My PPD Story
I've never been very open about my struggles with Postpartum Depression, but I realized my story may help someone, so I decided to write out what I have dealt with since my daughter was born. I wasn't diagnosed for a long time, although I think deep down I knew I was suffering with PPD from the beginning. I tried to get help, and I feel like everyone I saw failed me terribly.
I suppose I should have known all along that I'd deal with PPD, but I really didn't want to admit it. I have a family history of depression and possibly other mental illness, personal history with anxiety, perfectionist tendencies, thyroid disease. Plus, the most obvious one - my sister was killed by a hit-and-run driver while I was in labor with Andrea. We didn't tell the hospital staff when we checked in and they asked us a million questions about anything even remotely pertinent to my care, but in hindsight we probably should have. They may have sent someone in to talk to me about PPD preemptively.
The first week of Andrea's life was a strange mix of caring for a newborn and dealing with both emotional and practical aspects of my sister's death. We created a web site to share pictures and details about funeral and memorial arrangements. I couldn't go to either service, because they were out of state and I didn't feel like I could fly with Andrea when she was less than a week old and had serious jaundice, and while we were still figuring out breastfeeding. People called and sent cards with well wishes on our new baby, and condolences on our loss. Several well-meaning people chimed in about whether or not they thought I should travel to the funeral. I honestly don't know how I made it through the first week alone.
At my 6 week postpartum visit with the midwife, she didn't do any screening for PPD and I didn't it up. But as I was walking out, she complimented my diaper bag and asked where I got it. I said it was a gift from my sister. She then made a joke about me not being angry her after such a nice gift, and I told her my sister actually died the day Andrea was born. She was taken aback, but didn't really know what to say, other than that she would pray for my family. She probably should have dragged me back into the exam room and talked to me about PPD, but instead I went on my way.
A month later, I felt like I should get my thyroid checked, since I had thyroid disease for years that so far had not needed medication, but I had been told I was high risk to develop issues after pregnancy. At 10 weeks postpartum I saw my GP for a thyroid test and referral to the endocrinologist. Over the course of the next month, I saw my endo twice, another endo for a consult once, and was diagnosed with significant hyperthyroidism and put on PTU to control my thyroid. It went from being mildly annoying to unbearable within a week, which is why I saw my endo twice. The hyperthyroidism sped up my metabolism so much that I felt like I was constantly running a marathon. My heart would pound and I would get out of breath or lightheaded just from going from sitting to standing, and I was sweating profusely. It was also summer in Atlanta, so of course I was hot, but I was so hot, a few times I had to call my husband to take our baby because I just couldn't even hold her I was so sweaty and miserable.
My emotions were all over the map. I would be perfectly happy one minute and miserable the next. My husband actually called his younger sister and bought her a plane ticket to come out and stay with us for a little while to give me a hand and keep an eye on me. He had already taken a lot of time off from work to help me with Andrea and deal with my sister's death. His sister got to see first hand what a mess I was. I would be perfectly happy when Andrea was nursing or sleeping or laying around being cute, but if I had trouble getting her to nap or anything didn't go smoothly, I would totally lose it. I would throw myself on the couch or the floor, bawling and screaming that I hated my life. I finally decided I should see someone about everything I was going through, and I made an appointment with a psychologist. I didn't know if what I was dealing with was normal grief stuff, symptoms of my hyperthyroidism, PPD, sleep deprivation, or something else. He was no real help. I went to two appointments then didn't go back, because he basically just said that newborns are hard work and it would get easier, then he wanted to delve into all kinds of family dynamics relating to my sister's death.
A month later, I was still miserable, and feeling really incapable of controlling my anger and sadness, so I went to see another therapist who was recommended by a friend. I got almost the same response from him as the previous psychologist, except he added the horrible advice that I should stop breastfeeding exclusively because that was making things harder on myself than necessary. I tried to explain that breastfeeding was the only thing I felt really good about, but he just saw it as a nuisance. I blew him off, and I sort of just gave up with getting help. I figured I was just a crappy mom who couldn't deal well with the challenges of motherhood. Andrea was 5 months old at this point. I joined the local MOM'S club looking for some more adult interaction and something to do with Andrea during the day, because I did feel better when I went out or did something. Sometimes when I was having a bad day, I would just plop Andrea in the car and we would go to Target and just wander the aisles to calm my nerves.
Two more months went by and I felt like I still needed help though. I made two appointments - one with a psychiatrist and one with another psychologist, someone who I'd seen years before. I brought Andrea with me to the psychologist appointment, and he said he could see how much I loved her and how happy she made me, so it didn't seem like PPD. He just gave me some tips on changing my outlook and getting out of a pattern of negativity and more self-help sounding crap. It was useless and I never went back. I cried on the way home, wondering why nobody could understand how out of control I felt at times. Then I went to the psychiatrist. He took a long family history and talked to me about what I'd been feeling. He reached the conclusion that I had bipolar disorder and was rapid cycling. He suggested I go on Lamictal, but wasn't sure if it was breastfeeding safe. In researching bipolar disorder and Lamictal's safety for nursing moms, I decided that I definitely was not bipolar. I think the doctor focused on the fact that I called my outbursts of anger "episodes". I went back for a follow up with him a month later, but felt better at that point, because it was after the Christmas holidays and I felt pretty good when all my family was around.
Eventually Andrea was almost 10 months old, and I was still losing my cool when she wouldn't sleep or if she was crying and I didn't know why, or if anything else didn't go the way I wanted. I knew something had to change. I finally decided I wanted to just try an anti-depressant to see if it would help. I completely gave up on getting help from anyone in the mental heath profession*, so I found a new GP, and made an appointment. He checked my thyroid, which had normalized, so I could stop the PTU I had been taking. I also brought up the subject of PPD, and immediately started crying trying to explain how I'd been feeling. He reassured me that I shouldn't have to feel that way and it sounded like I could benefit from an anti-depressant. He initially recommended Prozac, but I requested Zoloft after researching on Kellymom.
I think I felt better just leaving the office, knowing that I was finally getting real help. I started taking the Zoloft before bed, and within just a few days I felt significantly better. I would still get frustrated but it didn't escalate to anger like it would before. I had a headache at first while my body adjusted, but that was my only side effect I think. My libido may have taken a slight hit as well, but with a baby who still doesn't sleep through the night, I'm really too tired and distracted to notice unfortunately. I also started doing some research on PPD and anger, and I found some threads at mothering.com, where mothers described feelings of irrational anger that turned out to be PPD. All of a sudden, I felt like I wasn't alone, and like I may have actually figured out what was wrong. I told my husband a week or two later that I was so glad the doctor prescribed me Zoloft, because I decided that I really needed to be on medication. His response was, "Well, we *all* knew that." I was so embarrassed and frustrated! If everyone knew I needed something, why didn't anyone insist I find a doctor who would help. Instead I felt like I was battling this all alone, trying to figure out what was wrong with me and what I needed.
I don't know why I resisted a PPD diagnosis for so long. Part of me really wanted my issues to be something other than PPD. I wanted to blame my thyroid or the lack of sleep or something, rather than admit I really had PPD. The images I had of depression were of people curled up on the couch crying all the time, like on the commercials for anti-depressants. Sure, I cried, but more often I screamed and yelled and and slammed doors. I broke hangers, a toy, a plate... But when I wasn't angry, I was basically happy and everything was fine. It was nothing like what I thought depression was supposed to be. Yet I had a nagging feeling it might be PPD, so I kept researching it and taking screening tests. The screenings never said I had PPD, but I think that may just be the way in which I interpreted the questions, and also the fact that anger was my overriding issue. I also felt guilty about having to take thyroid medicine and was nervous about taking yet another medicine while breastfeeding. Plus, I felt like I didn't need something all the time - just when I could tell I was angry. But I had no idea if a medicine like that even existed, or what it would be. But finally starting on the Zoloft was the best thing I've done for myself in a long time. It made a world of difference. I sometimes still have bad days, or freak out about something when I feel like I should have been able to keep my composure, but it's sooooo much better than it was before. I've now been on Zoloft for 6 months, and have considered weaning from it, but I don't think I'm really ready yet. In fact, on particularly trying days (hello, 1 year molars!) I feel like maybe I need to see about a higher dosage. But for the most part, I feel like a whole new woman since finally recognizing I had a problem and getting proper help.
* If you read this whole story, it will sound like I am very against the mental health profession, but I'm not. I think I just had a string of bad luck with finding the right doctor. But I included those details, because I think it's important to know that just because a professional says you DON'T have PPD, doesn't mean you don't still have a real problem that needs to be addressed. I kept telling myself, "If I had PPD, one of the therapists I've seen would have noticed by now." But now I think that they all missed it, since maybe my PPD wasn't the typical variety.
I suppose I should have known all along that I'd deal with PPD, but I really didn't want to admit it. I have a family history of depression and possibly other mental illness, personal history with anxiety, perfectionist tendencies, thyroid disease. Plus, the most obvious one - my sister was killed by a hit-and-run driver while I was in labor with Andrea. We didn't tell the hospital staff when we checked in and they asked us a million questions about anything even remotely pertinent to my care, but in hindsight we probably should have. They may have sent someone in to talk to me about PPD preemptively.
The first week of Andrea's life was a strange mix of caring for a newborn and dealing with both emotional and practical aspects of my sister's death. We created a web site to share pictures and details about funeral and memorial arrangements. I couldn't go to either service, because they were out of state and I didn't feel like I could fly with Andrea when she was less than a week old and had serious jaundice, and while we were still figuring out breastfeeding. People called and sent cards with well wishes on our new baby, and condolences on our loss. Several well-meaning people chimed in about whether or not they thought I should travel to the funeral. I honestly don't know how I made it through the first week alone.
At my 6 week postpartum visit with the midwife, she didn't do any screening for PPD and I didn't it up. But as I was walking out, she complimented my diaper bag and asked where I got it. I said it was a gift from my sister. She then made a joke about me not being angry her after such a nice gift, and I told her my sister actually died the day Andrea was born. She was taken aback, but didn't really know what to say, other than that she would pray for my family. She probably should have dragged me back into the exam room and talked to me about PPD, but instead I went on my way.
A month later, I felt like I should get my thyroid checked, since I had thyroid disease for years that so far had not needed medication, but I had been told I was high risk to develop issues after pregnancy. At 10 weeks postpartum I saw my GP for a thyroid test and referral to the endocrinologist. Over the course of the next month, I saw my endo twice, another endo for a consult once, and was diagnosed with significant hyperthyroidism and put on PTU to control my thyroid. It went from being mildly annoying to unbearable within a week, which is why I saw my endo twice. The hyperthyroidism sped up my metabolism so much that I felt like I was constantly running a marathon. My heart would pound and I would get out of breath or lightheaded just from going from sitting to standing, and I was sweating profusely. It was also summer in Atlanta, so of course I was hot, but I was so hot, a few times I had to call my husband to take our baby because I just couldn't even hold her I was so sweaty and miserable.
My emotions were all over the map. I would be perfectly happy one minute and miserable the next. My husband actually called his younger sister and bought her a plane ticket to come out and stay with us for a little while to give me a hand and keep an eye on me. He had already taken a lot of time off from work to help me with Andrea and deal with my sister's death. His sister got to see first hand what a mess I was. I would be perfectly happy when Andrea was nursing or sleeping or laying around being cute, but if I had trouble getting her to nap or anything didn't go smoothly, I would totally lose it. I would throw myself on the couch or the floor, bawling and screaming that I hated my life. I finally decided I should see someone about everything I was going through, and I made an appointment with a psychologist. I didn't know if what I was dealing with was normal grief stuff, symptoms of my hyperthyroidism, PPD, sleep deprivation, or something else. He was no real help. I went to two appointments then didn't go back, because he basically just said that newborns are hard work and it would get easier, then he wanted to delve into all kinds of family dynamics relating to my sister's death.
A month later, I was still miserable, and feeling really incapable of controlling my anger and sadness, so I went to see another therapist who was recommended by a friend. I got almost the same response from him as the previous psychologist, except he added the horrible advice that I should stop breastfeeding exclusively because that was making things harder on myself than necessary. I tried to explain that breastfeeding was the only thing I felt really good about, but he just saw it as a nuisance. I blew him off, and I sort of just gave up with getting help. I figured I was just a crappy mom who couldn't deal well with the challenges of motherhood. Andrea was 5 months old at this point. I joined the local MOM'S club looking for some more adult interaction and something to do with Andrea during the day, because I did feel better when I went out or did something. Sometimes when I was having a bad day, I would just plop Andrea in the car and we would go to Target and just wander the aisles to calm my nerves.
Two more months went by and I felt like I still needed help though. I made two appointments - one with a psychiatrist and one with another psychologist, someone who I'd seen years before. I brought Andrea with me to the psychologist appointment, and he said he could see how much I loved her and how happy she made me, so it didn't seem like PPD. He just gave me some tips on changing my outlook and getting out of a pattern of negativity and more self-help sounding crap. It was useless and I never went back. I cried on the way home, wondering why nobody could understand how out of control I felt at times. Then I went to the psychiatrist. He took a long family history and talked to me about what I'd been feeling. He reached the conclusion that I had bipolar disorder and was rapid cycling. He suggested I go on Lamictal, but wasn't sure if it was breastfeeding safe. In researching bipolar disorder and Lamictal's safety for nursing moms, I decided that I definitely was not bipolar. I think the doctor focused on the fact that I called my outbursts of anger "episodes". I went back for a follow up with him a month later, but felt better at that point, because it was after the Christmas holidays and I felt pretty good when all my family was around.
Eventually Andrea was almost 10 months old, and I was still losing my cool when she wouldn't sleep or if she was crying and I didn't know why, or if anything else didn't go the way I wanted. I knew something had to change. I finally decided I wanted to just try an anti-depressant to see if it would help. I completely gave up on getting help from anyone in the mental heath profession*, so I found a new GP, and made an appointment. He checked my thyroid, which had normalized, so I could stop the PTU I had been taking. I also brought up the subject of PPD, and immediately started crying trying to explain how I'd been feeling. He reassured me that I shouldn't have to feel that way and it sounded like I could benefit from an anti-depressant. He initially recommended Prozac, but I requested Zoloft after researching on Kellymom.
I think I felt better just leaving the office, knowing that I was finally getting real help. I started taking the Zoloft before bed, and within just a few days I felt significantly better. I would still get frustrated but it didn't escalate to anger like it would before. I had a headache at first while my body adjusted, but that was my only side effect I think. My libido may have taken a slight hit as well, but with a baby who still doesn't sleep through the night, I'm really too tired and distracted to notice unfortunately. I also started doing some research on PPD and anger, and I found some threads at mothering.com, where mothers described feelings of irrational anger that turned out to be PPD. All of a sudden, I felt like I wasn't alone, and like I may have actually figured out what was wrong. I told my husband a week or two later that I was so glad the doctor prescribed me Zoloft, because I decided that I really needed to be on medication. His response was, "Well, we *all* knew that." I was so embarrassed and frustrated! If everyone knew I needed something, why didn't anyone insist I find a doctor who would help. Instead I felt like I was battling this all alone, trying to figure out what was wrong with me and what I needed.
I don't know why I resisted a PPD diagnosis for so long. Part of me really wanted my issues to be something other than PPD. I wanted to blame my thyroid or the lack of sleep or something, rather than admit I really had PPD. The images I had of depression were of people curled up on the couch crying all the time, like on the commercials for anti-depressants. Sure, I cried, but more often I screamed and yelled and and slammed doors. I broke hangers, a toy, a plate... But when I wasn't angry, I was basically happy and everything was fine. It was nothing like what I thought depression was supposed to be. Yet I had a nagging feeling it might be PPD, so I kept researching it and taking screening tests. The screenings never said I had PPD, but I think that may just be the way in which I interpreted the questions, and also the fact that anger was my overriding issue. I also felt guilty about having to take thyroid medicine and was nervous about taking yet another medicine while breastfeeding. Plus, I felt like I didn't need something all the time - just when I could tell I was angry. But I had no idea if a medicine like that even existed, or what it would be. But finally starting on the Zoloft was the best thing I've done for myself in a long time. It made a world of difference. I sometimes still have bad days, or freak out about something when I feel like I should have been able to keep my composure, but it's sooooo much better than it was before. I've now been on Zoloft for 6 months, and have considered weaning from it, but I don't think I'm really ready yet. In fact, on particularly trying days (hello, 1 year molars!) I feel like maybe I need to see about a higher dosage. But for the most part, I feel like a whole new woman since finally recognizing I had a problem and getting proper help.
* If you read this whole story, it will sound like I am very against the mental health profession, but I'm not. I think I just had a string of bad luck with finding the right doctor. But I included those details, because I think it's important to know that just because a professional says you DON'T have PPD, doesn't mean you don't still have a real problem that needs to be addressed. I kept telling myself, "If I had PPD, one of the therapists I've seen would have noticed by now." But now I think that they all missed it, since maybe my PPD wasn't the typical variety.