I stopped writing in this blog 6 months ago.
I got better.
Well, I became more stable and was able to function properly.
The dosage of Lexapro that I had asked my PCP (primary care physician) to bump me up to had finally done the trick and made me feel like I wasn't chained down to my house anymore. I slowly pushed myself a little bit every day until my routines and thought process started to mimic those of someone who was healthy and thriving. Eventually I took a chance and I took a job opportunity that was presented to me.
My confidence was regained and I watched my daughter and husband grow a closer bond once he took over weekday evenings with her while I was at work.
Not long after, I was comfortable and confident leaving the house with them together. I missed them always but I was in a career, I was counseling people, I was making a difference.
I remember standing outside one day, in the sunshine, a warm October day... and I just closed my eyes and I smiled and I thought to myself life could not be more perfect.
Just like that, in a matter of weeks, everything began to fall apart.
My family fell victim to addiction at the end of October and then to cancer at the end of November. My days and nights were spent helping my family with one situation or another. Life and death were flashed before our eyes in both situations. Fear had taken on a whole new life and it was thriving, pulsing through all of us. Our patience was tested, continuously drawn out.
I stayed strong. I kept up with both situations and performed my job with constant praise from my clients and coworkers. I did it all, and then in the spare time I did have - I was a wife and mother.
I thought back on the times that I had previously struggled with all of my anxiety and OCD and I wondered how in the world it had crippled me so entirely.... because look at me now. I wasn't just surviving, now I was thriving again.
My counselor that I had finally obtained had let me go as soon as I showed any sign of turn around. She had told me that I knew where to find her if I needed her but she felt as though I was pretty self aware and smart enough to reach out if I felt like I was going backwards at all. She really hadn't given me much of anything as far as tools or coping skills except to tell me that it's normal for moms to worry about their children.
I knew what I was experiencing wasn't normal but I also knew that this woman wasn't able to help me or challenge me in the ways that I needed so I took her suggestions and left.
It wasn't until mid November when I was able to go to see the psychiatrist. This being 3 months after I had initially even figured out (no thanks to any doctors that I was constantly seeing for postpartum care or infant care) that I had PPA/PPOCD. My daughter was now 8 months old. I had been under the wrath of maternal mental health since my bedrest in January and then more-so when she was born in March.
The psychiatrist had asked me a lot of simple questions and spun me in mental circles a few times. I thought he was going to say the same thing my therapist had previously said. An "Oh, you're fine," sort of thing. No one understood that I have spent so many years fighting my PTSD that I was well aware of what my "fine" was, and this was far from it.
He eventually sighed and sat back. "You're very smart," he told me. My face twisted and I muttered a question filled thank you. He looked at the wall beside him that held one of his many degrees.
"I've been doing this for a long time," he said still staring at the wall. He brought his glance back to me again. "You're a pretty remarkable woman," he said. I just looked back at him and mumbled a confused "Ok,". He went on to explain his reasoning which made me sound intelligent and self aware and blah blah blah. My PCP would now take over prescribing my Lexapro and I was to stop taking it in March.
I became pregnant with my second child in February. My midwife did some consulting with other doctors and they decided that if I was ok with it, they would rather keep me on my Lexapro.
I believe her reasoning was to "get a head start on the postpartum anxiety".
I found it to be a good idea. I knew that PPA was most likely to make a re-occurrence - especially considering I had PTSD currently and previous to my last experience with PPA/PPOCD. My daughter had been well worth any struggles I had and I knew my second child would be too. This time - I would be aware of it and I would be ready for it.
This time I had a resourceful group and I had the Postpartum Progress website.
This time maybe it wouldn't pin me to the ground as it had last time.
This time I would be vocal about my symptoms instead of cowering in fear and shame.
I was strong.
I was ready.
And then, just like that, it was back.
Except it wasn't "just like that", it was slow and quiet.
It was small at first and I could explain it away. I could attribute it to pregnancy hormones.
It was small, until one day it swallowed me whole.
I was driving to Target last week with my daughter, a trip that was unplanned but needed in order to utilize a diaper sale. I tried to reason with my husband as to why he should come along with me but it wasn't reasonable and he had other things to do.
I was only a few miles from home before a deep panic set in.
Go back.
Go back.
Turn around.
This is a horrible idea.
Something will happen!
I knew it was a horrible idea. I had chosen the wrong Target. I should have gone to the other one. Something bad was going to happen on this path. I knew it was. I felt it. I convinced myself I had some sort of pregnancy induced ESP and I knew I was leading my daughter and myself to our death.
We might die.
We might get hurt badly.
Can they save my unborn baby?
No, it's too soon...
Should Celia's seat be in the middle?
Will we all die?
Will I lose her?
I should go back.
I need to go back.
I went to Target. I went and they didn't have the size diaper Celia needed so we walked around for as long as we possibly could. I didn't want to leave. What if the ride home was going to be my doom?
What if I took another route, to throw off fate?
What if changing my route is part of the plan?
What if that's why we die?
What am I talking about?!
I spent the whole ride home retracing the last few months. I saw all of the signs. I saw them in all of the days leading to this day. Now I saw them for what they were. Somehow, although I had no idea how or if it was possible, my PPA/PPOCD was back - 5 months into my pregnancy.
This wasn't the head start I had planned.
