Surviving

It's been 12 days since my last post: several days of pure hell and many days on the road to recovery. Here's the story:

In my last post I said that I wasn't getting along very well by myself with two kids and hubby gone back to work. I knew that I had post-partum depression; I just didn't realize how bad. My good friend T had started calling me daily to check up on me. She is the one who came to visit a few weeks ago and she experienced PPD with her last two kids. She called me Monday morning and I had just really hit rock bottom. She gave me the ultimatum that either I call my midwife or she would. I knew she was serious so I went ahead and called because I knew I couldn't go on like I was. The midwife talked to me a bit, asking me questions. The final trigger question was "Have you had any thoughts of hurting anyone?". For some reason I was compelled to answer truthfully. Yes, I told her, I had thought many times about hurting someone. Who? My babies. At that point, just saying that out loud to another person was more than I could bear and I broke down crying. I didn't stop for the next 12 hours. The midwife asked if I could come see her right then. I went. She explained to me that I needed help right then and I agreed. She had already made arrangements for me to see a counselor at the Behavioural Health Unit of the hospital. She even took me over there herself. I ended up talking to the counselor for almost 4 hours. At some point, she broached the idea of hospitalization so that I could get started right away on medications and also have a break from everything and get some rest. I was totally resistant to the idea because I didn't want anything to interfere with nursing Katherine. In the end, I left her office rather against her advice and went home. I sat in a chair with Katherine in my arms and continued to cry. A few hours later my friend JE came over and she talked with me and brought me to the acceptance of doing inpatient treatment. She promised to take care of my babies so I allowed her to take me.

I could write a lot about my 3 days in the psychiatric ward of the hospital but the experience is too raw so I won't right now. Suffice it to say that I got myself together somewhat and got a little rest and spend time talking to counselors. It's been 8 days since I got out. I am on Zoloft and also Trazadone to help me sleep without affecting the baby. I am still nursing and Katherine continues to thrive. I am getting tons of help from my family and I think they are almost ready to relax their 24 hour/day guard of me. That has been one of the hardest things for me: not being able to be left alone with my kids and knowing full well that that was the best course of action. I saw a psychiatrist yesterday who upped my Zoloft dosage and I am also seeing a counselor every few days who has been really helpful in getting me thinking and talking. I still have a very long ways to go but I am also a very long ways from where I was 8 days ago. I have completely lost all my pregnancy weight although in the circumstances that is probably not a good thing since I basically lost my appetite and ate very little. But that is getting better now. The medicine helps me to get to sleep faster and sleep deeper and on top of that, Katherine is beginning to go 4-5 hour stretches at night. She is still sleeping with me which I have ceased to worry about. Each day has enough worries of its own!

This is the first time since my breakdown that I have gotten on the computer. I am hopelessly behind in all my emails and blogs. Again, not worrying too much about that. I hope this post might help someone else out there. Everyone I come into contact with rushes to assure me how completely normal I am. Hopefully it will continue that way.