I made numerous posts on this board back when DS was just born and it was a lifesaver. An actual literal lifesaver. Without the support and guidance from lovely MNers, I would never have been brave enough to get the help I so sorely needed. Hence, this post-hopefully if you're deep in the PND fog you'll come across it and it will help.
A bit of background. Had DS in January this year and birth, while remarkably quick, was fine. He was our 'miracle' baby-we'd long been told children weren't possible so we felt so lucky. But cautious. Very, very cautious. Pregnancy simply did not agree with me-sever SPD made any movement agony. I barely slept due to my hip pain and I simply longed for it to be over.
Once DS was born, I felt nothing, absolutely nothing, towards him. Not in a "oh, here's a baby, what do I do?' Naivety, but an over-arching 'right, so you're mine. You don't feel like mine' way, if that makes sense. I figured I was a little overwhelmed by the speedy nature of the birth and just needed to regroup at home.
DS was a severe reflux baby and didn't sleep more than 45m at a go. I was on edge the entire time; even when my parents came round to help and let me and DH sleep, I couldn't switch off. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I could do nothing but sob and wish myself anywhere but there.
I couldn't do it. I know it sounds weird but I just couldn't. I'm highly accomplished in my field; I am a total perfectionist when it comes to work and tend not to deal with failure well and I was absolutely shit scared of this 6lb behemoth who took over every room he was present in with his screaming and wailing and exhaustion. I knew I had to look after him-it's in the unwritten contract! after all-and I knew how to do it, but I just couldn't.
I didn't want to be alone with him. Couldn't be alone with him. Not because I would do anything stupid, but because I was so consumed by an overwhelming anxiety that I constantly felt as if I was drowning in it. I had never felt that way before about anything.
The people in my life were understandable frightened for me. This shaking, sobbing mess was as far from the "real" me as humanly possible. My HV and nurses visited every day, hoping to see some shard of improvement:a willingness to get changed, eating something, cuddling the baby. Nothing. I did what I had to do for DS and that, itself was exhausting. Changing his nappy took a good 30m of psych up time. The thought of Feeding him (he has never been a good feeder) reduced me to tears as, try as I might, I could not get him to take his bottle.
Eventually, my DH made me call the GP to prescribe sleeping pills to try and even me out. He was under the impression that 'a good night's sleep will sort you out'
When we drove back from the GPs surgery and were sitting in the car on our driveway, I could see my mum pacing up and down in front of the window trying to soothe my screaming DS.
I refused to get out of the car.
I was a grown woman and I genuinely couldn't muster the courage to leave the car and go into my own home. I don't know how long it took, but it took him, two parents and a boatload of courage to open the door. This was the turning point where I think everyone in my life realised this wasn't simply the baby blues.
My HV and nurses had got worried to the point of having me assessed by mental health and, given that I sobbed the entire way through the assessment, I think it was quickly accepted that additional support was needed. I was prescribed diazepam, sertraline and needed visits every day from a member of the mental health team and monthly assessments from a clinical psychologist. There was talk of putting me in a secure mother and baby unit if I didn't show improvement within a set time frame.
Now I wasn't just upset, but fearful. In my fuzzy head, they were saying that I was a danger to myself and DS. I never had suicidal or homicidal thoughts, I just didn't want to be there. I wanted my life back-the one that didn't involve frantically spending hours trying to work out what this little screaming ball of fury wanted. I wanted to sleep and not wake up-not in a forever sense, but just get away from the acidic nature of my reality.
So I did everything they said. I had visits every day, reducing to twice a week, then every two weeks, then monthly, then nothing. I had a trained baby nurse come out to show me how to parent. When they quickly worked out that this wasn't a problem, these became support visits where we both tried, and failed, to get DS to sleep.
I saw the clinical registrar and talked. Lots and lots of talking. There was no depression in my family, no traumatic birth, no deeply hidden secrets tucked in a tiny corner of my mind. If anything, I was too prepared. Too used to being perfect and organised that the shock of having this tiny creature siphon every ounce of energy from me that I sort of imploded. Not his fault, I hasten to add.
Above all, it was chemical. My brain was simply not manufacturing what my body needed to get through the day. This wasn't anyone's fault-it was just one of those things.
After 8 months of intervention, I was finally discharged to my GP, with strict instructions to call the MH team if I find myself slipping. I'm still on sertraline but can now sleep, eat and, I'm pleased to say, I'm starting to bond with my DS.
He's ten months now and a total nutcase. It's been one issue after the other with his health but, as he's got older (and is sleeping more) I've found myself enjoying spending time with him. His personality is starting to shine though (stubborn and constantly on the go) and, since his reflux has settled, he's so much happier. We still have those nightmare days where I pray for bedtime to hurry up and arrive but, on the whole, I really like him now. I'm back at work and I find myself missing him during the day. I love picking him up from nursery as the smile on his face when he sees me absolutely makes my day.
I remember extraordinarily little about the first 3 months of DS's life and I will forever feel guilty for that, but maybe it's actually a good thing. I don't need to remember how hopeless and alone and useless I felt. Memories of those emotions linger but they've faded to the point where I no longer really see them as a threat to my future relationship with DS. They are separate from one another and you need to remember this. Those feelings, while all consuming at the time, don't need to affect your long term relationship with your baby. They are entirely separate entities and once you're out of the fog, the PND version of "you" has absolutely no bearing or influence on the 'real' you.
it does get better. I know it seems like it won't and that it will always be shit, and that you'll always feel like shit but I promise that you won't. Take as much help that is offered. If none is offered, go to your GP and refuse to leave until you are taken seriously. If you don't feel strong enough to do this, get someone to go with you and fight on your behalf. There is no shame in asking for, or accepting, help. It does not mean you are a bad mum, or a useless mum or a mum that cannot cope. It just means you need a little extra help to guide you towards where everyone else is. Don't lose sight of the fact that it is chemical, not emotional. It can be fixed. Just see it through.
Sorry for the novel. If you made it this far, I hope it helped, even in just a small way.
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Feversandmirrors · 05/12/2014 21:43
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