Category: postpartum depression

“New Patient” Forms

Erica4 Comments

Today was the first gynecology appointment I have had since I had my 6 week postpartum check-up after Calvin was born – so it’s been about a year and a half since I’ve been for one of these kinds of check-ups.

I have a new doctor – my old OB-GYN moved her practice out of Abilene, so I got to fill out all the “new patient” forms today. As I was filling out the forms, I had to answer questions about any past pregnancies, medical conditions, etc., as is typical on these types of forms. I kept waiting for the place where I would have to check that I had experienced postpartum depression. It ended up not being in the context of “postpartum depression,” but there was a spot to check for “anxiety” and “depression,” which I checked because of some obvious history there.

After getting in the exam room, the nurse came in to ask me the typical questions they ask you, even though you just filled out 10 pages of forms in the waiting room.

Nurse – “Did you have any complications during labor?”

Me – “No, labor went great.”(Here it comes, I was thinking – she’s going to ask me if I had any postpartum depression…)

Nurse – “Did you breastfeed your baby?”

Me – “Only for three weeks, and then we started bottle feeding.” (Because I went to the hospital for postpartum depression…)

The question actually never came up, which I was grateful for. I didn’t expect to be triggered as much as I was by a normal gynecology appointment, but I certainly was today. I felt on edge the whole time – and the feelings of guilt and shame have surfaced more today than they have in a while.

It’s weird how suddenly old feelings can come right back with no warning – if you’ve had any sort of traumatic experiences I’m sure you understand the feeling. I know I’m still in a healing process, mentally and emotionally. Please say a quick prayer for me if you get an extra minute today.

All that being said, my new doctor is great – and his RN is a wonderful woman who I got to have a great talk with about wanting a natural pregnancy and labor for any future children I might have someday. I feel confident that I’m with the right doctors to have a safe and pleasant experience if childbirth is in my future again. I’m thankful to God to feel this way – thankful to him for leading me to the right place and people.

And I’m so thankful for my son, Calvin, and my wonderful and supportive husband, Dean. I’ve said it before, but if I could choose to go back and change how my whole pregnancy/birth/postpartum experience went, I wouldn’t. It has taught me a lot, and continues to remind me to have compassion and grace for people. It reminds me that I’m not perfect, and that it’s okay.

Thanks for reading ❤

 

A New Blog, A New Year – Continuing My Mental Health Journey

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One year ago today, on July 26, 2016, I was being admitted to the hospital for postpartum depression, and later what I personally consider to be postpartum psychosis. For me, this date will always hold a significant place and be a reminder of some really trying and hard times.

On the anniversary of this occasion, I thought it would be appropriate to start my new blog “Threads of Anxiety” – dedicated to be a place where I continue to write and share my mental health journey. I thought of the blog name because I feel like looking back, I can see this underlying presence of anxiety in my life, and at certain times it is very noticeable and other times it’s lying dormant under the surface. But it’s existence is there, like this thread being sewn into my life.

I started writing about my experience with postpartum depression and my stay in the hospital on another blog, but I never really finished the whole story. I had high hopes that today I would have been able to have written the rest out, but alas, it did not happen! However, I am making a commitment to keep writing my story and putting it out there – so hopefully in the next few weeks I will be able to do that.

If you didn’t previously get a chance to read my story, I have posted the first part from my other blog in three separate posts, in a series I’ve called, “My Psychotic Break.” I plan on adding to this story, although a year later my memory is bit fuzzier. It has been something that has been hard to write, yet also good and cathartic. Forgive me for taking so long, I have needed to be in the right frame of mind and it is challenging to think back to this time in my life.

Mental health issues affect so many people – it’s not something to be ashamed of or hide. I have recently noticed more people sharing their struggles with it, although maybe it’s because I am just more aware of it. Sharing my story has been so encouraging to me because it’s allowed me to connect with others who are dealing with similar issues, and it’s given me support from so many different people.

Thank you for reading and for your comments and love.

My Psychotic Break: The Next Day (Part 3)

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This is the next segment chronicling my time in the psych hospital – “Day 2.” 

*Names have been changed to protect patient’s identities

Wednesday, July 27

I got woken up in the middle of the night by a nurse I had never seen before, telling me I needed to move to another room. Um… what? Is it really that urgent at 2am for me to move to another room? Apparently it was – I was moved to another pod in the same unit, just on the opposite side of the central nurses’ desk. It wasn’t hard to move, all of my belongings were in a small laundry basket they provided to all the patients, so I picked it up and moved to my new room. It just so happened that this new room already had one occupant, but it ended up being *Lindsey so that wasn’t too bad, she was one of the friendliest people I had met there so far. I asked the nurse why they were moving me and she told me that Lindsey did not do well being alone in a room. I remember that sinking feeling of “this is not real, I’m in a dream,” coming back, but I tried to ignore it. It just didn’t make sense to me, and anytime I couldn’t make sense of something, I assumed it was because I was in a dream-like place and things didn’t always have to make sense. In dreams, anything can happen and you never question it, you just go along with it.

I guess I had slept for a few more hours when the same nurse came into the room again, I had no idea what time it was. The only clock in our entire unit was by the nurse’s desk and normally I would have just checked my phone to see what time it was, but obviously I couldn’t do that. The nurse told me she was just there to take my temperature and blood pressure, pretty standard procedure as I was to figure out. Why they have to take your vitals at 5 in the morning instead of 2 in the afternoon is beyond me, but that’s how it worked.

Every morning there was a 6:30am smoke break (I never went to those, too early) and then 7:00 was breakfast. Breakfast was usually pretty good – they always had cereal in case you didn’t like whatever else they were serving. After breakfast there was a little bit of time for people to take showers if they wanted to or do laundry if they needed to.

And then there was a lot of sitting around time. They had a schedule of the day posted by the nurse’s station. I knew around 10am or so there was supposed to be an activity of some sort. Some days it was just that, an activity, and other days it was a group therapy session. Patients were never required to go to any activities, but they were encouraged. I remember Lindsey telling me early on that you should go to all the meetings and activities because that helped you get out faster. “Getting out” was a big topic of discussion among the patients. It was always, “I think they’re gonna let me go home tomorrow” or “I can’t wait to get out of here, this place is driving me crazy!” It was a bit unnerving to not know exactly how long you were going to have to stay, and that decision seemed to be determined by the doctors and case workers. If they deemed that you were doing well and being social and “trying,” then it was likely that they would let you out sooner. If you stayed cooped up in your room and did nothing, it was likely they would make you stay longer. All the patients caught on pretty quick to this, and I realized that most of the patients were not in there voluntarily like I was. They had been admitted due to situations like attempted suicide or drug abuse.

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