic fluid, the theory goes, the baby has no protection from harmful germs and bacteria and is potentially exposed to danger of all kinds.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

Later, somehow, in the space between trying to return to normal and recognizing that my notion of normal had vaporized – during the time when I tried to show your brother how much I still loved him and how much attention I still had for him, how much I could still dance and romp and play and be silly, and how much it was okay for him to be mad at me for having a baby, and how it was okay for him to not want me to sit next to him, or tuck him into bed at night, all while trying to figure out what would make you happy, not the car nor the stroller nor the bassinet, only my arms, my breast – somewhere in there a part of myself became dormant, as if stunned into stillness. It felt as if nothing within me was growing, and I had shed all the life I had.

I was already a mother when I had you, so your birth was not the dramatic transformation into something else that had occurred the first time. One birth revealed to me how much I was capable of, was for me about capacity; the other illuminated my limitations, where branches can bend no further, the point of breakage. Both showed me to myself. Both were necessary for me to be whole. At the time I did not know that. At the time I did not recognize that anything was growing or alive, that deep underground, my roots were stretching, absorbing nutrients from the rich soil of my life, of our lives together.

By now I’m tired. I’ve been having steady contractions for fourteen hours already. The tub is open. We are moving. We parade down the hall, carrying pillows from home and clothes and bags and cups of coffee and cups of ice. I feel that I’ve earned this and here we are, the large room with the queen sized bed with the flowered spread and oak headboard. The tub. The tub is full of water and waiting for me, for us. Through the window I see the blue sky and white, puffy clouds. Late morning light. I sink into the tub. Getting close to transition now. The contractions are coming quick and hard and I am breathing and the water feels so good, I lay back, rest, so that only my face and the apex of my belly with its protruding navel are not submerged in water. And then I wait. And nothing happens. When a contraction comes, several minutes later, it is weak, and barely a moan escapes my body. I wait some more. It is afternoon now. We’re close to twenty hours now. I’ve gotten to 8 cm and now my contractions have stopped. I’ve reached transition and now I’m going backwards. I am closing back up.

Out of the tub and into the shower. Out of the shower and on to the bed. A walk down the hall. Nipple stimulation to get contractions going. We’ll try a breast pump. This works – the contractions are back and they are quick and hard and we are ready to go and they are in my back now. There is no water inside me and no cushion. I’m having back labor now and I’m on all fours on the bed and I have never had pain so deep and hot that it pushed me to the edge of consciousness. I do not know who I am. I do not know what I am.

Then back in the tub and do I feel pushy now?

I’m not sure; I can try to push but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to push anymore and it’s not time yet. It should be time, but it’s not time yet. We’re not ready yet. Back into the shower and down the hall and back and nipple stimulation and now I feel pushy. I want to push in the tub but that doesn’t work. We’ll try the bed and now the pain the pain the pain. On my back and I am screaming and I can’t take it. I can’t do it any more. I am done. The contractions are too much, it’s too fast now. It’s happening too fast and too slow and it’s not over yet and it should be and out the window is only white haze and my eyes are blurry. The room is flooded with light and I scream into the light it’s too much I’m pushing now. I’m pushing now. My body is on fire and you will be here now.

I am in and out of that place within me that I have never known before, that I will not remember afterwards, that place that allows my body to take over. That place that pushes me out of itself, that is myself. That is fluid. I will need this later. I will want this later. But my moments here are so fleeting I will not know how to come back and this is not a place to return to, only to bring back with me. But there is no time to come back here, like waking from a dream and wanting to remember it before the day begins.

I am pushing now for you to come but you do not come. You move down but then back up and something is wrong. It is not supposed to happen this way. It’s not supposed to be this way. I am to push and you are to emerge but you are not coming out. You have descended. You can’t stay there too long but you stay. Your head is moving now your head is out. Your skull your brain your mouth your eyes are here but now your body is stuck. We’re both stuck. There is nowhere to go because of where you are and where I am and I am done but you’re not out and there is nothing to do but scream and sob and push and breathe and pray and beg to be cut open but they cannot cut because your head is out and the only way out is through me. It’s not supposed to be this way, your body should slide right out now, but there is the cord. The cord is keeping you here, part of my body holding strong to your body, not letting you out and this is when we could die. Like a flash of lightning, I suddenly know, in my bones and skin and fluid and a new kind of scream, that something is very wrong, that you or I or both of us might not survive this. Darkness descends. But now there are the hands and wrists and forearms, reaching in and turning. I don’t know what is happening, only more pain but there you are now you’ve been turned and you’ll slide out now, and I’m pushing and just like that there you are. You’re out. You’re out now and I’m done. My shaking sobbing body is done.

You are quiet. There is no sound from you yet, not yet not yet and I am waiting for you still and I don’t know I don’t know if –

Here you are. You’re on me now, blue and slimy and crying too and mine. You’re here and you’re okay and we both made it we’re both alive and you’re out and both our hearts are beating and you’re fine and you’re here.

Oh my God – you’re here.

Blog Author: Christine Simokaitis. Christine Simokaitis received an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College. Her work is published in Alligator Juniper, Natural Bridge, and in the anthologies Mourning Sickness and Are We Feeling Better Yet? She currently resides in Chicago, Illinois, with her husband and two young sons. She actively writes, teaches, and enjoys life. “Waiting for Elijah” appeared in the Winter 2010 issue of Calyx and is republished here with the author’s permission.

Janet had been waiting years for a baby. Her first three pregnancies had resulted in early miscarriage. Finally, she was pregnant for the fourth time and had only a few weeks before the baby was due. No one could have wanted a baby as badly as she did. But the last thirty-five weeks of waiting had been more stressful than she could have ever imagined. In her mind, she kept thinking that something was going to go wrong. Surely she’d loose this baby just as she had lost each of her previous pregnancies. So she made a conscious effort not to let herself get attached to the baby growing inside of her.

The doctor insisted that Janet, who had been on bed rest since week twenty seven, be induced just as soon as the baby’s lungs were mature enough. In just a few more days, she was scheduled for an amniocentesis. Her bag was packed, she’d crossed everything off her list of what she needed to bring to the hospital.

As Friday came, Janet paced the floor waiting for her husband of three years to get home from school so they could head to the hospital, just a half an hour from their home.

When Scott arrived, Janet nervously handed him her hospital bag and ran one more time to the restroom. The doctor was scheduled to meet them at the hospital to perform the amniocentesis test. He was there on schedule as Janet checked herself into the hospital, providing the necessary paperwork and insurance cards.

Janet was more afraid of the needle than she was of giving birth. However, the test went as planned. She hadn’t eaten all morning though and hadn’t planned on having to stay in the hospital to be monitored. She was surprised when they checked her into a room, and Dr. Moore came in shortly after. They had said they’d only need to monitor the baby for a short time before she could leave the hospital and await the results of the test elsewhere. The results would be in in just a few hours, and Dr. Moore said he wanted to induce her just as soon as he learned the baby’s lungs were mature enough to do so.

Janet, however, was a little confused. She had spent the last few months trying to keep the baby in, and now the doctor was more than a little anxious to get the baby out. She had had to have shots and medication, not only to stop her early contractions, but also steroids shots to help the baby’s lungs mature in case she did deliver early.

Dr. Moore was the best doctor she knew. She had had some terrible doctors before she found him. The first doctor she went to when she was first expecting and was experiencing difficulties had told her it was no more than a urinary tract infection, without even checking the ultrasound. Then she saw Dr. Moore, who cared enough to check the ultrasound, but unfortunately saw her after it was too late to do anything.

“More than likely, you will lose this pregnancy within this week,” he had told her sadly. “But after three miscarriages, most doctors will send you to a specialist. And this will be number three. Next time, we will know what is happening and get it right.”

So Janet truly felt she had fought hard to keep this baby in, and now was weary about letting it out so soon. But, she trusted Dr. Moore, and if he felt that the longer the baby stayed in the more chance she had of something going wrong, she’d trust him. Only she hadn’t expected this. The doctor was in her room with some kind of a noise maker, making sounds on her stomach. When she had asked what it was, he had explained that the baby was not moving or responding since the amniocentesis, and the noise maker would hopefully get her moving around again. Janet had been noticing contractions ever since they finished the test and was a little surprised by their regularity.

Soon enough, she felt the baby jumping around and kicking her in the ribs once more. Dr. Moore released her and said he’d call once he had the test results. The half-hour back to the house seemed unbearable, and Janet didn’t want to wait around at the hospital, so as hungry as she was, she asked her husband if they could go out for a bite to eat.

He took her to a nice Italian restaurant. The nurses had told her that the sooner she got the sterilizing red medicine off, the less likely it would be to stain, so she spent the majority of the time in the restroom with soap and water on a paper towel. One lady had come in and been terribly concerned. After all, here was a pregnant lady with red stuff all over her abdomen.

It turned out that Janet wasn’t as hungry as she thought. She barely had a bite to eat before she lost her appetite from the timely contractions she kept having. Shortly after, the doctor called and confirmed that the baby’s lungs were mature and said that he wanted her at the hospital immediately to start the induction.

When Janet arrived at the hospital that morning, she had considered the probability of delivering that day, but now the reality set in. She could very well be a parent in the next twenty-four hours. When the doctor arrived, he found that her contractions were too regular to use anything too strong to encourage the contractions to continue. He couldn’t use the Cervical, because she was already having to consistent of contractions. So he went with the IV induction liquid and hoped it would do the job.

But the only job it did was put Janet in more pain than she’d remembered ever being in. After twenty-six hours, her contractions were way too hard and close to continue the IV, but she had only dilated to a four. And worst yet, the baby’s heart monitor kept going off.

Janet knew for sure that something was wrong when there were ten nurses in the room, and they had phoned the doctor. When he came in the room, he explained that they’d be performing an emergency cesarean, but was vague on why. Apparently, every time Janet had a contraction, the umbilical cord was being closed off to the baby and her heart beat was dropping below the safety zone.

“Here goes,” Janet thought, “I knew I’d never get to hold this baby anyway, so I guess I prepared myself for something like this going wrong.” She couldn’t hold the tears back, though. Apparently she had become attached to this baby. It was a girl, she knew. She even knew her name. Virginia Rose she’d be called, and Janet had a pretty good idea of what she’d look like too.

No one could have been more surprised than Janet when after only a few minutes of being rushed into the operating room, the doctor held up a little girl, white stuff covering her and screaming like newborns do. Janet looked up at her husband and realized that every minute of what she’d gone through, including the three previous miscarriages, the preterm labor and the bed rest, and twenty-six hours of long labor had been worth it.

She told Scott to please stay by the baby’s side and that she’d be okay. Being a mom was a real thing now. She had waited, and now her dream of being a mother was true. She had reached her goal. But now what?

It didn’t take Janet long to realize that motherhood was not what she expected. She had longed to hold her own baby in her arms for years, but had not envisioned it being like this. Janet had to stay in the recovery room until the doctor okayed her to move into a post-delivery room. But she still hadn’t been able to see her newborn since the doctor had held her up for Janet to see. Thoughts of “what if” ran though her mind as it raced to see what the worst scenario it could come up with was. She kept asking and asking, but none of the nurses seemed concerned about knowing anyone’s condition but hers.

After an eternity of waiting, a pediatrician came in to tell her that her baby was doing fine. “She has low blood sugar, and her oxygen level is low, so we’ll be keeping her in the neonatal intensive care unit until she starts looking better.”

He had sounded promising, but Janet had never experienced anxiety like this. Finally, she begged one of the nurses, who told her she was too weak to get out of her bed just yet, to wheel her bed into the NICU so she could see her baby. Her hospital bed barely fit into the room, but it did. And when she saw the baby, she knew was hers. She couldn’t hold the tears back once more. And just like Scott had promised, he hadn’t left Virginia’s side since she came into the world.

Unfortunately, Janet couldn’t hold Ginny, short for Virginia she’d decided, because of all the monitors and cords she was hooked on to. But she felt better seeing her at least, knowing that everything would be okay, and that was why she was finally able to fall into a deeply needed sleep.

The next day brought most of the same, except the nurses were willing to let Janet hold Ginny and try to nurse her. But Ginny just wanted to sleep. The nurses insisted that Janet try harder, but she ended up only getting frustrated and giving in to the bottle after Ginny had cried and screamed.

“But she needs the first of your milk,” one nurse had said. “There’s nothing that can replace it.”

But her encouragement only made Janet feel like more of a failure. After all, she’d cheated the birthing experience, right? There was nothing natural about being cut open and having the baby pulled out. And she couldn’t tell anyone she’d gone all natural now, like she’d hoped to, because they’d had to give her anesthesia in order to perform the C-section.

Three days later, Janet was still in the hospital. She probably could have been released, but Ginny couldn’t be so what was the point? Ginny had been consistently losing weight. She was born at 5 pounds 11 ounces and now close to 4 pounds. “It’s kind of normal,” the pediatrician had told her. “Just keep trying to breast feed, and if she doesn’t start gaining weight, you’re going to have to go with formula feeding.”

“But I can’t do that,” Janet had told herself. “Cheating birth was bad enough. I have to breastfeed my baby.” So she tried and tried, and no matter what she or the nurses who tried to assist her did, nothing worked.

Janet and Ginny were finally released from the hospital, but Ginny had to come down to visit the pediatrician every day anyway. After another week had passed, and Ginny wasn’t gaining weight, the doctor really put it to her. “Just give her the bottle,” he’d said. And Janet had gone home with lots of bottle food for Ginny, but still feeling like a complete failure as a mother.

“I’ve only been a mom for a week and a half, and look how terrible I am at it!” Janet had confided in her husband later that day. “I can’t feed my own baby, and besides that, I can barely sit up well enough to meet any of her other needs.”

Janet was grateful her mother had been there with her since she’d come home. She seemed to know what to do. After all, she’d given birth to fourteen children.

As the days went by and Janet’s mom had returned home, Janet’s feelings of hopelessness and failure had begun to consume her. She never felt hungry, and when she was alone with her baby, she was more than a little overwhelmed. When Ginny was just two weeks old, Janet had turned to her brother-in-law to watch her so she could go out with Scott alone, even if it was only to the grocery store to get more formula.

After a month, Janet’s realization that motherhood was not what she expected had grown into the theme of her every day. She fed Ginny, changed her, fed her, and then changed her again. Janet had also realized something very strange about herself. She was frightened to give Ginny a bath and to be alone with her at all.

She knew something was wrong, but when she’d asked her mom if she ever felt that way, knowing that if anyone ever had, someone who’d given birth as many times as her mom would have. But her mom had just shrugged and changed the subject.

Janet was counting down the days till graduation, to the time when they’d move back to Scott’s parents’ house for the summer. Fortunately, she’d finished her classes to earn her bachelor’s the month before Ginny was born. After all, there was no way she could have handled school and this baby at the same time.

Virginia was so temperamental. She cried and cried. Janet couldn’t think of a time Ginny wasn’t crying. Janet knew she should be the one getting up and feeding her at night, but she just didn’t have the energy. Scott still had a semester of school left, and she felt guilty every time he’d gotten up with the baby. She also felt guilty about how the minute he’d walk in the door, she’d hand over the baby and run into her room, desperate for a little sleep.

March came and went. Janet went to her six-week checkup and refused to confide in her doctor how she was really feeling. After all, it was probably just the baby blues she’d read about one time. And they didn’t last long. Besides, she had hidden her feelings so well from Scott, whom she’d always confided every detail to before the baby’s birth, so she couldn’t tell her doctor.

It was April now. Graduation day came. Janet and Scott got to walk to receive their diplomas together, hold a luncheon with their families to welcome Virginia Rose into the world, and moved out of their apartment all in one day.

Janet was excited for the first time in weeks to be able come to a home where someone would be with her and Ginny most of the time. They moved into the house with Scott’s parents for the summer to save money for Scott to begin law school in the fall. Scott had found a great job for the summer, and considering they’d already lived there two of the last three summers, there weren’t too many new adjustments to make.

By the time May came along and Ginny turned four months old, Janet realized she wasn’t getting any better. If anything, she was getting worse. “But how was that possible?” she’d asked herself one day.

She knew she needed to talk to someone, but her symptoms had been getting so bad, she dared not confide in anyone. If anyone knew what she was feeling, she knew they’d take Ginny away from her. And Janet loved Ginny. She knew that. She’d gone through too much to get Ginny here to have her taken away. So she kept to herself and put on an excellent facade of being blissfully happy.

She was visiting her sister out of state when everything overwhelmed her all at once. Scott had gone home early to get back to work, but Janet had stayed. “What is bothering you?” Mary had asked. “I know something is wrong. I know you’re not scared of the dark, yet you used that excuse to have someone stay in the guest house with you and Ginny.”

Janet couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I am a failure as a mother. I have thoughts of harming my baby all the time, and I’m so afraid I might actually do it!”

Mary didn’t seem as shocked as Janet had expected. She held her and let her cry and cry. “I didn’t know I had any tears left,” Janet said as soon as she could speak. “I’ve been crying nonstop ever since Ginny was born, and I thought it’d go away. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Fortunately, Mary was in the beginning of medical school and was currently enrolled in a psychology class. “You know, Janet,” she said understandingly, “You’re not a failure, and this is not your fault.”

Mary proceeded to draw a map of the brain and explain the process of serotonin and other chemicals in the brain. “What’s going on with you is a lot like having a broken leg. If you had a broken leg, what would you do? Walk on it until you could walk no more?” Between her sobs, Janet was able to get out that she’d probably go see a doctor.

Even though it was late, Mary convinced Janet to call Dr. Moore and drove her to his office the next day to pick up some medication. Dr. Moore told Janet to start taking the medication immediately, but that she needed to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible. After Janet promised Mary and Dr. Moore that she would, she flew home to her still unknowing husband.

Janet, who’d always been 100% honest with Scott in all the years they’d been married, didn’t understand why she had such a hard time telling him what was happening. So, she put on her happy face and went another month before breaking down and setting up an appointment with a psychiatrist like she’d been told to. She figured that once she had her appointment, she’d have to talk with Scott and so had done her best to avoid it.

When she finally felt ready to talk to him, she left out the major detail of her thoughts and just told him about her lack of energy and appetite. “I just need to talk to someone about it,” she’d told him. Deep down, she knew why she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. “He’ll send me far away. He won’t let me be close to my baby ever again if he knows what I think when I am near her,” Janet had told herself. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t really do that, but the “what if” demon had taken her a long way down the worst case scenario street.

So when she went to her appointment, she didn’t even let him go in with her. She wasn’t 100% honest with the psychiatrist right off either, but fortunately the appointment was worth her visit. Having moved out of state after graduation, Dr. Moore was no longer close by, and Janet hadn’t found a doctor she felt comfortable seeing. Julie, the psychiatrist, scheduled an appointment with an obstetrician to help her start getting her hormones back in balance. She raised the medication Janet was currently on after seeing no benefits from it after six weeks and talked to her about the importance of eating healthy, exercising, and getting enough rest.

Janet knew she was getting more than enough rest, though. The only way she dealt with the thoughts she was having was by putting Ginny and herself down for a nap whenever they were alone, which was more frequent than Janet had hoped it would be. She hardly remembered the last six months. They were all a blur, probably because she actually had slept through most of it.

When Janet was awake, demanding thoughts kept entering her mind. “Ginny would be better off without you. You know it, and I do too! You know everyone would be better off without you. You are a terrible mother and a horrible wife. People would be a lot happier if you were gone.”

Those weren’t the worst of her thoughts though. The worst was when thoughts of harming Ginny came into her mind. Janet couldn’t stand being around the windows, water, fireplaces, or anywhere near the kitchen because of the images kept creeping into her mind. Something kept telling her how much better Ginny would be if neither of them were alive.

The hardest part for Janet was that she knew these thoughts were not her own. She knew it. Yet, somehow it kept getting harder to distinguish her thoughts from this great “if only” and even it began to be an “only if” thought. Janet felt consumed by these thoughts, as well as controlled by them, because she was slowly losing her sense of reality and her ability to distinguish thoughts that were her own.

What Janet hadn’t realized until Mary had pointed it out was that the thoughts were not going to go away on their own. Or her own. Ginny was six months old, and everything had been getting worse and worse.

Over the next few weeks, Janet focused on exercising and eating lots of protein. She met with the physiatrist, Julie, once a week. What she hadn’t expected, though, was that this whole process would take as long as it was now taking.

Janet had somehow thought that as soon as she met with the physiatrist, all her problems would disappear. What she was now realizing was how much work this was going to take. After all, trying new medication every few weeks and waiting to see if it was the right one for her was taking more patience than she had. Then came the day that Julie insisted on Scott being in one of her sessions.

“Scott,” Julie said, “do you realize the severity of this situation?”

“Sure,” Scott said, thinking Janet confided more in him than this person she had barely met.

“So you know Janet is not allowed to be alone with Ginny? Or with herself for that matter?”

Scott looked at Janet in alarm. “I guess I didn’t realize it was that serious. I thought Janet just had the baby blues?”

“Janet,” Julie said, “I think you better tell Scott what your worst thought has been.”

Janet had begun confiding in Julie more each week. She couldn’t help but be terrified of what would happen next as the great “what if” had been working more and more on her each day, telling her what would happen if Scott found out. “He’ll leave me. I know it, and he’ll take my baby with him.” Janet had recently concluded when deciding not to tell Scott any details.

“Scott, I know that law school starts in just a week. I know you’re planning on moving and that Janet and Ginny will be moving into an apartment on the other side of the state with you,” Julie told Scott. “Only I’m not sure you realize the seriousness of all of this. If you move and go to school like you have planned, Janet will be left home with Ginny all day, not to mention all night, as I’m sure you’ll be spending a lot of time studying. To help you realize how serious this is, I will just tell you now, that should you precede as planned, I will be contacting Child Protective Services, and I doubt you’ll be happy with the results of that. I think I’ll just let Janet take it from here and end today’s session.”

As furious as Janet was that Julie had broken her confidence, she honestly felt a little relieved to not have to hide such a big secret from Scott. After all, she’d never kept secrets from him, not one. But when they got into the car to head home, the relief melted away as Scott spoke.

“Janet, Julie has just asked me to give up an awful lot based on something I didn’t know was such a big deal. I will make the necessary changes, but it’s going to be a lot harder to do based only on what Julie is telling me. I don’t know what to believe. I thought you were just a little down? Can you tell me what your worst thought has been, like Julie asked you to?”

Janet couldn’t fight the tears she’d been holding back any longer. She cried. And cried. And cried. When she was finally had no more tears to cry, she spoke in a very soft voice, “Scott, I’m afraid to tell you for fear of losing Ginny, but the truth is, even if someone does take Ginny away from me, at least she’ll be better off. I only want was best for her.

“You asked for my worst thought, so here it is. Last week, just the day after we’d gone for a walk by the river, I drove back over the bridge and stopped the car. I came so close to putting Ginny in that river, where the water flows the fastest, that it scared me. It scared me so much. I haven’t driven or held her since.”

Scott reached out as Janet fell into his lap and sobbed tears she thought she had no more of. He held her and gently stroked her cheek, wiping her tears as they fell down her face. She continued to describe how long and deeply she’d been dealing with her thoughts of hopelessness that had accompanied her after the birth of her daughter.

Later that night when they returned home, Scott informed the law school of his decision to withdraw. He wanted to take Janet’s suffering away, and realizing he could only ease it, he developed a plan so she would never have to be alone with her thoughts again. He was grateful they had decided to stay with his parents after all and began to realize how important having their help would be.

Janet was surprised at the support she received from both her parents-in-law and from Scott, although she knew she shouldn’t have been. She’d always known they’d be there for her, but hadn’t realized how much sharing her burden would release her from the bitter world she’d been living in since Ginny’s birth.

Scott quit his summer job, just a week shy of his last day, to accommodate they psychiatrist’s orders and be home to care for his girls.

“Thank you for telling me,” he told Janet one night. “I had no idea what you were going through. My only wish is that you had told me sooner. You have been suffering too long.”

“I was so afraid you’d want to get rid of me, the monster who wanted to hurt your baby, so much that I just couldn’t bring myself to. But now I know I was wrong and that you’d never do that. I wish I would have told you sooner, too. Julie says that the longer this kind of thing goes untreated, the worse it can get.”

“Everything is going to be alright now,” Scott said. “I know we still have a long path of recovery, but now that we’re sharing the burden, everything is going to be okay. I’ll always be here for you, and I’d never think of leaving you alone in this. You’re my wife, the mother of my child, and I will always love you. I am sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Looking back now, I guess I should have read the signs.”

“That’s all in the past now, and considering how much I tried to hide it, I don’t see how you could have known,” Janet said. “I just feel bad about you not being able to go to law school like you’d planned. I feel a lot of guilt about everything, and knowing that I made you give up your dream makes me feel even worse. Do you think the law school here would let you in still? I know we turned them down before, and that class would start really soon, but maybe they’d still take you?”

Although Scott didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the health of his girls, upon Janet’s insistence, he finally called the local law school, learning that they were not only willing to allow him admittance, but also to give him the academic scholarship he’d been awarded when he’d been accepted there originally, and they were willing to let him take night classes so he could be home with Janet and Ginny during the day. While his parents, Ben and Emily, both worked during the day, they were both home at night and could take it over the girls’ care after they got home.

While things looked brighter for Janet than they had for several months and her lonesome suffering seemed to be over, the worst was yet to come. As the doctors continued to try for the right medication combination and Janet continued counseling, she continually fought the battle of what was now diagnosed as the postpartum mood disorder postpartum psychosis.

What Janet found interesting was that the professionals she saw never used the term in front of her. Most used some form of the word, “postpartum depression.” It wasn’t until Janet found a website open on the computer that she realized Scott and his parents had been told something she hadn’t.

As she read the content, she was surprised to find her symptoms matching those described on the screen. Words like, “most extreme, rarest, form of postpartum mood disorders” and “losing touch with reality” accurately described her last few months. “Hallucinations, delusions, illogical thoughts, insomnia, refusing to eat, extreme feelings of anxiety and agitation, periods of delirium or mania, suicidal or homicidal thoughts” appeared on the screen.

She continued to stare in shock as she read about how few women speak to someone about their problem and sadly read on to see the tragic consequences that come from women failing to speak up about their symptoms. Stranger to her still was that she didn’t have even one of the qualities that puts a woman at higher risk. Neither her nor any of her immediate family members had experienced any kind of depression, been bipolar, or suffered from schizophrenia.

Janet watched herself in the mirror later that night, remembering how long it had taken her to speak up, and slowly realized that the professionals’ definitions of the sickness met her idea of qualifying someone as crazy or psychotic. Except this time, it wasn’t someone else, and the words hit home. “I am crazy,” she thought, wondering how anyone could stand to be around her.

She was exceedingly grateful for the right diagnosis, though. In her reading, she found a common theme of professionals misdiagnosing the problem as postpartum depression and the subsequent mistreatment that followed. She was sad to realize that she still had a long road ahead of her. According to the article, most women suffer postpartum depression after their postpartum psychosis symptoms have subsided. Realizing the road she had yet to travel, paranoia definitely set in and rated at the top of her list of symptoms.

Janet suddenly felt startled as she thought back to how hard and long the process of getting Ginny into the world had been. “Only moms who don’t want their children have things like this happen to them,” Janet incorrectly thought to herself. “I wanted Ginny so badly. I just don’t understand how something like this could be happening to me.”

Then she remembered what her psychiatrist had said about how actually, most women who work the hardest and want children the most suffer with postpartum mood disorders. “None of this makes sense,” Janet realized as she laid in bed for yet another night of sleeplessness.

Blog Author: This blog author has asked to remain anonymous. All names in this story have been changed. I have two beautiful daughters. I had postpartum psychosis with my first daughter. I have had no postpartum mood disorders at all whatsoever with my second.

For those of you desperately reaching for hope, you will find it. This trial will become a blessing in your life, as it has mine. I am healed. What I have learned from this dark chapter in my life is that “this, too, shall pass.”

I have learned that like any of life’s trials, the only way to make it through is to have faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ. Faith that He will protect you. Faith that He will preserve your child. Faith that Jesus Christ Himself has felt what you are feeling in a way that allows Him to succor you. He is there. Even when you feel your prayers are bouncing off a cement ceiling, never leaving the ground. He is there. He is listening. He will guide you. He will direct you. He will protect you. He will protect your children and watch over them.

If you feel as I felt, unworthy and an enormous amount of guilt associated with the fact that you have this trial in your life, the truth is no matter how righteously you live your life, trials happen. No matter how much you love your child, trials happen. The purpose of life is not to avoid trails. The purpose of life is to let them refine you, as it has me.I am more patient. I am more kind. I am quick to forgive. I know that I have no control over what trials come into my life. I have turned my life over to Christ.

What I can promise you now is that as you put your trust in the Lord and when you feel those worrisome thoughts or unwanted anxiety, push it out of your mind and say, “Let God’s will be done, and His timing also. I don’t need to check if my daughter is breathing. I don’t need to worry she’ll fall out of the window. God Himself is watching over and protecting her. I do my best, and He makes up for the rest. All is well.”

Janet had been waiting years for a baby. Her first three pregnancies had resulted in early miscarriage. Finally, she was pregnant for the fourth time and had only a few weeks before the baby was due. No one could have wanted a baby as badly as she did. But the last thirty-five weeks of waiting had been more stressful than she could have ever imagined. In her mind, she kept thinking that something was going to go wrong. Surely she’d loose this baby just as she had lost each of her previous pregnancies. So she made a conscious effort not to let herself get attached to the baby growing inside of her.

The doctor insisted that Janet, who had been on bed rest since week twenty seven, be induced just as soon as the baby’s lungs were mature enough. In just a few more days, she was scheduled for an amniocentesis. Her bag was packed, she’d crossed everything off her list of what she needed to bring to the hospital.

As Friday came, Janet paced the floor waiting for her husband of three years to get home from school so they could head to the hospital, just a half an hour from their home.

When Scott arrived, Janet nervously handed him her hospital bag and ran one more time to the restroom. The doctor was scheduled to meet them at the hospital to perform the amniocentesis test. He was there on schedule as Janet checked herself into the hospital, providing the necessary paperwork and insurance cards.

Janet was more afraid of the needle than she was of giving birth. However, the test went as planned. She hadn’t eaten all morning though and hadn’t planned on having to stay in the hospital to be monitored. She was surprised when they checked her into a room, and Dr. Moore came in shortly after. They had said they’d only need to monitor the baby for a short time before she could leave the hospital and await the results of the test elsewhere. The results would be in in just a few hours, and Dr. Moore said he wanted to induce her just as soon as he learned the baby’s lungs were mature enough to do so.

Janet, however, was a little confused. She had spent the last few months trying to keep the baby in, and now the doctor was more than a little anxious to get the baby out. She had had to have shots and medication, not only to stop her early contractions, but also steroids shots to help the baby’s lungs mature in case she did deliver early.

Dr. Moore was the best doctor she knew. She had had some terrible doctors before she found him. The first doctor she went to when she was first expecting and was experiencing difficulties had told her it was no more than a urinary tract infection, without even checking the ultrasound. Then she saw Dr. Moore, who cared enough to check the ultrasound, but unfortunately saw her after it was too late to do anything.

“More than likely, you will lose this pregnancy within this week,” he had told her sadly. “But after three miscarriages, most doctors will send you to a specialist. And this will be number three. Next time, we will know what is happening and get it right.”

So Janet truly felt she had fought hard to keep this baby in, and now was weary about letting it out so soon. But, she trusted Dr. Moore, and if he felt that the longer the baby stayed in the more chance she had of something going wrong, she’d trust him. Only she hadn’t expected this. The doctor was in her room with some kind of a noise maker, making sounds on her stomach. When she had asked what it was, he had explained that the baby was not moving or responding since the amniocentesis, and the noise maker would hopefully get her moving around again. Janet had been noticing contractions ever since they finished the test and was a little surprised by their regularity.

Soon enough, she felt the baby jumping around and kicking her in the ribs once more. Dr. Moore released her and said he’d call once he had the test results. The half-hour back to the house seemed unbearable, and Janet didn’t want to wait around at the hospital, so as hungry as she was, she asked her husband if they could go out for a bite to eat.

He took her to a nice Italian restaurant. The nurses had told her that the sooner she got the sterilizing red medicine off, the less likely it would be to stain, so she spent the majority of the time in the restroom with soap and water on a paper towel. One lady had come in and been terribly concerned. After all, here was a pregnant lady with red stuff all over her abdomen.

It turned out that Janet wasn’t as hungry as she thought. She barely had a bite to eat before she lost her appetite from the timely contractions she kept having. Shortly after, the doctor called and confirmed that the baby’s lungs were mature and said that he wanted her at the hospital immediately to start the induction.

When Janet arrived at the hospital that morning, she had considered the probability of delivering that day, but now the reality set in. She could very well be a parent in the next twenty-four hours. When the doctor arrived, he found that her contractions were too regular to use anything too strong to encourage the contractions to continue. He couldn’t use the Cervical, because she was already having to consistent of contractions. So he went with the IV induction liquid and hoped it would do the job.

But the only job it did was put Janet in more pain than she’d remembered ever being in. After twenty-six hours, her contractions were way too hard and close to continue the IV, but she had only dilated to a four. And worst yet, the baby’s heart monitor kept going off.

Janet knew for sure that something was wrong when there were ten nurses in the room, and they had phoned the doctor. When he came in the room, he explained that they’d be performing an emergency cesarean, but was vague on why. Apparently, every time Janet had a contraction, the umbilical cord was being closed off to the baby and her heart beat was dropping below the safety zone.

“Here goes,” Janet thought, “I knew I’d never get to hold this baby anyway, so I guess I prepared myself for something like this going wrong.” She couldn’t hold the tears back, though. Apparently she had become attached to this baby. It was a girl, she knew. She even knew her name. Virginia Rose she’d be called, and Janet had a pretty good idea of what she’d look like too.

No one could have been more surprised than Janet when after only a few minutes of being rushed into the operating room, the doctor held up a little girl, white stuff covering her and screaming like newborns do. Janet looked up at her husband and realized that every minute of what she’d gone through, including the three previous miscarriages, the preterm labor and the bed rest, and twenty-six hours of long labor had been worth it.

She told Scott to please stay by the baby’s side and that she’d be okay. Being a mom was a real thing now. She had waited, and now her dream of being a mother was true. She had reached her goal. But now what?

It didn’t take Janet long to realize that motherhood was not what she expected. She had longed to hold her own baby in her arms for years, but had not envisioned it being like this. Janet had to stay in the recovery room until the doctor okayed her to move into a post-delivery room. But she still hadn’t been able to see her newborn since the doctor had held her up for Janet to see. Thoughts of “what if” ran though her mind as it raced to see what the worst scenario it could come up with was. She kept asking and asking, but none of the nurses seemed concerned about knowing anyone’s condition but hers.

After an eternity of waiting, a pediatrician came in to tell her that her baby was doing fine. “She has low blood sugar, and her oxygen level is low, so we’ll be keeping her in the neonatal intensive care unit until she starts looking better.”

He had sounded promising, but Janet had never experienced anxiety like this. Finally, she begged one of the nurses, who told her she was too weak to get out of her bed just yet, to wheel her bed into the NICU so she could see her baby. Her hospital bed barely fit into the room, but it did. And when she saw the baby, she knew was hers. She couldn’t hold the tears back once more. And just like Scott had promised, he hadn’t left Virginia’s side since she came into the world.

Unfortunately, Janet couldn’t hold Ginny, short for Virginia she’d decided, because of all the monitors and cords she was hooked on to. But she felt better seeing her at least, knowing that everything would be okay, and that was why she was finally able to fall into a deeply needed sleep.

The next day brought most of the same, except the nurses were willing to let Janet hold Ginny and try to nurse her. But Ginny just wanted to sleep. The nurses insisted that Janet try harder, but she ended up only getting frustrated and giving in to the bottle after Ginny had cried and screamed.

“But she needs the first of your milk,” one nurse had said. “There’s nothing that can replace it.”

But her encouragement only made Janet feel like more of a failure. After all, she’d cheated the birthing experience, right? There was nothing natural about being cut open and having the baby pulled out. And she couldn’t tell anyone she’d gone all natural now, like she’d hoped to, because they’d had to give her anesthesia in order to perform the C-section.

Three days later, Janet was still in the hospital. She probably could have been released, but Ginny couldn’t be so what was the point? Ginny had been consistently losing weight. She was born at 5 pounds 11 ounces and now close to 4 pounds. “It’s kind of normal,” the pediatrician had told her. “Just keep trying to breast feed, and if she doesn’t start gaining weight, you’re going to have to go with formula feeding.”

“But I can’t do that,” Janet had told herself. “Cheating birth was bad enough. I have to breastfeed my baby.” So she tried and tried, and no matter what she or the nurses who tried to assist her did, nothing worked.

Janet and Ginny were finally released from the hospital, but Ginny had to come down to visit the pediatrician every day anyway. After another week had passed, and Ginny wasn’t gaining weight, the doctor really put it to her. “Just give her the bottle,” he’d said. And Janet had gone home with lots of bottle food for Ginny, but still feeling like a complete failure as a mother.

“I’ve only been a mom for a week and a half, and look how terrible I am at it!” Janet had confided in her husband later that day. “I can’t feed my own baby, and besides that, I can barely sit up well enough to meet any of her other needs.”

Janet was grateful her mother had been there with her since she’d come home. She seemed to know what to do. After all, she’d given birth to fourteen children.

As the days went by and Janet’s mom had returned home, Janet’s feelings of hopelessness and failure had begun to consume her. She never felt hungry, and when she was alone with her baby, she was more than a little overwhelmed. When Ginny was just two weeks old, Janet had turned to her brother-in-law to watch her so she could go out with Scott alone, even if it was only to the grocery store to get more formula.

After a month, Janet’s realization that motherhood was not what she expected had grown into the theme of her every day. She fed Ginny, changed her, fed her, and then changed her again. Janet had also realized something very strange about herself. She was frightened to give Ginny a bath and to be alone with her at all.

She knew something was wrong, but when she’d asked her mom if she ever felt that way, knowing that if anyone ever had, someone who’d given birth as many times as her mom would have. But her mom had just shrugged and changed the subject.

Janet was counting down the days till graduation, to the time when they’d move back to Scott’s parents’ house for the summer. Fortunately, she’d finished her classes to earn her bachelor’s the month before Ginny was born. After all, there was no way she could have handled school and this baby at the same time.

Virginia was so temperamental. She cried and cried. Janet couldn’t think of a time Ginny wasn’t crying. Janet knew she should be the one getting up and feeding her at night, but she just didn’t have the energy. Scott still had a semester of school left, and she felt guilty every time he’d gotten up with the baby. She also felt guilty about how the minute he’d walk in the door, she’d hand over the baby and run into her room, desperate for a little sleep.

March came and went. Janet went to her six-week checkup and refused to confide in her doctor how she was really feeling. After all, it was probably just the baby blues she’d read about one time. And they didn’t last long. Besides, she had hidden her feelings so well from Scott, whom she’d always confided every detail to before the baby’s birth, so she couldn’t tell her doctor.

It was April now. Graduation day came. Janet and Scott got to walk to receive their diplomas together, hold a luncheon with their families to welcome Virginia Rose into the world, and moved out of their apartment all in one day.

Janet was excited for the first time in weeks to be able come to a home where someone would be with her and Ginny most of the time. They moved into the house with Scott’s parents for the summer to save money for Scott to begin law school in the fall. Scott had found a great job for the summer, and considering they’d already lived there two of the last three summers, there weren’t too many new adjustments to make.

By the time May came along and Ginny turned four months old, Janet realized she wasn’t getting any better. If anything, she was getting worse. “But how was that possible?” she’d asked herself one day.

She knew she needed to talk to someone, but her symptoms had been getting so bad, she dared not confide in anyone. If anyone knew what she was feeling, she knew they’d take Ginny away from her. And Janet loved Ginny. She knew that. She’d gone through too much to get Ginny here to have her taken away. So she kept to herself and put on an excellent facade of being blissfully happy.

She was visiting her sister out of state when everything overwhelmed her all at once. Scott had gone home early to get back to work, but Janet had stayed. “What is bothering you?” Mary had asked. “I know something is wrong. I know you’re not scared of the dark, yet you used that excuse to have someone stay in the guest house with you and Ginny.”

Janet couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I am a failure as a mother. I have thoughts of harming my baby all the time, and I’m so afraid I might actually do it!”

Mary didn’t seem as shocked as Janet had expected. She held her and let her cry and cry. “I didn’t know I had any tears left,” Janet said as soon as she could speak. “I’ve been crying nonstop ever since Ginny was born, and I thought it’d go away. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Fortunately, Mary was in the beginning of medical school and was currently enrolled in a psychology class. “You know, Janet,” she said understandingly, “You’re not a failure, and this is not your fault.”

Mary proceeded to draw a map of the brain and explain the process of serotonin and other chemicals in the brain. “What’s going on with you is a lot like having a broken leg. If you had a broken leg, what would you do? Walk on it until you could walk no more?” Between her sobs, Janet was able to get out that she’d probably go see a doctor.

Even though it was late, Mary convinced Janet to call Dr. Moore and drove her to his office the next day to pick up some medication. Dr. Moore told Janet to start taking the medication immediately, but that she needed to see a psychiatrist as soon as possible. After Janet promised Mary and Dr. Moore that she would, she flew home to her still unknowing husband.

Janet, who’d always been 100% honest with Scott in all the years they’d been married, didn’t understand why she had such a hard time telling him what was happening. So, she put on her happy face and went another month before breaking down and setting up an appointment with a psychiatrist like she’d been told to. She figured that once she had her appointment, she’d have to talk with Scott and so had done her best to avoid it.

When she finally felt ready to talk to him, she left out the major detail of her thoughts and just told him about her lack of energy and appetite. “I just need to talk to someone about it,” she’d told him. Deep down, she knew why she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. “He’ll send me far away. He won’t let me be close to my baby ever again if he knows what I think when I am near her,” Janet had told herself. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t really do that, but the “what if” demon had taken her a long way down the worst case scenario street.

So when she went to her appointment, she didn’t even let him go in with her. She wasn’t 100% honest with the psychiatrist right off either, but fortunately the appointment was worth her visit. Having moved out of state after graduation, Dr. Moore was no longer close by, and Janet hadn’t found a doctor she felt comfortable seeing. Julie, the psychiatrist, scheduled an appointment with an obstetrician to help her start getting her hormones back in balance. She raised the medication Janet was currently on after seeing no benefits from it after six weeks and talked to her about the importance of eating healthy, exercising, and getting enough rest.

Janet knew she was getting more than enough rest, though. The only way she dealt with the thoughts she was having was by putting Ginny and herself down for a nap whenever they were alone, which was more frequent than Janet had hoped it would be. She hardly remembered the last six months. They were all a blur, probably because she actually had slept through most of it.

When Janet was awake, demanding thoughts kept entering her mind. “Ginny would be better off without you. You know it, and I do too! You know everyone would be better off without you. You are a terrible mother and a horrible wife. People would be a lot happier if you were gone.”

Those weren’t the worst of her thoughts though. The worst was when thoughts of harming Ginny came into her mind. Janet couldn’t stand being around the windows, water, fireplaces, or anywhere near the kitchen because of the images kept creeping into her mind. Something kept telling her how much better Ginny would be if neither of them were alive.

The hardest part for Janet was that she knew these thoughts were not her own. She knew it. Yet, somehow it kept getting harder to distinguish her thoughts from this great “if only” and even it began to be an “only if” thought. Janet felt consumed by these thoughts, as well as controlled by them, because she was slowly losing her sense of reality and her ability to distinguish thoughts that were her own.

What Janet hadn’t realized until Mary had pointed it out was that the thoughts were not going to go away on their own. Or her own. Ginny was six months old, and everything had been getting worse and worse.

Over the next few weeks, Janet focused on exercising and eating lots of protein. She met with the physiatrist, Julie, once a week. What she hadn’t expected, though, was that this whole process would take as long as it was now taking.

Janet had somehow thought that as soon as she met with the physiatrist, all her problems would disappear. What she was now realizing was how much work this was going to take. After all, trying new medication every few weeks and waiting to see if it was the right one for her was taking more patience than she had. Then came the day that Julie insisted on Scott being in one of her sessions.

“Scott,” Julie said, “do you realize the severity of this situation?”

“Sure,” Scott said, thinking Janet confided more in him than this person she had barely met.

“So you know Janet is not allowed to be alone with Ginny? Or with herself for that matter?”

Scott looked at Janet in alarm. “I guess I didn’t realize it was that serious. I thought Janet just had the baby blues?”

“Janet,” Julie said, “I think you better tell Scott what your worst thought has been.”

Janet had begun confiding in Julie more each week. She couldn’t help but be terrified of what would happen next as the great “what if” had been working more and more on her each day, telling her what would happen if Scott found out. “He’ll leave me. I know it, and he’ll take my baby with him.” Janet had recently concluded when deciding not to tell Scott any details.

“Scott, I know that law school starts in just a week. I know you’re planning on moving and that Janet and Ginny will be moving into an apartment on the other side of the state with you,” Julie told Scott. “Only I’m not sure you realize the seriousness of all of this. If you move and go to school like you have planned, Janet will be left home with Ginny all day, not to mention all night, as I’m sure you’ll be spending a lot of time studying. To help you realize how serious this is, I will just tell you now, that should you precede as planned, I will be contacting Child Protective Services, and I doubt you’ll be happy with the results of that. I think I’ll just let Janet take it from here and end today’s session.”

As furious as Janet was that Julie had broken her confidence, she honestly felt a little relieved to not have to hide such a big secret from Scott. After all, she’d never kept secrets from him, not one. But when they got into the car to head home, the relief melted away as Scott spoke.

“Janet, Julie has just asked me to give up an awful lot based on something I didn’t know was such a big deal. I will make the necessary changes, but it’s going to be a lot harder to do based only on what Julie is telling me. I don’t know what to believe. I thought you were just a little down? Can you tell me what your worst thought has been, like Julie asked you to?”

Janet couldn’t fight the tears she’d been holding back any longer. She cried. And cried. And cried. When she was finally had no more tears to cry, she spoke in a very soft voice, “Scott, I’m afraid to tell you for fear of losing Ginny, but the truth is, even if someone does take Ginny away from me, at least she’ll be better off. I only want was best for her.

“You asked for my worst thought, so here it is. Last week, just the day after we’d gone for a walk by the river, I drove back over the bridge and stopped the car. I came so close to putting Ginny in that river, where the water flows the fastest, that it scared me. It scared me so much. I haven’t driven or held her since.”

Scott reached out as Janet fell into his lap and sobbed tears she thought she had no more of. He held her and gently stroked her cheek, wiping her tears as they fell down her face. She continued to describe how long and deeply she’d been dealing with her thoughts of hopelessness that had accompanied her after the birth of her daughter.

Later that night when they returned home, Scott informed the law school of his decision to withdraw. He wanted to take Janet’s suffering away, and realizing he could only ease it, he developed a plan so she would never have to be alone with her thoughts again. He was grateful they had decided to stay with his parents after all and began to realize how important having their help would be.

Janet was surprised at the support she received from both her parents-in-law and from Scott, although she knew she shouldn’t have been. She’d always known they’d be there for her, but hadn’t realized how much sharing her burden would release her from the bitter world she’d been living in since Ginny’s birth.

Scott quit his summer job, just a week shy of his last day, to accommodate they psychiatrist’s orders and be home to care for his girls.

“Thank you for telling me,” he told Janet one night. “I had no idea what you were going through. My only wish is that you had told me sooner. You have been suffering too long.”

“I was so afraid you’d want to get rid of me, the monster who wanted to hurt your baby, so much that I just couldn’t bring myself to. But now I know I was wrong and that you’d never do that. I wish I would have told you sooner, too. Julie says that the longer this kind of thing goes untreated, the worse it can get.”

“Everything is going to be alright now,” Scott said. “I know we still have a long path of recovery, but now that we’re sharing the burden, everything is going to be okay. I’ll always be here for you, and I’d never think of leaving you alone in this. You’re my wife, the mother of my child, and I will always love you. I am sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Looking back now, I guess I should have read the signs.”

“That’s all in the past now, and considering how much I tried to hide it, I don’t see how you could have known,” Janet said. “I just feel bad about you not being able to go to law school like you’d planned. I feel a lot of guilt about everything, and knowing that I made you give up your dream makes me feel even worse. Do you think the law school here would let you in still? I know we turned them down before, and that class would start really soon, but maybe they’d still take you?”

Although Scott didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the health of his girls, upon Janet’s insistence, he finally called the local law school, learning that they were not only willing to allow him admittance, but also to give him the academic scholarship he’d been awarded when he’d been accepted there originally, and they were willing to let him take night classes so he could be home with Janet and Ginny during the day. While his parents, Ben and Emily, both worked during the day, they were both home at night and could take it over the girls’ care after they got home.

While things looked brighter for Janet than they had for several months and her lonesome suffering seemed to be over, the worst was yet to come. As the doctors continued to try for the right medication combination and Janet continued counseling, she continually fought the battle of what was now diagnosed as the postpartum mood disorder postpartum psychosis.

What Janet found interesting was that the professionals she saw never used the term in front of her. Most used some form of the word, “postpartum depression.” It wasn’t until Janet found a website open on the computer that she realized Scott and his parents had been told something she hadn’t.

As she read the content, she was surprised to find her symptoms matching those described on the screen. Words like, “most extreme, rarest, form of postpartum mood disorders” and “losing touch with reality” accurately described her last few months. “Hallucinations, delusions, illogical thoughts, insomnia, refusing to eat, extreme feelings of anxiety and agitation, periods of delirium or mania, suicidal or homicidal thoughts” appeared on the screen.

She continued to stare in shock as she read about how few women speak to someone about their problem and sadly read on to see the tragic consequences that come from women failing to speak up about their symptoms. Stranger to her still was that she didn’t have even one of the qualities that puts a woman at higher risk. Neither her nor any of her immediate family members had experienced any kind of depression, been bipolar, or suffered from schizophrenia.

Janet watched herself in the mirror later that night, remembering how long it had taken her to speak up, and slowly realized that the professionals’ definitions of the sickness met her idea of qualifying someone as crazy or psychotic. Except this time, it wasn’t someone else, and the words hit home. “I am crazy,” she thought, wondering how anyone could stand to be around her.

She was exceedingly grateful for the right diagnosis, though. In her reading, she found a common theme of professionals misdiagnosing the problem as postpartum depression and the subsequent mistreatment that followed. She was sad to realize that she still had a long road ahead of her. According to the article, most women suffer postpartum depression after their postpartum psychosis symptoms have subsided. Realizing the road she had yet to travel, paranoia definitely set in and rated at the top of her list of symptoms.

Janet suddenly felt startled as she thought back to how hard and long the process of getting Ginny into the world had been. “Only moms who don’t want their children have things like this happen to them,” Janet incorrectly thought to herself. “I wanted Ginny so badly. I just don’t understand how something like this could be happening to me.”

Then she remembered what her psychiatrist had said about how actually, most women who work the hardest and want children the most suffer with postpartum mood disorders. “None of this makes sense,” Janet realized as she laid in bed for yet another night of sleeplessness.

Blog Author: This blog author has asked to remain anonymous. All names in this story have been changed. I have two beautiful daughters. I had postpartum psychosis with my first daughter. I have had no postpartum mood disorders at all whatsoever with my second.

For those of you desperately reaching for hope, you will find it. This trial will become a blessing in your life, as it has mine. I am healed. What I have learned from this dark chapter in my life is that “this, too, shall pass.”

I have learned that like any of life’s trials, the only way to make it through is to have faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ. Faith that He will protect you. Faith that He will preserve your child. Faith that Jesus Christ Himself has felt what you are feeling in a way that allows Him to succor you. He is there. Even when you feel your prayers are bouncing off a cement ceiling, never leaving the ground. He is there. He is listening. He will guide you. He will direct you. He will protect you. He will protect your children and watch over them.

If you feel as I felt, unworthy and an enormous amount of guilt associated with the fact that you have this trial in your life, the truth is no matter how righteously you live your life, trials happen. No matter how much you love your child, trials happen. The purpose of life is not to avoid trails. The purpose of life is to let them refine you, as it has me.I am more patient. I am more kind. I am quick to forgive. I know that I have no control over what trials come into my life. I have turned my life over to Christ.

What I can promise you now is that as you put your trust in the Lord and when you feel those worrisome thoughts or unwanted anxiety, push it out of your mind and say, “Let God’s will be done, and His timing also. I don’t need to check if my daughter is breathing. I don’t need to worry she’ll fall out of the window. God Himself is watching over and protecting her. I do my best, and He makes up for the rest. All is well.”

The night before you were born, there was so much lightning. It wasn’t raining though, just hot – the hottest night of the year. Sitting on the big blue birth ball, rocking from side to side, I’d rest my head on the hospital bed during the in-between. When a contraction came, I’d sit up, open my eyes and watch the jagged stabs of light through the window as they punctuated the clear, distinct pain in my body.

Later, the white haze of high noon would blur the edges of the clouds. By then, nothing would be clear for me. The pain and the urge to push or not push and the exhaustion and the panic would all run into and over each other, a hot, foggy murk, and I would not know when or if or how you were coming, or what my body was doing, or if both or either of us would survive.

Everyone said it would be a snap. A breeze. A walk in the park. There will be nothing to it, they said. They said, he’ll slide right out. Nothing is like the first one, after that, it’s all downhill. Your body is ready, they said. Your body knows what to do. Your body will take over. You’ve been through it all already.

Everything they said should have been true; but nothing could have prepared me for birthing you.

I cannot say your birth tore me open. My body did not literally tear. Somehow, I managed to expand beyond my own capacity to accommodate not only your body, but also the hands and wrists and forearms of the midwife who reached inside to turn you and free your shoulder from the umbilical cord that had wrapped and twisted its way around you.

And yet, later, I needed to mend.

It’s hard to know what happened to me afterwards, where I went. I thought I knew how to have a baby – how to birth a baby and then how to mother an infant back at home. I’d done it before – I knew how.

But I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know how to handle you, the colic. Who could blame you for being so fussy! You had swallowed so much amniotic fluid, having descended into the birth canal, then waiting there for much longer than you should have. The fluid was in your ears and eyes and belly. You needed to recover from your own birth. You needed to be held all the time, and of course I wanted to hold you, but you have a brother too, and he also needed my love and attention.

It’s not like things ever got That Bad, really.  I was not incapable of joy, because I did laugh and love with you. I could never not get out of bed. I did not want to harm myself or others. I never fantasized about abandoning you or dropping you out of the upstairs window.  I said “no” to many of the criteria on the doctor’s checklist when I finally went, nine months later, to get some medication.

It was hard to describe, other than to say that I didn’t quite feel like myself. But then again, it was hard to know who my “self” was anymore. There was a dark heaviness, an anger and sadness and loneliness. There was a feeling that nothing was wrong, but everything was wrong.

I slept upstairs for months, on the guest futon in my office. I did not know how to be married. I had no space. I felt so empty and hollow and heavy, there was no way anyone could meet me where I was.

It was, and still is, vague and blurry and hard to understand.

Maybe I just needed time to breathe, to mend my overstretched ligaments and allow the holes in my psyche to close back up again, after experiencing what was beyond my comprehension, to replenish the reserves of energy and fortitude that had been used up in birthing you.

Maybe if I had been allowed to stay in the hospital for another day or so I would have been okay. Just some time to collect myself before heading back out into the world where so much would be asked of me.

Maybe it’s because I felt so inept.

Maybe it’s because the only ways I knew to love were suddenly limited by time, attention, and energy.

Maybe it’s because your birth was so difficult, but maybe it’s also because that type of difficulty is not recognized as trauma.

Maybe it’s because I wanted to tell my story – the story of your birth – over and over and over to make sense of it, to find a context, but once everyone knew the basic details – twenty hours of active labor, the cord around your shoulder, no c-section, nine pounds, two ounces, everyone’s fine – they had heard enough.

Maybe I had post-partum depression. Maybe I had a chemical imbalance.

Maybe I just needed help. Everyone had told me – two kids is more like ten kids, the workload increase is exponential, etc., etc. But no one ever said, you will not know how to handle it. You will not know how to love so much, so separately, at the same time, and this not knowing will tear you apart.

Maybe it was simply that I was an almost-forty-year-old woman who spent many long days alone with a toddler and an infant, and I could have used some time to myself.

Maybe it was nothing more than that.

My water broke first. That was a surprise. It hadn’t been that way the first time. Later, I was told that that there is much lore and myth around births where the water breaks before contractions have begun because, contrary to common portrayals on TV, this sequence of events is actually rare.

I had just gotten your brother into the bath and I bent down to kneel beside the tub and there it was, as if the bathwater had overflowed onto the floor. Of course I knew, but I still wanted to be sure. I waited. Soon, there were puddles of amniotic fluid all over the house. We called your grandparents to come for your brother. I stood on the front porch, waving until the car disappeared around the corner into the clear evening light. My heart ached, saying goodbye to an only son, bursting to welcome you.

Back home again when everything was over, I was nostalgic for the hospital. There was a hippie deli down the street, and I missed the tuna sandwich on thick, soft, grainy bread, with tomato and sprouts brought to me on my day of convalescence. I would miss the quiet, the solicitude, and that one night, alone with you, in the bed beside me, swaddled, nursing, as we figured out how to be together with you outside of me.

Afterwards, I wanted to do it again right away, which was crazy, given what I’d just been through. I thought it was the postpartum euphoria, the hormones and dizziness. But the feeling lasted.  I wanted a third. A girl. I felt myself clinging to the hope that I would go through it all again. I knew that if I was going to do it, it was going to have to be now, that I could not make the transition in and out of this space again. I needed to keep the momentum going.  As the months wore on, though, I knew I could not handle more. This was plenty. We were enough.

But first I had to be sad.

I had to be sad that I am not younger. I had to be sad that I didn’t do this sooner. I had to be sad that I’m someone who needs a lot of solitude in order to feel fully whole. I had to be sad that I will never have a daughter, a Violet or Ruby. I had to be sad that your birth marks an ending for me. I had to mourn the loss of possibility, that while it is still technically possible, it is not actually desirable, given our circumstances, our lives, to have more children. I had to actually say the words to myself, “No, I can’t handle more.” And then I had to be sad that I can’t handle more. I needed to be sad that this will be all, and I had to go through all of that to recognize that this is plenty. That you, I, we are enough.

Last time, I had birthed naturally, as I had wanted, but in a traditional hospital, with an O.B. With you, I was going to have a water birth. We had switched OB practices so that I could employ a midwife and use the Alternative Birthing Center and give birth in the giant bathtub. I could labor in water, which was said to be so relaxing and warm and peaceful. Floating took pressure off the joints and alleviated the affects of gravity and you would not be shocked by the sudden change from water to air and I could catch you myself as you slid out.

But the night you were born was the busiest of the year in the birthing wing. Someone said it was because of the lightning, the way it pierced the atmosphere which induced labor. The tub was not available. It’s rare that so many women are laboring at the same time that those who desire the tub suites cannot have them, but as I breathed through my contractions in the triage room, I was told that there was a chance we might not be able to have a water birth.

There was much confusion then, and conferring with various staff members. But I left that to the trusted others to handle, your father and godmother, who were with me in the hospital. I was busy, breathing, focusing, rocking, turning further and further inward in preparation for the work I would do later.

The lightning began to fade as the first signs of daylight appeared in the sky. There was a shift change for the staff, and once my regular midwife showed up, I knew we would be alright. She was taking charge of the situation and said that yes, we could get into the tub room because I had been there longer than the others. I only had to be dilated 5 cm before I could get into the room but that surely that would not be a problem because I had been there all night.

But when she checked, I was only at 2.5 cm, still. I didn’t know why it was taking so long, what was wrong, what I was doing wrong.

Even at this hospital, with all their alternative methods, there were still rules; they followed the standard hospital procedure which allowed no more than 24 hours to elapse between when one’s water breaks and when the baby is delivered. Without amniotic fluid, the theory goes, the baby has no protection from harmful germs and bacteria and is potentially exposed to danger of all kinds.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

5 cm to get into the water, 24 hours without water.

Later, somehow, in the space between trying to return to normal and recognizing that my notion of normal had vaporized – during the time when I tried to show your brother how much I still loved him and how much attention I still had for him, how much I could still dance and romp and play and be silly, and how much it was okay for him to be mad at me for having a baby, and how it was okay for him to not want me to sit next to him, or tuck him into bed at night, all while trying to figure out what would make you happy, not the car nor the stroller nor the bassinet, only my arms, my breast – somewhere in there a part of myself became dormant, as if stunned into stillness. It felt as if nothing within me was growing, and I had shed all the life I had.

I was already a mother when I had you, so your birth was not the dramatic transformation into something else that had occurred the first time. One birth revealed to me how much I was capable of, was for me about capacity; the other illuminated my limitations, where branches can bend no further, the point of breakage. Both showed me to myself. Both were necessary for me to be whole. At the time I did not know that. At the time I did not recognize that anything was growing or alive, that deep underground, my roots were stretching, absorbing nutrients from the rich soil of my life, of our lives together.

By now I’m tired. I’ve been having steady contractions for fourteen hours already. The tub is open. We are moving. We parade down the hall, carrying pillows from home and clothes and bags and cups of coffee and cups of ice. I feel that I’ve earned this and here we are, the large room with the queen sized bed with the flowered spread and oak headboard. The tub. The tub is full of water and waiting for me, for us. Through the window I see the blue sky and white, puffy clouds. Late morning light. I sink into the tub. Getting close to transition now. The contractions are coming quick and hard and I am breathing and the water feels so good, I lay back, rest, so that only my face and the apex of my belly with its protruding navel are not submerged in water. And then I wait. And nothing happens. When a contraction comes, several minutes later, it is weak, and barely a moan escapes my body. I wait some more. It is afternoon now. We’re close to twenty hours now. I’ve gotten to 8 cm and now my contractions have stopped. I’ve reached transition and now I’m going backwards. I am closing back up.

Out of the tub and into the shower. Out of the shower and on to the bed. A walk down the hall. Nipple stimulation to get contractions going. We’ll try a breast pump. This works – the contractions are back and they are quick and hard and we are ready to go and they are in my back now. There is no water inside me and no cushion. I’m having back labor now and I’m on all fours on the bed and I have never had pain so deep and hot that it pushed me to the edge of consciousness. I do not know who I am. I do not know what I am.

Then back in the tub and do I feel pushy now?

I’m not sure; I can try to push but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to push anymore and it’s not time yet. It should be time, but it’s not time yet. We’re not ready yet. Back into the shower and down the hall and back and nipple stimulation and now I feel pushy. I want to push in the tub but that doesn’t work. We’ll try the bed and now the pain the pain the pain. On my back and I am screaming and I can’t take it. I can’t do it any more. I am done. The contractions are too much, it’s too fast now. It’s happening too fast and too slow and it’s not over yet and it should be and out the window is only white haze and my eyes are blurry. The room is flooded with light and I scream into the light it’s too much I’m pushing now. I’m pushing now. My body is on fire and you will be here now.

I am in and out of that place within me that I have never known before, that I will not remember afterwards, that place that allows my body to take over. That place that pushes me out of itself, that is myself. That is fluid. I will need this later. I will want this later. But my moments here are so fleeting I will not know how to come back and this is not a place to return to, only to bring back with me. But there is no time to come back here, like waking from a dream and wanting to remember it before the day begins.

I am pushing now for you to come but you do not come. You move down but then back up and something is wrong. It is not supposed to happen this way. It’s not supposed to be this way. I am to push and you are to emerge but you are not coming out. You have descended. You can’t stay there too long but you stay. Your head is moving now your head is out. Your skull your brain your mouth your eyes are here but now your body is stuck. We’re both stuck. There is nowhere to go because of where you are and where I am and I am done but you’re not out and there is nothing to do but scream and sob and push and breathe and pray and beg to be cut open but they cannot cut because your head is out and the only way out is through me. It’s not supposed to be this way, your body should slide right out now, but there is the cord. The cord is keeping you here, part of my body holding strong to your body, not letting you out and this is when we could die. Like a flash of lightning, I suddenly know, in my bones and skin and fluid and a new kind of scream, that something is very wrong, that you or I or both of us might not survive this. Darkness descends. But now there are the hands and wrists and forearms, reaching in and turning. I don’t know what is happening, only more pain but there you are now you’ve been turned and you’ll slide out now, and I’m pushing and just like that there you are. You’re out. You’re out now and I’m done. My shaking sobbing body is done.

You are quiet. There is no sound from you yet, not yet not yet and I am waiting for you still and I don’t know I don’t know if –

Here you are. You’re on me now, blue and slimy and crying too and mine. You’re here and you’re okay and we both made it we’re both alive and you’re out and both our hearts are beating and you’re fine and you’re here.

Oh my God – you’re here.

Blog Author: Christine Simokaitis. Christine Simokaitis received an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College. Her work is published in Alligator Juniper, Natural Bridge, and in the anthologies Mourning Sickness and Are We Feeling Better Yet? She currently resides in Chicago, Illinois, with her husband and two young sons. She actively writes, teaches, and enjoys life. “Waiting for Elijah” appeared in the Winter 2010 issue of Calyx and is republished here with the author’s permission.

Competition is a good thing; I understood this concept at six years old when I got sent to sit at the wrong side of the classroom. My teacher told my parents that a little humiliation was good to get ahead in her classroom. Her formula was simple. She would divide the classroom into two parts: the “smart children” in one side and the “not so smart” in the other. To top it off, there was the bulletin board where the “smart” students would have their picture posted for everyone to admire.

I spent the first months of first grade sitting in the wrong side of the classroom until one day, I understood what I had to do. My goal became to switch to the “smart” children group by working on assignments faster than the other children, and it worked. Accomplishing this gave me a feeling of control that gave me much pleasure. I aspired to become a strong competitor in everything I did from that day on.

But as I was growing up, aiming to perfection soon turned into an obsession. I learned to control my life in almost everything around me. This brought me plenty of sweet accomplishments, but also deep disappointments when I failed.

Everything in my life was according to plan. In high school, I didn’t allow any social distractions to interrupt my goal to graduate on time, and I did it. In college, I committed to pay for it myself, and I did it as well. I didn’t wanted debt after graduating, so I worked part time and studied part time. Everything was going as planned. In my junior year, I began dating, as planned, and moved in with my boyfriend with the plan to married after I graduated college.

Again, everything in my life was according to plan. Until one day, in my last semester of college, I got pregnant – despite birth control. Of course, being a control freak, I had to fix it. We moved the wedding date and got married before my son was born. Little did I know that my lifestyle of control and planning was coming to an end.

Then, days after my son was born, I realized that parenthood left no room for perfection and control. This thought terrified me.

A few months later, and with not much support with my baby, I began feeling helpless. I began feeling depressed and anxious. I realized that my life had changed forever and was never going to be the same. The control I had over my life was now being driven by my son.

After eleven years, I received my bachelor’s degree from the University of Oregon.

Desperate to gain control over my life, I went back to school and finished the last semester I needed to graduate. Soon, I graduated and became the first one in my family with a college education. This accomplishment gave me some relief.

Unfortunately, after graduation, my life revolved around my son again. The feeling of helpless that I suppressed while I was in school came back. Sleep deprivation and crying became part of my every night routine. I felt that my baby was taking over my life. Feelings of resentment, guilt, and anger invaded me every day and night.

But besides all, I was committed to be the best mother. I decided to commit to solely breastfeed my child, but even this became difficult. I developed milk clots and mastitis. These issues made me a very unpleasant person, but I was committed to breastfeeding. It gave me the control, and it felt good.

I felt like a bad mother, because I had no happy feelings for my baby. One day, a breastfeeding consultant suggested I had postpartum depression after I began crying uncontrollably while she tried to help me with my breastfeeding troubles.

It took me a little bit to accept that asking for help is okay. But I’m glad I did. WellMama, along with cognitive behavioral therapy and parenting classes, gave me the tools to cope with my new life. Now I recognize that my life is never going to be like it was before my baby, but I know that I can make it and be happy.

Blog Author: Briselda Molina. Briselda Molina is married and first-time mama of a beautiful baby boy. She was born in Acapulco, Mexico, but has lived in Oregon since she was fifteen. She graduated from the University of Oregon in 2012 with a bachelor’s degree in journalism. She has freelanced for multiple local print media. Her future goal is to become an educator for the Hispanic community about the importance of a college education. Briselda’s biggest goal is to give her son a college education and raise him to become an honorable man.

I went through a severe perinatal mood disorder after my daughter was born.

I guess it all started when she was being born. Her delivery didn’t go “as expected” – which sounds stupid since one shouldn’t expect anything in particular when giving birth, but somehow I expected my labor to go similar to how my mom birthed my sister and me and how my sister gave birth to my nephew: easy and fast (about five hours).

Five hours into my labor, though, I was still at home, and the midwife didn’t think it was even time for me to come to the birth center. It ended up taking twenty-two hours from the first contractions, which weren’t horrible, but I also didn’t feel like baking a cake or going for a walk like some women do. I threw up about five times and was not a happy camper.

We finally went to the birth center, where my midwife was still not very impressed by the stage I was in. Hours later, I went into the bathtub, hoping it would help, but it actually didn’t bring much relief. After the tub, I was encouraged to walk up and down the stairs a lot, which seemed to increase contractions and was not fun at all. Every time I stopped and the midwife checked how dilated I was, everything slowed down again. By that time, I was pretty exhausted and discouraged. I thought that I should finally be able to get to the pushing stage, since I had been laboring for so long already. But I couldn’t even tell and felt bad that I couldn’t listen to my body. The midwife’s helper encouraged me to try. It must have been a huge waste of energy that I already didn’t have any more.

Sixteen hours after my first contractions, the midwife suggested going to the hospital and hooking me up to an IV with oxytocin to get things going. At that point, I felt like, “Sure! Why not?!” Even though I had wanted to give birth at the birth center.

Once at the hospital, I felt well taken care of and liked the nurses, but the IV didn’t help me that much. I think the contractions felt even worse, but my body was so tired that it just didn’t respond well and still wouldn’t dilate.

I was pretty over everything, so when an epidural was suggested to bring me “three hours of rest, maybe even sleep, and then you push the baby out in ten pushes,” I went for it. Even though I hadn’t wanted to get an epidural before. Another easy change in my “plans.” The relief was amazing. I did feel like a whale that had to be moved around since I of course couldn’t do it on my own any more and also felt pretty hooked up. But everything seemed right at that point. I just wanted the baby out and everything to be over. I ended up not being able to sleep.

After two hours my baby’s heart rate dropped, and all of a sudden things had to happen quickly. We had the choice between vacuum or forceps. I felt lucky not to even hear the word C-section. We decided for the forceps, since the doctor on call that night was very experienced with them.

As it turned out, it was a good decision. The doctor, when checking things out to put the forceps in, discovered that Anna was facing up. I was stunned that my midwife hadn’t figured that out before. But at that point, I was not thinking too much about it. I just wanted the doctor to keep doing what she was doing and my baby to come out. Even though I didn’t feel anything, the whole process of putting the forceps in seemed extremely brutal and violating. Again, I felt very blessed to be taken care of so well and went with the flow, but all in all, it was very traumatizing to me.

I was finally ready to push. Not that I would have known. Being on the epidural, I couldn’t tell anything and had to be told when to push. Without any sensation, pushing was really hard. I didn’t know how to.

I don’t remember how many pushes it took, but I do remember that I actually felt my baby come through with the very last push. That was the best thing about the whole labor, to get that sensation. Even though I must have been glad not to have the enormous pain that pushing brings with it, I did feel like I was missing out.

Then Anna was there. A girl! And since it was all somewhat risky, she got whisked away to make sure she was okay. Apparently, her umbilical cord was wrapped around her twice too. And she didn’t cry or wail immediately. I didn’t actually mind her not being with me immediately. I felt like the right things were being done and that that was the most important thing.

I remember just being so glad that it was over. I wasn’t overjoyed that she was a girl, that she was here, but that it was over.

I was pretty shocked, I think.

While I was being sewn up (I tore three times), Anna was taken care of and by the time I was done, she was brought back and laid upon my chest. The nursing got started right away and went pretty well actually. I was very overwhelmed though.

There definitely wasn’t joy or great love. It sounds horrible, but at the same time, I still feel like that’s okay since we didn’t really know each other.

I was disappointed in the birth – not so much in myself, but in how having had a midwife hadn’t helped matters much. When I had chosen to give birth with a midwife, it was because I had hoped to get more natural help, like natural painkillers, massages during birth for pain. The fact that my midwife hadn’t recognized that my daughter had been facing up meant a big disappointment to me. I guess I felt somewhat cheated that I had to endure way more than necessary and that the midwife should have been able to diagnose my baby being facing up hours before the doctor did. I had been so happy when I found out that the midwife was going to be the one for me that day, since I liked her a lot and she seemed very experienced. So it was very shocking to find out that she had “failed” me.

But my daughter was there and healthy, and I seemed to be healthy, too.

From then on, I couldn’t sleep any more for a long, long time. I didn’t sleep after the birth. I didn’t sleep the next day or night, and so on and so on…

The first day in the hospital was still okay. I felt well taken care of and happy to be catered to. We had the room to ourselves at first.

But after the next sleepless night, things started to go downhill. My anxiety started.

We were sharing a room with another mom and baby, and I felt insecure around them with Anna and anxious to get away. There were a lot of people. I couldn’t sleep. I felt ready to go home and start my new life out of the hospital. I was hoping to feel better and more relaxed once at home.

We had to wait for Anna to pee for a test before we could go home, and it didn’t happen for a long time, only making my anxiety worse.

The drive home was bad. I was so nervous that Anna would wake up and be unhappy and that I wouldn’t know how to calm her down. I knew that a family friend had wanted to come over with food and that totally stressed me out, too. I didn’t want it, but I couldn’t just tell her.

So right after we got home, our friend showed up with her little girl, and it was so hard for me. I was so nervous. I just wanted to be home and show Anna the house, get our dog used to her. I didn’t want to be social. But they ended up staying and having the dinner with us. I felt like I couldn’t take it, but what could I do?

What followed were the darkest moments of my life and a life-threatening time that I am scared  to repeat if I have a second child.

I remember lying awake during those first few nights at home, unable to sleep and thinking that having a baby had been such a mistake! I also couldn’t understand how it could be just so bad. It was not at all how I had it expected to be. Instead of joy, I wanted to run away. I didn’t want to be who I was and feel the way I felt. I kept envisioning me running away, but I had a feeling that it wouldn’t really do the trick, that then I would feel bad wherever I ended up. So I didn’t run away. I felt like everything was so bad, because my pregnancy had gone so well and the nursery was set up so well, that everything had just been too perfect up to then. I kept looking at all the cute stuff and how wrong it felt now. I panicked, waking up at one point from a few minutes of sleep with my heart and thoughts racing.

I was, of course, tired all the time, but at the same time, because of my anxiety, I felt really “wired.” I never even yawned.

One of the books I read about postpartum depression talked about how some women get hospitalized, put on medication, and then sleep for sixteen hours straight. While not sleeping, that’s what I dreamt about. But it was never made an option.

Another thing that seemed really wrong to me then was how everyone told me how good I already looked and how I had lost my pregnancy weight immediately. I would have loved to still be big and not look great if that had meant feeling great instead. I would have traded that for the world. Two weeks after Anna was born, I already fit in my pre-pregnancy clothes. In fact, I was even skinnier than I had been for a long time – “thanks” to my anxiety.

I really do think that my condition wasn’t so much postpartum depression, at least at first, as it was postpartum anxiety. But depression might have resulted from that. I also want to say that I had never been depressed before and actually had always wondered what it would be like and couldn’t imagine it. It just wasn’t me at all. I am usually a positive person that tries to turn things into a positive. Now I have a compassion for and understanding of mental illness that I definitely didn’t have before. I so feel for those people with mental illness now! And I am so grateful that I AM a survivor and got through it. There are so many people that don’t get through, but live with it. That is just terrible.

When I was deep in it, I did not believe that I would ever get better – even though people told me that again and again.

I didn’t understand how people could be so normal. Other people with babies. People that I saw on my walks, that I envisioned having children. I truly thought I’d be doomed forever. I was just so darn uncomfortable the whole time. And I know that no new parent is totally comfortable and that it IS a challenge for every new mother. But my worrying and stressing out just went to a different level.

I felt like there was no way I could be leaving the house for longer than just a little walk on the nearby golf course. I just could NOT understand how you were supposed to do that. What if the baby cried? What if it needed to be nursed? What if it was time to sleep?! Leaving the house was a major stressor.

Going to the birth center on Tuesdays for the weighing and consultation was also a nightmare for me. Seeing all these other moms with their babies and how comfortable and normal they seemed made me feel terrible. I so yearned to be like them! Why wasn’t I like them? Why me? I just wanted to switch it off, whatever “it” was.

But I couldn’t switch it off. And I felt guilty all the time. Somehow everything was intertwined, and one thing I felt bad about led to the next and it snowballed out of control.

There were many factors that played into my feeling the way I did. I do think the hormone changes must have played a huge role. But there were so many others that might have contributed. We had just moved from a really nice house with a big yard where I spent many hours outside gardening into a really dark basement apartment surrounded by huge trees.

I felt like I was living in a cave. The lack of natural light and not being able to see the sun or the sky was bad news. You do spend a lot of time inside with a newborn, and I felt like I was stuck in the middle of the earth. Every time I came back from a walk, I felt like I was retreating into an animal den. To some people that might sound cozy, but to me it sounded horrible. Since we didn’t own the house, we couldn’t change the fixed lights or put in a window. We got a Happy Light, but back then I didn’t believe it would make a big difference so I never sat in front of it.

I wasn’t planning on going back to work soon, and my husband was only making a tiny amount of money. All of sudden, our financial situation completely freaked me out! We had a pretty good set-up for a baby, we had thought, but once we came home with Anna, there were so many more things we had to buy: all the diapers, preemie clothes since she was quite tiny, a lot of pads for me. The whole thing stressed me out so much all of a sudden.

What also stressed me out tremendously were all the things that were recommended for a new mom to do. You were supposed to rest, but to exercise at the same time. To do Kegels. To do sitzbaths. Cuddle naked with the baby. Do baby massage. All that sounds great, but Anna didn’t like to be held or cuddle with us naked in bed. Her not wanting to be held a lot and squirming off me when trying to do the skin-to-skin bonding didn’t help my stage at all. It made me feel unable and that she didn’t like me. Instead of helping us bond, it caused more misery. Later on, I did actually do the massaging a few times, and she did like that a lot.

Every book I had and everyone I talked to gave different advice on things that stressed me out. It was too much. My anxiety was so bad, my constant worries bad. I couldn’t make any decisions, since I was so confused and torn by different opinions and advice. I just couldn’t trust my own judgment. How, when I felt like a total loser?!

The second day at home was when I thought I had the “classic” Baby Blues day. My milk came in, and my boobs were enormous and hard and tight and ached. I was stressed and worried. And then I pooped my pants! I was nursing Anna and felt like I needed to go, but I couldn’t hold it. I just felt so miserable and out of control. I felt like I didn’t know how to do things right and that I did everything wrong. I struggled with everything I was supposed to do, and maybe I tried too hard. I thought if I just do things the way someone else says they are supposed to be done, then everything will get better.

But it was so confusing, and I just had no feeling. There was no natural flow. Just worries and stress, and the guilt from feeling like such a failure and a burden.

All the people that “needed” to be called and that wanted to see Anna were stressing me out, especially since I we couldn’t tell them great news – the way “it’s supposed to be” when there is a new little one.

Once I started seeking help, all the different appointments stressed me out. With the midwives, lactation consultants, eventually with a counselor and a psychiatrist.

My aunt that was living in the same house with us was the first one that showed concern for me and mentioned the words “postpartum depression.” She noticed how I was such a different person. Before I had always been a happy, outgoing person. Cheery. Enjoying life. All that was gone. I felt so miserable and wanted to push a button to change that, but that’s not how it works. Very often, I thought of getting myself hospitalized, because I just couldn’t take it any more. But it was never mentioned as an option by any one, so I didn’t pursue it.

My aunt mentioning postpartum depression made me start researching and making phone calls. Fortunately for me, I was not acting like a normal new mom and didn’t try to hide that. I did want to find help. Desperately.

The getting help caused anxiety too, though. The birth center offered help, but only so much. When you called, you had to be called back. But after two weeks and many talks, it was strongly advised to take medication and try Zoloft. It was also then when my milk supply dropped severely from everything that was going on. Of course the midwifes and lactation consultants wanted me to keep nursing. They did offer a lot of help with that, and I ended up taking a pump home and trying to get my supply back up.

But it just didn’t work out for me. The constant nursing and pumping with no results was way too stressful and counterproductive. I finally gave up. I figured that with me wanting to try the Zoloft, it would be okay. I wasn’t that sold on nursing and taking Zoloft, since there are a lack of studies. But it was really, really hard to make that decision. I felt so guilty. And nursing – when it stilled worked well and I had enough milk – seemed like the only thing to me that I could actually do right for my daughter, whereas with everything else I felt so incompetent.

As much as I appreciate the help from the birth center, it didn’t make it easy for me to stop nursing and to feel less guilty. Maybe sometimes they try too hard to make moms nurse, when it would be better in the end for them not to. Anna is and has been an extremely happy and healthy baby. She has only been sick a few times and never for very long. I know a lot of nursing moms whose babies got sick all the time, sometimes severely. I can say now that Anna did turned out just fine, that formula is not that bad. Back then thought, it was a hard thing to decide.

But bottle feeding also – surprise, surprise – stressed me out! It seemed like a mission to me. How was I supposed to know how much formula to prepare? I couldn’t believe that there wasn’t more advice on bottle feeding. I called one postpartum doula that was recommended to me and left her a message that I really would appreciate help with the bottle feeding, but I never heard back from her. I felt that was a slap in the face, that I, a bottle feeding mamma instead of nursing one, didn’t deserve her attention. It got better though. And I did try to tell myself that I did well by having at least nursed Anna the first two weeks.

I talked to other doulas though, and I have to say that I appreciate their compassion tremendously. I also talked to the Baby Blues Connection and several of their volunteers. Talking to people who had been there themselves somewhat helped me. They were really nice and, like so many others, tried to convince me that things would get better. I just couldn’t believe them.

The counseling stressed me out too. Not just the numerous appointments, but I also wasn’t sure whether I liked her or not. Everyone told me that it was so important to get the most out of it, but I just couldn’t tell one way or the other.

The first counselor did her best. She made me aware of the tunnel vision that I was having. Like our dark apartment. We still live in the same apartment and it’s still dark, but I don’t notice it the same way anymore. I am not saying I like it, but back then it was all I saw when I was home. Since we couldn’t afford another place though, we couldn’t move and that fueled my depression.

I did figure out that a counselor you like is a good thing. When the first one went on vacation, I ended up with a replacement. Since I felt more of a connection with her, I just stayed with her – of course feeling guilty for having left the first one. The new one was a registered nurse and could prescribe my medication, which to me made a lot more sense than seeing both a counselor and a psychiatrist.

The first medication that really helped me was the Lorazepam that one of the midwives prescribed the same day she did the Zoloft. I still call it a wonder drug and wish it wasn’t so dangerous. I remember taking it in the car after getting it from the pharmacy on our way home and feeling a little peace for the first time. Even my husband noticed immediately. The whole time I took it, I was reluctant to since I knew that it was likely to make me dependent if I were to take it for a long time. I was extremely horrified of that. But it worked so well. Because I was so afraid of taking it, I didn’t take it that much. Sometimes my husband had to pretty much force me to take it when things got too much out of control.

I remember one time in the kitchen where I was just so afraid of everything. Our situation being the way it was, me not getting better, me not believing that I ever would get better again. I got pretty hysterical, and my husband made me take Lorazepam. It helped so quickly, and I was glad for having taken it.

Unfortunately, I was still having big trouble at night, even with Lorazepam. Insomnia was a huge factor in my postpartum depression. Even with the strong doses of sleeping pills and the Lorazepam, I would only sleep for one short stretch at a time each night. It was horrible.

My husband was feeding Anna at that point, and I was trying to sleep in a different room so the situation couldn’t have been set up better. Realizing that I may be able to sleep better at night after I stopped nursing was a big factor for me when I decided to give up on it. But that really didn’t happen at all. I just felt like I was going crazy at night.

I remember one night in particular where I was so afraid that my brain wires were being burnt through and that I would be a nut case for the rest of my life. I really don’t remember what else I did in all these hours that I was trying to sleep, other than feeling like I was losing it.

Sometimes my husband and I would go for walks in the middle of the night. Anna would be in her sling (that she didn’t like during the day, but tolerated at night on my husband’s body under his jacket), and we would walk on the nearby golf course with our dog. My husband thought we needed to tire me out to help me sleep. Of course, that didn’t do anything. I just hated it.

I remember the foggy nights, the wet grass, the stillness of everything (which was how I felt my life was like), me dragging on behind my husband, being so exhausted and wanting to sleep. I didn’t care where we were walking on the golf course. I really was just dragging on. I remember wanting to curl up on the ground and just give up. I remember getting mad at my husband and wanting to hit him from behind. I remember being jealous that Anna seemed so comfortable in the sling with him.

Even though I contribute the golf course with my getting better since I went for walks on it during the day, too, I hated it for a long time.

Yes, I was suicidal. It seemed like the only solution. Since things didn’t get better for quite a while, and the bad times when things were getting better were so bad, it seemed like the only thing to do to escape the misery. I did hate thinking of it and considering it, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t make any real plans, but accepted the fact that it had to happen. And I had never, ever understood in my old life how people could do it. And then I knew just how they came to do it.

When I talked, mostly cried, to my husband about it, he started crying, too. That was the worst. He seemed so strong and positive the whole time, like I really would get out of it, but when I mentioned suicide, he would finally lose it. That’s when I always felt like I HAD to hang on and not do it. I had to wait. For him, for my parents and sister, for my friends, but mostly for my husband and my parents. A little bit for my daughter, too. But back then I didn’t know her at all, and I actually felt like she’d be better off without me.

The Zoloft took about six weeks to start working: a long, long time when every second seems like an eternity. I started with a low dosage and worked my way up, eventually peaking at 150 mg. I stayed on that dosage for about eight months. Even though it took so long to show any effects, I felt grateful that it turned out to be the right medication. I was scared that it wouldn’t be and that I’d have to find another one that would take another six weeks to do anything.

Almost fifteen months after my baby was born, I was off the Zoloft and so proud. Back then, I couldn’t imagine how I would live without it. It just didn’t make any sense to me that I needed it so bad then. And then later I wondered how I would be able to function without it again. This proves to me that a big part of the postpartum depression are the hormones. They do straighten themselves out again, but I also believe that it’s a cocktail for things that played into my postpartum depression.

The second week after Anna was born, my mom came over from Germany. Even though I have a very supportive and loving extended family in the states, I did miss not being with my own family and also getting the “German-style” support: like a midwife visiting you daily for weeks after your baby is born. In my desperate and confused state, I couldn’t wait for my mom to come and hoped everything would get better once she was there. I cried hard when she and I finally embraced. It is always a very emotional situation, when the new mom sees her mom after having delivered a baby, and then especially when the baby is a girl herself!

But my mom, even with all the support she offered while she was here, couldn’t help me with the postpartum depression. Instead it was hard for me to have her here in my miserable stage. Even though having her to talk to and share my worries with was a great relief, I hated worrying her with it and having her see me in the state I was in. She had looked forward to spending a week of joy here after her granddaughter was born. Neither my mom nor my sister had gone through postpartum depression. But now she wouldn’t sleep at night either, and I could only imagine how hard it would be for a mom to see her daughter go through something like I was going through.

Since she knew me so well though and had never experienced me depressed or anxious like this, it was hard for her to believe that my case was as severe as it was. I guess part of her just wanted to hang on to the belief that I would get out of it soon and that I was just having a little bit of a harder time than the average new mom. She kept saying how it is hard for every new mom. And I kept saying how I believed that, but how I was really convinced I was having more of an issue.

The whole situation peaked when her flight back neared, and she realized it really was more severe. Her best friend’s husband is the head of the OBGYN department at a German hospital, and she talked to him several times. He urged her for me to seek serious help. She and I weren’t sure what to do. She was ready to cancel her flight and stay, but I wasn’t sure that would be helpful. So there was another situation where I didn’t know what to do, how to decide. It was extremely stressful and heart-breaking for both of us. Finally, my husband convinced me that we should go through this as a couple, a new family.

It was very hard to send her home. I felt so bad for her. Again, I could only imagine how hard it must have been for her, and I didn’t want her to suffer. I definitely felt very guilty for making so many people that cared for me hurt so bad.

One of the things that was actually positive about the whole experience was to see how many people do care for me and wanted to help. It was very refreshing. The only problem was that I didn’t know how they could help me. There really wasn’t anything I could think of! I hated that. I knew I didn’t want anyone to help with Anna, since I felt so incompetent with her already and wanted to get any opportunity to bond more with her. My aunt kept offering to baby sit, and I would turn her down. During the day I wouldn’t let my husband do anything with her just so I would feel more bonding with her.

So what did help me get better?

Who knows for sure. There are some things I am pretty sure of that they did. Others are only guesses. The Zoloft definitely helped. Sometimes the sleeping pills helped, and sometimes they didn’t. My hormones leveling out helped. Time helped. New friends with new moms helped, and knowing that people were there for me. Finding a new hobby helped. I joined the YMCA to do yoga and enjoy the sauna. I started sewing and absolutely fell in love with it. For me, a person who thrives on productivity, sewing was a great boost for my self-esteem.

Routines also helped. After putting Anna on a routine, I felt so much more in control of the day and knew what to expect. I knew when I could run errands with her in a stage that she would be happy. The not knowing what to expect at first was a huge factor in my postpartum depression. Putting Anna on a routine and making our life together more predictable was huge.

Also, I had my own routines. I planned out all my days in advance, so I wouldn’t fall in holes. I would have a friend over every Wednesday for lunch, and we’d try to knit together. On Fridays, I would always go walking in the morning. On Tuesdays, I would go hiking in the morning with another friend at Mt. Pisgah. And so on. Later on, we took our aunt up on her offer to baby sit and went out every Tuesday night.

A very supportive husband that believed in me and never judged me was also instrumental in me getting better. He understood I had a medical condition and not a stage I chose to be in.

Plus, once my daughter got older, I found it a lot more fun to be a mom. The interaction started and helped me a lot to enjoy mothering more.

The counseling may or may not have helped. Once I saw the second counselor that I liked, I started to enjoy going, and it made me feel better about myself.

I also recommend the book The Mother to Mother Postpartum Depression Support Book by Sandra Poulin.

I am very glad there is a support group in Eugene now. There wasn’t when I went through postpartum depression, and I missed that. I really hope it’ll do a lot for everyone that seeks help there.

I want to be available to women that think they might benefit from talking with me. I would do anything to rid the world of postpartum depression, but unfortunately I feel like it is just something some women have to go through. But with help it can be a shorter ride!

Thanks for reading my story and hopefully becoming more understanding of this illness.

Blog Author: Kerstin Lind. Kerstin Lind, originally from Germany, is a stay-at-home mom who has been living in Eugene for more than nine years. She has two young girls. Kerstin loves snow, mountains, skiing, hiking, gardening, sewing, cooking, her dog, her family, and the fact that she is still alive. She went through postpartum anxiety with both her daughters, but the anxiety wasn’t as severe with her second as it was with her first. Among other things, having one child already to be there for and having gone through anxiety before helped her the second time. Kerstin is very, very glad that she can help others going through similar experiences.