A Personal Story of Postpartum Depression Part Two

I finally decided to get treatment in April 2010, while we were in Mexico attending my brother-in-law’s wedding. I had several breakdowns on the trip and finally had the opportunity to really talk to my husband about it.

When we got home, I called a local therapist for an appointment. The first meeting went well, and she suggested I go to my family doctor for a prescription since that had helped me in college. I did, and things seemed to get better for awhile.
 

I stopped attending the therapy sessions though for a couple of reasons. I knew that the stresses of life and of my marriage certainly had contributed to the problem of my depression, but I didn’t like feeling that I was defending my husband during my counseling sessions. If I said that I trusted him, that we were working together, and that things were getting better, I felt that should be enough. Pushing him to come to counseling as well would not make things any easier for either of us if it wasn’t something he was comfortable with or ready for. Beyond that, it was difficult for me to get childcare and a way of getting to the therapy sessions. In the back of my mind I kept thinking about the cost, as we were already struggling to pay bills.
 

I continued to do well for awhile without therapy, relying on my own coping skills and the medication. I was on a fairly low dose, but looked forward to doing well without medication.
 

I’m not there yet.
 

In the past few weeks, my symptoms have reemerged. I found myself up at night, either forgetting to eat or binging, snapping at my husband constantly, and sitting on the recliner all day. It took me a couple weeks to notice the problem, but I quickly got in to see my doctor again. He suggested a medication increase or medication change. I asked to have blood work done first to rule out thyroid problems or anemia, which he was happy to do.
 

Fortunately, my blood work was clear, so last night I increased my dose as directed.
 

Unfortunately, I was up half the night.
 

Without sleep, I feel much the same. I can’t get anything done during the day due to exhaustion. I eat constantly, or forget to eat, because my brain is half down trying to cope. I’m irritable because I’m tired. I understand that medications can take 2-4 weeks to adjust, but this is madness. I don’t like being on medications either way, and being on a medication that I feel causes just as many problems, well, it doesn’t work for me.
 

I resolved one thing last night while I was lying awake – to look into alternative therapies for postpartum depression. That’s my goal for the next couple of days.

A Personal Story of Postpartum Depression Part One

It has certainly been a long couple of weeks for me, as you can see evidenced in the relative lack of blog posts.

So, in an effort to make good come out of this time, I'm going to talk about a very personal struggle.

I was diagnosed with depression in May 2010, nearly ten months after my son was born. For that ten months, I suffered in silence. I want to share the story of my struggles so other women won't have to do the same.

Going into the postpartum period, I knew I was at high risk for postpartum depression.

• I had been diagnosed with depression before, when I was in college.
• My previous depression was linked to a drop in progesterone - it would now probably be called premenstrual dysphoric syndrome because it centered around my periods.
• I was under a lot of stress at the end of my pregnancy - I was quitting my job to stay at home, our income would be less than half of what it was previously, we were moving, our house wasn't finished, and we were having marital problems.
• I didn't have the birth I wanted. I had prepared for a natural, normal birth and got a c-section for a stubbornly breech baby (he's still stubborn, I love him). I wasn't in the emotional state (see above) where I could devote energy into changing providers and having a vaginal breech birth
• Our breastfeeding was terribly unsuccessful. I tried and tried, but we didn't have the help we needed.

I felt guilty about what I perceived to just be "bad days." I would sit around the house, letting dishes and laundry sit, starting at but not even watching the TV. He was such an easy-going baby, and I didn't understand why I was having such a hard time.

Some days I had no appetite. I had to remind myself to eat, though I usually didn't realize it until my husband got home and was ready for dinner. Other days I felt like I couldn't stop eating. I was starving and constantly had something in my hand.

When it got worse, I found my sleeping was affected. I couldn't fall asleep, couldn't stay asleep. I had always been a morning person, but soon found myself unable to get out of bed in the morning. I would lie awake for hours at night, my mind running wild with all the things I needed to the next day. Few of them got done.

The biggest clue was my personality. I'm certainly prone to frustrations, but have never been one to lose my temper. Now I found myself yelling for little reason, crying often and being unable to stop, and feeling the great need to throw and break things.

In my previous depression, I had struggled with thoughts of suicide. Unfortunately, those returned. One day I had to leave the kitchen because I found myself staring at a knife, just thinking about it. 

During this time however, I kept telling myself that it couldn't be postpartum depression because I had a lot of good days. I had days where everything was fine. I still liked to be with friends, to go out, to have fun. I hadn't lost interest in my favorite things, at least not all the time.

To be continued...

What to do?

I have been encountering more and more often this idea in friends that the doctor knew best and their body couldn't possibly have done it on its own.

I honestly don't know how to deal with this mentality.

Yesterday the story I heard involved cesareans done for fear of too large babies. First baby was born vaginally with no problems, but four weeks before the due date. Second baby labored through but never descended so they rushed down for a section. Third baby was a scheduled section because "we figured out she was just too small to birth a regular sized baby."

Now at this point the family is beyond childbearing. I chose to smile and nod, sympathize quietly.

I felt no reason to ask if with the second baby they had attempted position changes to have gravity help move the baby down. Whether they had waited for the urge to push. Whether they had an epidural that interfered with feeling and the birthing muscles.

It wouldn't have helped this mom. There are no future babies; no way to go back and change things.

But would it have helped her daughter?

I was one of those that grew up hearing the horror stories of her mother's births. I had been a vacuum-extraction baby, after the first vacuum broke. After my brother's birth, my mother was sent to Cleveland Clinic for birth floor repairs following bad tears with the two of us (that were probably improperly repaired). My mother dealt with it without drugs, but "purple pushing" had certainly done a number on her. It was the only kind of birth she knew.

In these situations, when do you offer information? I don't want to cause pain, to damage a friendship or relationship when later I may be able to offer more help. But I also don't want women to go through life and childbearing without the knowledge that it can be powerful. Without the knowledge that it can be fulfilling rather than terrifying.

What do you do? Comments are very appreciated.