(no subject)
Brooke Shields called her book Down Came the Rain. If I wrote one, it would have to be called, Along Came the Bus.
And it ran me over. Actually it drove through my living room window, ran me over, backed up and ran me over again. Post partum depression is no joke, y'all.
I was fine for the first week after we brought him home. I had help, I was getting decent sleep, I was still happy. Then the next weekend things changed. I'm well acquainted with anxiety and depression having been medicated for both since I was 19. Went off the meds for the pregnancy and didn't do too bad. I wasn't great, but I wasn't the trainwreck I thought I'd be. So I didn't immediately return to the meds when I had the baby. Bad move.
On a Sunday, I noticed that I wasn't feeling right. There was still a rational part of my brain left saying "this is not good." By Monday, that rational part was drifting further away. Monday night I had the mother of all panic attacks in the middle of the night - all triggered by him crying. I stayed awake all night just trying to manage the constant influx of adrenaline and trying not to throw up. Tuesday morning, I called my mom to come and stay with us all day. It's safe to say that the rational part of my mind was gone at that point.
For most of the day, I refused to hold him or feed him. I laid on the couch totally numb. It was that day that I realized I hadn't eaten in three days. It's not a good thing when two days before your baby is two weeks old, you are already two pounds under your pre-pregnancy weight. At some point that afternoon, I lost the ability to talk. My husband came home from work, conferred with my mother, called the doctor and the next thing I knew I was being put in clothes and put in the car. I vaguely recall saying "no, I don't want to go" as my husband told me we were going to the emergency room at the suggestion of my doctor.
Long story short, the car ride functioned as a nice wake up call and I started to get some function back. I was evaluated and sent home with instructions to get some sleep and get back on my meds. The counselor I met with was largely useless - I think I know more about how anxiety disorder works than she does - but the conversation with her was helpful in that it forced me back into a functional state. Explaining what was happening to me forced me to process it and in a way take control.
My mom stayed with me all that week, feeding me and getting me some rest while she took care of the little guy. I knew I was getting better by the end of the week when I started to get annoyed with her telling me what to do and began to fight back. That week helped me readjust my expectations. At the beginning of that week, I had a list of about 50 things I was going to do that day. By Thursday, my goal was to eat three meals and take a shower. Much more doable.
So last week was my first full week by myself with my baby. We did well! No more panic attacks. We've had a few outings. We're getting into a routine. The meds are working and I'm getting myself together.
I just wish I hadn't been so dumb. I should have gone straight back on the meds right after he was born. I guess we live and learn.