It's the day before my birthday and I'm listening to Bob Marley's, "Three little birds."
Don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Singing' don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Tomorrow I will be 38 years old. Tomorrow I will celebrate another day of life. Tomorrow I will give God thanks for my healing and guiding me through all the tough, unbearable events in my life. One event that recently almost ended my life was Postpartum Depression. In my previous blogs, I shared with you my experience with dealing with it and what has healed me. It's been a year and 4 months and I'm living a full and happy life. I have wanted to share more of my experience with it, but have not had the time or the energy to do so. Today I will share with you my experience during my hospitalization. It's a long read, so sit back, grab some coffee.
"Are you okay?" I looked up form my teared filled eyes and saw a woman looking a bit curious as to why I was crying. "Did something upset you?" I told her I was okay. Her response was a bit concerning as she said to me, "God Bless you."Three hours later I would sit in a professionals office with a doctor who looked exactly like the actor on the TV series, House. I would sit in his office and cry. No offer for a tissue. No, are you okay, and not even are you going to be okay? Instead I was told that I was a danger to myself and that I needed to be hospitalized. A frantic, "What?" spilled out of my mouth. More tears. I don't want to go to the hospital I said. What about my family? My new baby? No, I said. No, no, no.
No matter how much I cried and pleaded, the decision was already made up in his mind. I was going to the loony bin. Lord, I cried out in my head, "How did this happen?"I pleaded one more time and then looked straight at him and asked, "What is wrong with me?"Well, you have Postpartum Depression. You have a plan to end your life and I feel that for your safety that you need to be hospitalized.
There was nothing upsetting me, nothing that made me want to end my life. I just felt sad and the only solution in my head was to end my life. No matter how much I prayed, the thoughts overwhelmed me. They felt like a knife being jammed in my chest. It hurt to breathe. According to the laws and as my Psychologists duty to do no harm and protect me, it was my doctors legal obligation to send me to the hospital. If I had left that day and ran into traffic as I planned on doing, then he would have ruined my life as well as incurred many years of suffering for my family.
I needed help.
I was embarrassed that I was sick. I'm a Nurse. We don't get sick. We fight for our patients. We nurse them back to health. We are advocates for them. I was pleading for my life and I was afraid that it was in my hands and I wanted to end it.
First of all, no one is immune to anything. Postpartum depression happened to me. The nurses showed no compassion for me. I'm stating this because I don't know how they treat others, but I was never asked if I was okay. A simple, "How are you?" "Are you okay?" or a simple "Good Morning?" would have meant the world to me. I hadn't bathed in 2 days because they never gave me toiletries. I wore the same clothes for what seemed like eternity to me, but I managed to get along with my roommate and she kindly offered me some soap and shampoo. Having a bath after 2 days felt like heaven and I could feel my soul slowly come back to life. We all were herded up like cattle at 8am so we could take our medication. Not once was I informed of what I was taking or counseled on the side effects. Medication was another glimpse of hope. Even if it didn't help, I told myself I was going to get out of there.
"I'm not that sick." I'm not psychotic." Self talk. I needed that every minute of the day. I'm sure all the other Schizophrenic, Bipolar patients felt the same way I did. We never think we are sick. We walk around with pain. Some try to self medicate and end up far more worse. Some just try to put on the biggest smile thinking it will cover up what's inside. We are all hurting in some way. We just find ways to heal ourselves. I think I might have been the only one suffering from Postpartum depression. I needed to pump and I was taken into a room with full view windows and no blanket.I felt cold, exposed as tears ran down my face. "I can't do this." I'm going to quit breastfeeding Hazel. I cried even more. During my initial assessment when I was admitted I was told to take off my clothes and leave my bra and panties on. Inside I felt like screaming. Inside I felt like saying, "You are nurses, I'm a nurse too, bring me a fucking gown to cover my exposed skin. Nothing but coldness filled my body. I stood there numb. Speechless. I looked down at my protruding belly as they lifted it up to see my c-section.Cold hands touched my body.
Cold hearts.
Now I wonder if those nurses who worked there were just stressed or was it that they really didn't know how to take care of those who are hurting. In nursing, it's easy to take care of a patient who is happy, pleasant and knowledgeable about his/her care. The hurting are messy. They look like a mess. They feel like a mess. They don't know what to say or they stay silent, screaming at the top of their lungs, some are heard, others are not. When I was discharged, the nurse slid an envelope on the counter and said, "your prescriptions are in there as well." Confusion again consumed me. Hurt. Anger. No one wished me well or offered a crisis number if I needed it. Did they know I was a Nurse and that I could figure it out myself? How many people did they do this to? Maybe it was just me. As I left the unit, I ran (I literally ran out) out the door and was greeted by my wonderful husband and kids. Hazel was in her car seat and when I looked at her I wanted to live. I felt free. I felt alive. And when I got home, grandpa cooked pork ribs with potato salad. I finally arrived.Update: I've been medication free for over a year now. I take a combination of vitamin b-12 and l methyfolate supplement. I did a combination of this and weekly therapy sessions for over a year. I also run daily and do Yoga 3 times a week. This combination has helped me. And I do believe in the power of prayer. I prayed for healing and God healed me.
Postpartum depression:
According to the Centers for Disease Control, 11 to 20% of women who give birth each year have postpartum depression symptoms. If you settled on an average of 15% of four million live births in the US annually, this would mean approximately 600,000 women get PPD each year in the United States alone.
If you or someone you know is suffering, please seek help. Call 911 if you have to. Just get help, please.
Call 1-800-273-8255
Postpartum Support
http://www.postpartum.net/locations/texas/
Postpartum Resources
http://www.1800ppdmoms.org/
Until Next Time,
Eat Organic,
Eat Gluten-Free,
Jennifer
