How Can You Tell?

Sometimes I wish moms with PPD and PTSD came with signs on their bellies.

Signs that said, "I have PPD/PTSD. I'm having a hard day/week/month/postpartum year. Please be gentle with me. Today, I need ___FILL IN THE BLANK___ from you to help me feel better."

Because it's so dang hard to figure out who's doing OK and who's not.

Now, I believe that ALL new moms need TLC and attention... but moms with PPD and PTSD need it even more than most.

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A few weekends ago, I visited a woman who had a baby 3 months ago. Her husband used to work with my husband, and I don't know this woman very well... not well enough to say I'm "friends" with her.

I had heard that she had a very easy pregnancy, and a vaginal birth that went well. I knew that she ended up with an epidural, which she hadn't originally wanted (granted, I got the spotty details about her birth story from my husband, who heard them from her husband... so we all know how accurate that birth story is!).

For all appearances, she was doing great 3 months postpartum. Back to working out with a personal trainer, back in her "pre-baby jeans," baby was sleeping through the night, baby was a happy, sweet soul, breastfeeding was going well... and she had decided she wasn't going back to work and felt great about it.

As we were leaving, I gave her Rescue Remedy as part of her new mom gift. She said, "What's this for?" I said, "You know, for all of those times when you feel stressed, overwhelmed... like you can't deal with everything. Rescue Remedy will calm you down. Just put a few drops under your tongue, and everything in your body will chill out."

She looked at me like she had no clue what I was talking about... like I was an alien for suggesting that she feel stressed or overwhelmed after having a baby. I'm pretty sure the Rescue Remedy will get put in the back of some shelf somewhere to gather dust.

I felt instantly foolish and stupid. Her reaction brought me right back to all of those feelings of "I'm not good enough... I'm a terrible mom" for being sad, mad, and unable to deal with anything after Ev was born.

I went through three bottles of Rescue Remedy during those first few months postpartum (heck, first 2 years postpartum!)... and Rescue Remedy hadn't been enough. No, I needed my red wine, too!

How could a mom of a 3-month old be doing better than I had done as a mom of a 19-month old? Gosh darn it, Christi, what a loser you are.

My mind knows this isn't true, but my subconscious speaks louder than my mind most days. She speaks before I can tell her to shut up.

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How is it possible, after 2 years of breastfeeding, getting up in the middle of the night to comfort my son, feeding him 3-5 meals a day, dressing him, changing diapers, dealing with tantrums, bathing him, talking with him, singing to him, and obsessing over whether I'm doing things right... how is it possible that I still feel like a mother fraud... a fake?

The truth is, I still don't feel like a mom.

My uterus and my body never got a chance to become a mom. There will always be a gap there for me. Will time allow my heart to close the gap? Will another birth close that gap? Oh, please, please, please, I hope so. 'Cause right now, it feels like I've got amnesia that's keeping me from recognizing that I am a mom.

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It's really weird for me to watch myself when I'm around new moms who are doing well. I get very nervous and awkward. I simply don't know what to do or what to say. As I type this, I feel the tears come up... the nerves are still so raw, even after 2 years. Raw in a different way... a detached way... but raw nonetheless.

Part of me is so happy for this new mom friend of mine... happy that she seems to be doing so well.

A different part of me wishes she'd had a traumatic birth, or was having a tough time... because I can identify with that. I know what to say - and how to support - a new mom who's had a C-section, or PTSD, or PPD. I simply don't know what to do around moms who feel empowered by their births... who love their kids unconditionally... who aren't pissed or sad.

I just have such a hard time believing them, for one thing. I feel as though they MUST be pretending, right? I simply can't relate to that experience of motherhood as bliss. Is it even real?

So, then I become Awkward Mom... searching, asking under-the-radar questions, trying to figure out if the mom is really OK, or if she's just pretending for my benefit. And this kind of searching conversation is awkward to do when your husbands are in the room... and even more awkward when you don't really know the other new mom.


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Ben and I left the house, got in the car, and drove away. Could she really be doing that well? I hope so, keeping my fingers crossed. But how to tell, for sure?

A few minutes into the ride, I said to my husband, "Well, they seem to be doing great."

He said, "Yep."

Long Paaaauuuusssse.

Then I said, "But you just never know what's going on when we're not there."

Ben said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. You just never know."

And Ben and I sat there in the front seat, sharing a moment of silent knowing. A bonded moment of parental maturity that was laced with sadness and a kind of lost feeling. For we were both remembering what we had been through together these last two years. Although we went through the C-section and the PTSD/PPD at the same time, we experienced it very differently. It was a very, very lonely time for both of us.

So, we sat there, thinking about this new parent couple we'd just hung out with. And there was a heavy cloud of longing in the air, longing for the simple happiness of his friends... of the ease with which they navigated the early months of parenthood. What would our life be like now if our first few years of parenthood had been like that? What would our relationship be like? What would our sex life be like? What would our son be like? Ah, the birth trauma touched so many things... things we'll never get back.

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But as we both sat there deep in memories of our own experience... we both wondered... was everything as it appeared for our friends?

Ben and I are all too familiar with the fact that new parents can be good actors and actresses. We were, for goodness sake. The picture that appears on the top of this post was taken when I was in the depths of PPD despair, but you'd never know it to look at me, right? Parents with PPD are very different in public than they are behind closed doors.


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Something that really frustrates me about new moms is that they all talk like they're fine. What's up with this? Do we feel like we don't have permission to complain and tell it like it really is? When is this darn "Motherhood is bliss" stereotype going to get smashed against the wall into a thousand pieces so we can really, truly talk about what it's like to have your whole world thrown into upheaval?

** I know that not all moms feel this way, but I'm talking on behalf of those who are hurting and having a hard time. **

I'm not sure how to connect with new moms (particularly those I don't know well) and let them know that it's OK to talk about how they're really doing. How do I create the trust and space to allow for that kind of conversation? I simply don't know. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

The funny thing is... I could have said to this new mom friend of mine, "You know... after Ev was born, I had postpartum depression. For 2 years. I never expected it would happen to me... but it did. It was awful, and I didn't even realize what was going on for months. If you're ever feeling down, or depressed, or overwhelmed... and it doesn't feel right... please give me a call."

Now, why didn't I say that to her? Well, because she looked so... good... and happy... and I felt silly saying it. It seemed like this new mom was getting along better after 3 months than I was after 23 months.

HYPOCRITE, HYPOCRITE... Christi, you hypocrite!

Why is it so hard for me to talk about my rough postpartum time? I mean, that's exactly what I get mad at other moms for doing... not telling it like it is. Why do I have such a hard time talking about this with people I know? I have no problem with people I don't know... I have no problem posting it to the masses on this blog... but my tongue gets tied when faced with a friend or acquaintance or family member.

I feel like no one wants to hear it... that it makes me look weak... that this new mom will never feel that way, anyway, so why bring it up?

Argh.

The other part of me simply doesn't want to talk about it, because I don't want reminders of it. It's so painful that I just want it to go away... and not think about it. Maybe that's why we moms don't unite enough to help the new moms who come after us... it's too painful to live through the memories. We've been there, done that, survived, thank God, and we don't want to go back... thank you very much.

It's been almost 3 months since I had my last PPD/PTSD episode... thank goodness. I really do think it's gone for good. But now I'm dealing with the aftermath... how do I behave as a "survivor?" To be continued... if you got this far, thanks for reading. No matter how I try, I simply will never be a concise writer. :)

Other Pieces of my Healing Journey from PPD

OTHER THINGS I DID AS PART OF MY HEALING JOURNEY:

- When I could, I journaled and got feelings out on paper. When I couldn’t sleep at night, I stayed up and communicated with “real people” via email (ICAN and friends). Sometimes, I wrote emails to my husband and sent them in the middle of the night because, honestly, he’d probably read the email before we’d have a chance to talk it over anyway. This worked for me because I’m a writer and writing helps me be 100% honest, and release what’s inside of me. Creating this blog has been very helpful, especially when I read responses from other women who have found my posts. Very, very helpful.

- I went to the library and tried to find helpful books. Most of them seemed so “surface level” and unhelpful and unreal. Brooke Shield’s book was great, in that it spoke the truth about how awful PPD can be, but her reality (hiring a baby nurse, and having so many financial resources at her disposal) simply didn’t resonate. Plus, I didn’t want to take drugs, so I couldn’t really identify with her treatment choice. The book “Rebounding from Childbirth” by Lynn Madsen was a godsend. This was the book I’d been waiting for, particularly in the way it addressed the PTSD from my C-section. It was focused more on birth than motherhood, so is more helpful from a PTSD standpoint, than PPD. I posted more on PPD books in another post on this blog. Mostly helpful.

- I even tried cooking my placenta – but I didn’t know how to do it. Not sure if I did it right, so I was nervous to take the pills. I finally took some about 15 months after my son was born… I wish I’d had someone to prepare it for me, and I wish I’d taken it right away after the C-section. That probably would have helped tremendously. ???

- Writing my birth stories out and posting them on my blog and sending them to ICAN – making them public. Very helpful.

- Watching my birth video to see what really happened. Helpful.

- Exercise really helped boost my mood, and it made me feel like I had control of something again. It was something just for me, and something that made me feel like I was reclaiming the old, strong parts of me. Having personal trainer help me get on track was a lifesaver, particularly because she helped me with exercises I could do with Evan around, and particularly because she came to my house. Very helpful.

- Eating well played a huge role for me. What helped was making sure I was taking cod liver oil (for the EFAs), getting enough vitamins/minerals, protein (to feel strong), and vegetables. Minimizing sugar, avoiding caffeine and alcohol like the plague. Very helpful.

- I had to use hypnosis/relaxation tapes to help me get to sleep at night, because I had flashbacks. It was really hard to sleep for a long time, but I finally figured out that if my husband told me stories that he made up himself, his voice and the mundane-ness of the stories would lull me to sleep. Helpful.

- I joined a Postpartum Depression Task Force that had just started up in my area (the North Shore of Boston) – I was the only member of the task force who had been through PPD, and so sharing my story and keeping the Task Force honest around the realities of PPD has been very helpful. Also, setting boundaries for myself with the Task Force (I attend meetings, but don’t do much in-between work) has been good for my “keep life simple” mind. Also, knowing 40+ new people who could support me if I got PPD again has been a relief. I’m creating a community that could one day support me, if I need it. It’s good to see how far I’ve come, and it’s great to be in a setting where I can use my mind and leadership skills to help create change. Helpful.

My PPD/PTSD Symptoms

My PPD/PTSD Symptoms

· I experienced a lack of energy – felt like I was dragging all the time.

· I was often unable to sleep – I was up late at night with insomnia.

· I didn’t like motherhood and I didn’t want to talk about my birth to anyone.

· I avoided phone calls and people.

· I had dreams that I died during surgery before Evan was born.

· I cried for 3 weeks straight before he was born.

· I wasn’t even sure why I was even on this earth – I asked myself what the point of life was a lot.

· I wasn’t interested in eating well, and I drank wine during the day straight out of the bottle.

· It felt like I couldn’t remember to do even one little thing for my own health – drink water, taking vitamins… these seemed too difficult.

· I had flashbacks to my son’s birth ALL the time.

· I experienced feelings of gloom, grief, anger ALL the time – these feelings were like a cloud over my head that never went away.

· I didn’t want to have sex – I had no interest in being physically intimate with my husband.

· I didn’t want to hang out with Evan – I resented him and didn’t like when he cried. I didn’t even like my son for the first 12 months of his life. I loved him, but I didn’t like him. Because in my mind, he was the one who made me feel this way.

· I didn’t feel like a mother at all… I thought others knew how to take better care of him than I did. I didn’t go out with him for a long time (it took me three months to get up the nerve to take him to the grocery store) and I didn’t even think about signing us up for mom & baby events or classes.

· I didn’t want to go out and meet other mothers – I had no interest in trying to pretend like I was fine when I wasn’t. I hated being around myself, I couldn’t imagine that others would want to be.

· I got really jealous, sad, or mad when I heard of moms having good births, or liking motherhood. Those positive feelings felt so foreign to me – I thought they must be lying.

· I had intense fear and anxiety in the weeks leading up to Evan’s birthday – I didn’t plan a party for that day and didn’t want to celebrate the anniversary of my surgery.

· I had panic attacks and felt intense anger and sadness when I would see a pregnant woman, drive past my midwife’s house, watch a birth/parenting show on TV, or enter a doctor’s office.

· I had trouble recalling the details of my son’s first six months of life. I didn’t keep a baby journal or write any letters to him – I wasn’t interested in any of that.

· I disconnected from my family and many of my friends… except people with whom I could discuss the C-section and my true feelings.

· I didn’t think my marriage would last, or that I would ever like motherhood.

· When I look back on the videos I took, I look happy. But I don’t remember any happiness. To the normal outsider, I would look completely happy and content. But on the inside, I was screaming out for help.

· During the first few months, I wanted to escape into my business… but then, as the PPD got stronger, I had trouble motivating myself to do my work. Still, no one would have known this, because from the outside, I was still working a lot.

· I had insane mood swings – I felt bipolar, in a way. I had bursts of anger, long bouts of tears, I would scream and yell in my house, and I’d stay in my bed or in the shower for long periods of time.

· I went to the movies a week after Evan was born, and didn’t want to go back home. I dropped my father off at the airport two weeks after he was born, and I didn’t want to go back home.

· I actually thought about leaving my husband… and son.

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Things that made me realize I wasn’t in the same ‘motherhood’ space’ as many of my friends:

o Amara sounded like she was coping just fine 3 months after birth – and she wasn’t mad or depressed like I was

o Kirsten emailed me and asked about Evan – but I never asked any moms about their kids – I never even thought to ask – when they asked me, I never even really cared about asking about their kids

o When a professional organizer emailed me about the fact that “it’s hard to keep up once you’re a new mom, because the clothes are constantly getting outgrown” I assumed she was talking about MY clothes, not my son’s baby clothes. The baby simply didn't enter my consciousness.

o Kirsten emailed me to ask me to go toy shopping b/c she was addicted to buying toys for her son, and had so much fun with it. I realized I hadn’t bought Evan anything (not clothes, not toys, NOTHING), and he was 10 months old.

o I joined The Mother Connection and only went to the playroom once… I never went to any other events - I couldn't bear to be around other moms - I felt like a fake.

o When my brother called after Evan was born, I didn’t want to talk to him – I wasn’t happy, and I didn’t want him to know about it

o I never wanted to call anyone back when they left messages after Evan was born

o I was pissed off every time a family member from CA called and immediately asked about Evan – what about me????

A few emails I sent during my PPD hell

Email to Ben, my husband, 3/11/06 - Evan is 3 weeks old

Hi, sweetie.

I need to talk to you, and since you’ll probably check email before we talk in person, I thought I would just send you an email about what’s going on for me right now. I can’t sleep because I’m so worked up… and I know something is really bothering me because everyone is sleeping right now – even Evan – and I should be taking advantage of this time to sleep since I’ve been up for 4 hours now… but I tried going back into the bedroom to sleep, and I can’t even lay down next to you, that’s how worked up I am.

I am feeling very sad, overwhelmed, and not so great right now. I need you, and I feel like I’ve been trying to tell you that these past few weeks but I’m not sure I’m saying the right things so that you know just how much I need you. So I’ll just try to use email to try and tell you some of the things that I wish I could tell you in person. Everytime I try to say them, they sound so stupid that I can’t get them out of my mouth…. But they’re simmering inside, and perhaps typing them and hitting a ‘send’ button will feel less stupid.

I didn’t feel ready to be a mom before, and I still don’t feel ready to be a mom. A lot of the time, I wish things could go back to the way they were, before Evan. Not because I don’t think he’s awesome. But frankly, right now, I’m just not feeling the mommy love all the time. I don’t feel up to the task of having someone who needs me 24 hours out of the day, 7 days a week. The reality of that is daunting to me right now. I don’t always like the way that life has changed since I got pregnant with him. I feel like I’ve totally lost control of everything… my schedule, my body, my career, my independence, and my relationship with you. And I don’t feel like I had a say in any of it, I just had to take it and be OK with it, even if it wasn’t what I wanted… because doesn’t every woman want to be a mother?

Tonight I was supposed to get good sleep, yet here it is 8:00 a.m. and I’ve been awake since 4:00. I was awake through an entire feeding that wasn’t even supposed to be mine. And I’ll have to feed him again at any time… so the cycle just continues. To be honest, I’m annoyed that I had to be awake through what was supposed to be my ‘sleep’ time tonight. I know that’s petty, but it’s how I feel. Before we went to sleep, you told me you wanted me to get to sleep tonight. Yet, when the nighttime comes, you tell me that I should be around to feed him in case the syringe doesn’t work. That basically means, “Don’t sleep.” You can – and do - go back to sleep if I’m breastfeeding him at night… and you sleep through things and noises that happen in the night… but I don’t have that luxury. I have to be awake to breastfeed him if the syringe doesn’t work and he stays awake… and I have to wake up to pump even if I don’t feed him…. So that whole “sleeping through a feeding” doesn’t happen for me. It makes me resent being a mom, and then I resent myself for feeling that way about the situation, because he’s a baby and he just needs to eat, and it’s not his fault. And you’re tired and you can sleep better than me, and it’s not your fault either. I know you wanted me to be able to sleep last night. But in the end, it didn’t work out that way… and again I was awake through the feeding, and then beyond. It just doesn’t feel fair. When that happens, I find myself resenting you for just falling back to sleep and leaving me there to feed him again, or nag you awake. Just because I have the breasts doesn’t mean I want to stay awake and feed him. I guess I have this intense sense of ‘fairness’ and being a mom isn’t a ‘fair’ thing – but I guess I’m still thinking that it should be. I know I’ll have to let go of that.

I’m still feeling pretty yucky, physically, and I’m having a tough time transitioning into full-time mom stuff. I’m sure it will get easier, but right now, it feels like a continuation of pregnancy, where someone had taken over my body and it’s not mine anymore. I feel like all I am right now is a milkmaid, and sometimes I wish I just didn’t have to feed him. My body feels totally unsexy, and hurts and is swollen and leaks everywhere… and although I’m trying to get over the C-section thing, I’m still pissed that I had to be cut open, and had to go through this kind of recovery.

I told you that one of my biggest fears was that a baby was going to mean that I would just take a permanent backseat in your mind, and I feel like that’s already happening… and it’s really tough right now because I still really need you and want you to need me. Before, if I’d been crying like I was tonight, you would have asked me what was wrong… tonight, you pretty much ignored me, leaving me to just cry on my own in bed. That makes me feel so much worse. I told you I was going for a walk… you didn’t even ask me why or what was going on. What does that mean things are going to be for us 5, 10 years down the road? What will I have to do to get your attention? When this whole house sale starts in a few weeks, things will only be busier. And you’ll then have house projects going on… which makes me wonder if I’ll ever even see you when you’re home? How will I ever begin to compete for your attention at that point?

I know all of these things probably sound silly to you, and I’m sure that in a few days or weeks they’ll sound silly to me, too… but right now, I feel about as unattractive and undesirable as a floormat, so these are real concerns for me. How do I need you to treat me right now? The way you did when I was pregnant, where you took care of me and made me feel like I was important to you. Evan may be out of my belly now, but I’m still uncomfortable, and I’m still ‘restricted’ in what I can do, and my hormones are still totally out of whack. Basically I’m still pregnant, even though I look skinnier on the outside. Maybe other women revel in this motherhood stuff, but I’m not yet… and I can’t pretend that I am just yet… because that just makes me feel worse about how I feel. It makes me feel like a fraud if I pretend that everything is OK. At least if I can be honest with you and tell you how I’m feeling, even if it embarrasses me, I can get it out of my system which will hopefully make me feel better in the long run.

I don’t know what else to say. I’ve been up for way too long, and I really should go back to sleep, but I am still too worked up to sleep. Thanks for reading, I’m sorry for the rambling thoughts, and I know I’m totally complaining, but I had to send this otherwise I’d explode at a bad time.

Love,

Me

Email to one of my counselors, 9.13.06 - Ev is 7 months old

I just don’t know what to do anymore, and I’m getting SO tired of this. None of the books help with this night waking stuff, and my husband doesn’t help, even though he means well. He’s just useless in the middle of the night. I feel like my marriage is a mess, and a year after getting married it shouldn’t be like this. I feel like I’m not doing anything well – my business, my house, my mothering skills, my own self-care routine, my food, my sleep, my social life – they’re all just BLAH. I don’t have anything to talk about except Evan, and I don’t even want to go to social functions because, frankly, I have nothing to say, and I’m too tired anyway. I’m just barely scraping by on all of them… and this is NOT the kind of life I wanted. Maybe if I could scrap the business, the social life, the household stuff, and my own care… and just focus on Evan…. I might feel a sense of accomplishment and pleasure. But right now, even though I love Evan to death, I just feel like I want my old life back. And I can’t imagine adding another child to the mix.

Email to two of my friends, 9. 06, asking for help

It was especially helpful for me to have you guys there the other night, because it was a rough day. I feel like I should let you in on what’s going on for me right now. It’s hard because I hate asking for help, but I also know that I really need help and support right now.

I’ve got postpartum depression… I’ve had it ever since Evan was born (well, even longer if you count that last month of pregnancy when the C-section came into the picture). I’ve blamed it on lots of things like not getting enough sleep, moving to Andover and not knowing anyone, not having my career, not knowing what I’m doing as a mom, etc. – and all of these things were factors in the depression – but they’re not what’s causing it.

I don’t know much about PPD… I’m still trying to figure out how to treat it, other than medication (because of breastfeeding I don’t want to go that route)… but everything I know how to do isn’t working. From what I’ve read, it’s chemical/hormonal… so will power can’t fix it. I know, because every day I wake up and try to fix it. It’s like there’s a gap between what I know I should be doing for myself, and what’s actually getting done. Not having a babysitter and time away from Evan isn’t helping either, these days.

It’s not the kind of depression that makes me cry all day (although I do cry) or think of hurting myself or Evan… but I’m just “flat.” I don’t care about much anymore, and I can’t make decisions to save my life. I just go through the day, and I don’t do much, because I can’t. Everything is really hard. And because I’m sad, angry, bitter, resentful, and all that good stuff… I’m hiding from people, because who wants to be around someone like that? Pretending to be OK is a lot of work, and I don’t have enough energy to pretend anymore. If other moms feel this way (and I know they do), they don’t talk about it… so it’s a lonely place to be. I keep feeling like I should be able to snap myself out of it, but try as I might, I just can’t.

So, I just wanted to ask both of you if you’d be willing to check in with me every once in a while, and ask if we can get together. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy… just something to take my mind off of things, and get me out of the house. It’s fine to have Evan with me… I like to have Evan with me… but I have a hard time initiating anything these days… but I always feel so much better when I get out and make something happen. I feel like the last 7 months have just slipped by, and not in a way that I would have liked them to, so I’d like to start changing that.

Email to my husband, Ben on 10.5 - Ev is 7 1/2 months old (we'd gotten to the point where communicating by email worked better than communicating in person). Sad, but true.

… I'm resorting to email... just like in the first few weeks after Evan was born… when you and Evan were asleep, and I was up fuming and upset, and feeling totally alone. So I guess email is the only way I’ll be able to ‘talk’ to you about this.

If I ever leave the bedroom upset again at night, come get me. Don’t let me be down here alone. I know you might not know what to do or say, but at least come be with me so I don’t have to be by myself. Sometimes I wonder if you really love me and know me, because I simply don’t understand how you can stay up there in bed and sleep when you know I’m down here hurting. That completely boggles my mind.

I came down tonight to get you because I was having a hard time. I couldn’t say anything before bedtime because Mike was here. I figured I wouldn’t have a chance to talk with you in the morning because you’d be out tuna fishing. I was hoping you’d ask me how I was doing (because it’s really hard for me to start a conversation by telling you how tough a time I’m having), and when you finally asked me, and I told you I wasn’t alright… you had absolutely no response. No, “Tell me what‘s going on…” No “I’m sorry you’re feeling that way, is there anything you’d like to talk about?” You just went to sleep. When I finally mustered up the courage to restart the conversation by telling you I needed help, you asked if we could talk about it in the morning. That’s the same response you gave me about a week ago, the first time I asked you if you thought I had PPD. You asked if I wanted to talk about it in the morning. I didn’t – I wanted to talk about it then, but it was obvious YOU wanted to talk about it in the morning.

I need your help, Ben. I know you think you’re giving it. But I need more help, or a different kind of help. The help I need changes on a daily basis, so I need you to keep asking me what I need, and do your good job of anticipating/over-delivering what you think I need, if I can’t tell you. Mostly I need you to talk with me and ask me how I’m doing. I need you to ask me what it’s like, how my day was, to show interest in what’s going on for me. And then listen to whatever detailed details/ramblings I talk about. They may sound inconsequential to you, but they’re huge to me.

I am doing the best I can to keep things ‘together’ and look like I’m doing fine whenever possible, but I’m not. It’s like a wave that keeps crashing against me… I get moments of peace when the wave moves back out again, but it always comes back and crashes against me again. It’s slowly making me feel like the shittiest person alive. I wish I had some kind of ‘real’ illness so that people would actually take care of me, because this PPD thing is debilitating in the way that a serious illness is, but no one ‘sees it,’ or they think it’s not a big deal.

You haven’t asked me what this is like for me. You came home with a list of PPD symptoms, and read them off to me, and then got mad when I tried to ‘get into the details’ of what was on your list. I know you keep hoping this will get better and just go away, and so I’m trying to go along with that, but it’s not working. Things don’t change. My day starts out good, but when you leave for work, it starts getting harder. I am trying to pretend, for Evan’s sake, that things are good… but it’s a long day of pretending. I don’t really care about much anymore, and that’s a scary place for me to be. It’s not me.

Do you know how lonely it is here during the day? I don’t know anyone here, I can’t talk with most of the people I know who have had babies because they just don’t get what I’m going through (and that only makes me feel more alienated), the people who haven’t had kids have no idea what to say to me, and Evan just wants all of me, all the time. I have given up all of my business ventures, and while I know I need the time/space… it’s not really time/space, because Evan needs me. And even if Evan was elsewhere, I’d only be left alone with my sadness and anger. So, even ‘getting a break’ isn’t really a break. It just means I’m alone with my depression.

The memory of that last month of pregnancy haunts me, and it never goes away. It’s a flashback that I have in some way, shape, or form many, many times a day. I can’t will it away – I’ve tried – and I can’t rationalize it away – I’ve tried. It’s like this pain that is so deep inside me and it makes me want to just curl up and never have to come out again. It’s like I lost a piece of my innocence, and was totally violated. And yet, I can’t say anything about it, and no one seems to care.

People say “it’s just a scar” and “you have a healthy baby” and “there’s nothing you could have done about it.” Those things don’t change the fact that it made me feel like my freedom, my choice, my body, my motherhood was taken away. It’s what makes me feel like a fraud of a mother, something I have to fight to convince myself is not true every single day. And then the depression just serves to reinforce the fraud feeling even more. So when people say “you just need to meet new people” and “all moms have a tough time at first” or “you just need to find a babysitter” it makes me feel worse… because those things don’t help me.

People don’t ask about me anymore, they don’t ask how I’m feeling… they pay attention to Evan. It’s like I was just this vessel, used for him to come into the world, and now I’ve served my purpose, so I can just be tossed aside. I know that’s not the real deal, but that’s how it feels to me. I miss pregnancy because you used to treat me like a queen, you didn’t get mad at me for needing help, and you gave me help without me asking for it. Now I’m just a depressed mom who doesn’t want to have sex, and I feel like more of a burden than anything.

I know this is more than you expected to have to face this early on in our marriage, but it’s much more than I expected to face. And because my brain and body aren’t working right, I need you to really be there to help me balance myself out. At the very least, when I finally muster up the courage to tell you that I’m not doing OK, I need you to be there with me and support me and let me talk it out. Even if it’s late at night and you want to go to sleep. Because trust me, if it’s late at night, I want to go to sleep too.

Journal entries from the beginning of my PPD hell

These are some journal entries I wrote during the beginning of my PPD struggles. I haven't edited them... Please note, I usually consider "Crappy" to be a swear word... so please pardon the profanity in this post... it shows you how "not myself" I was at this point in motherhood.

Email from 3.28.06 (Evan is 6 weeks old)

Ben came home tonight at 8:30, 12 hours after he left this morning, and took him from me so I could eat dinner and read the sleep book. I tried going in to talk with him about how frustrated I am, but we’re on totally different wave lengths, and somehow, trying to talk with him just doesn’t help these days.

I asked him if he was having fun, and he said, “Yes, I am.” Great, that’s because he only has to deal with Evan for 3 hours out of the day. Try 24. I told him I wasn’t having fun, and he gave me a look. I feel like I’m totally letting him down, because I’m not supermom, and because I’m not having fun. I never wanted to be a mom. I still don’t want to be a mom, but I don’t feel like I can tell anyone this. And yet I’ve got this baby here who isn’t going to go away, and my identity is completely gone now. All I’ve been identified with for the past 6 weeks has been a mom, and it’s not an identity that I want.

We went to a mommy&baby movie today, and we only saw 10 minutes of it, while he was breastfeeding. The rest of the time he was crying, and I couldn’t calm him down. I’m too nervous to take him anywhere, because I feel like he’s going to fuss the whole time, and I won’t be able to calm him down. That doesn’t help the new mom feelings of inadequacy.

The worst part is that I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. The other moms I know all are happy with being moms. At least that’s how they appear on the outside. I can’t talk with families about it because I don’t want to look like a terrible parent. I just can’t identify with that word, “parent.” It’s not something that I associate myself with yet. I’m sure I will, but right now, I don’t. I feel like a fraud, someone who’s pretending to like something that causes her frustration and stress.

I don’t look forward to waking up in the morning anymore because the days are so long and lonely and tiring. I don’t look forward to going to bed at night because I know I won’t get good sleep. My incision hurts, my stomach is flabby, I don’t get any quality time with my husband anymore, I haven’t had a good bowel movement in weeks, I’m totally exhausted, I can’t work out, my nipples hurt, my house is disorganized. Having a baby doesn’t cancel those things out.

I am too selfish to have a baby. I want to go back to the time when I was able to do things for ME.

March 2006

It’s now 1:00 a.m. and I’m not asleep. Even though Evan is asleep. Why? This is f*cking killing me, that my baby is asleep now, and yet I can’t sleep. I’m too worked up to sleep… I want to act like Evan. I want to scream, yell, throw a temper tantrum. I know what he feels like when he’s too tired. I know what it’s like.

I wish someone could explain to my husband that it’s normal to have a weepy, emotional, unconfident wife for the first few months. We’re having a tough time talking through this stuff, which is rare for us. Of course, trying to do it while there’s a baby crying in the same room… or when you’re going on 5 hours sleep… doesn’t help. He’s thrilled to have Evan, and he has always looked at fatherhood as something totally fun. Whereas, I dreaded motherhood, and I’m not having the ‘fun’ that he claims to be having. So, he just doesn’t get where I’m coming from. Don’t know if he ever will. I tried telling him how I was feeling last night, and he didn’t say anything in response… which didn’t help matters.

I wish other moms would talk about it – everyone seems to have everything under control, and no one talks about having any trouble… so it seems taboo to even mention it. You know me, though… I’ll bring it up, no matter what. I need to tell people what’s going on – it’s the only thing that gets me through tough times. But, it’s been weird with this… It’s very lonely. I’ve been feeling this way pretty much since I got pregnant, since I wasn’t ready to be a mom when Evan decided to show up, and he was a surprise… I feel like I’m still trying to adjust to everything… and after losing my pre-baby identities… and then assuming this new mom identity that I don’t’ feel ready for, and frankly, don’t feel good at yet… all while having a C-section which feels like a total violation of my body and spirit… it’s just a lot to deal with. Add to the fact that I’m not able to really eat well, drink lots of water, work out, sleep, run my business, have quality time with my husband, feel the skin above my pubic area, touch my breasts without wincing, wear my old clothes, do the things I want to do… and I guess it all makes sense.

4.7.06

I want to drive away and not come back. I am sick and tired of being the only source of food for my child. Evan is hungry yet AGAIN tonight, and my nipples are sore and tired, and I don’t want to feed him. It’s almost midnight and he’s supposed to be asleep. Ben asked me to get the bottle for him, but I don’t want to, because that was supposed to feed him tonight, so I could finally get a night of full rest.

Today I didn’t get anything done. Nothing. I didn’t even get to write an email. I didn’t get to any of the things that I had down on my list. All I did was try to entertain Evan and keep him from crying, and the only way I can keep him from crying is to feed him. He was the only kid in mommy dance class today who was crying. All the other kids were sitting there being alert and happy, and he cried through the entire second half. Again, the only way I could keep him calm was to feed him. I guess that answers the question of whether or not I’m going to sign up for the class. Why would I pay money to sit there and breastfeed Evan during a class?

I need more free time. A lot more. Alice came today for a little over an hour, and basically I got to shower (didn’t have time to dry my hair), make some soup from a box, get the stupid vinegar solution ready for Evan, and then my time was up. Great. What a wonderful relief time for me. What the f*ck? Showering, eating… those are necessary things for survival. Yet, I don’t even have time to do those on a regular basis. I didn’t get to take a shit today either… f*cking Evan is making me constipated, and that’s NOT cool at all. It makes me really pissed off. I worked so hard to get my stupid bowels working, and the birth and everything that has happened afterward screwed it all up again.

I want to be able to be away from him for 12 hours, and have a LIFE again. I have no life. And I don’t see how my life is ever going to come back. I’m sick of wearing stupid shirts to hide my stupid huge ass nursing bras. I’m sick of treating this f*cking thrush. I’m sick of hearing him cry. Why won’t he stop crying?

There are people who want to work with me, and I can’t work with them, because I’m stuck at home all day trying to keep a baby from crying. This is NOT what my brain was meant to do. I wish my life could go back to the way it was.

Looking Back: My PPD Journey Revisited

This is part of a document I wrote for PPD Task Force that I'm on... it was my way of summarizing my PPD journey.

I'll break this document into several different posts... because, like everything I write, it's really long!

This section will be an overview of what PPD was like for me... and how I figured out something was terribly wrong.

**********

Looking back, I think it’s quite possible that my Postpartum Depression started the very moment I found out I was pregnant. So I guess you could say my journey began with Prenatal Depression. I remember that moment well…

I was alone in the bathroom in the dark at 1:00 a.m., waiting for the little pink pregnancy stick to declare my fate. My husband Ben told me later:

“I could tell what the result was before you came into the living room. You let out a sound of despair.”

I hate that my first reaction to my unborn child was one of despair. But that’s the truth. I can’t change it now, I can’t rewrite the past. I came out of the bathroom doubled over, my hand over my mouth, and I wandered around that apartment until the sun came up… wondering what the heck I was going to do.

The truth is, at some point in my life, I did want to get pregnant. But this wasn’t the time. I wasn’t ready to be pregnant at this time. It was five months before my wedding, my business was booming, and gosh darn it, I had a sexy wedding dress to fit into!

Looking back, I see that bits and pieces of the depression started surfacing at that time… poking up into my consciousness here and there. It got worse as the first trimester nausea set in and my body weakened, but I could always squelch it back down for a little while. I used the wedding, honeymoon, and baby planning activities as coping mechanisms – they distracted me from my depression.

I remember feeling very strongly that I didn’t want to be pregnant. I tried to hide those feelings, though, for two main reasons:

1. I felt like I had to keep a happy face on to pretend like it was all part of the master plan. Since Ben and I weren’t married yet, we didn’t know how people (our families, friends, my clients) would judge us.

2. I didn’t want the unborn child in my womb to catch on to the fact that his mom wasn’t ready for him. Not at that particular moment in time, anyway. I knew that the baby was soaking up all of my emotions… and so, I thought that if I covered up my anger and sadness, that he wouldn’t pick up on it. My negative feelings were very strong, so I countered them by throwing myself headfirst into the world of birth planning. If I could only plan a great birth, do lots of prenatal yoga, and look great as a pregnant woman, and do lots of reading about natural childbirth… that I could wash away the feelings of angst and resentment that I had towards the pregnancy. It wasn’t that I hated my baby… but I did hate the position that my baby put me in.

My entire life changed in an instant… and I didn’t ask for it… and I wasn’t ready for it. So, my PPD actually started when my baby was the size of a speck of dust. For the most part, I managed to hide it and pretend it wasn’t there.

That is, until January 16, 2005 when I was 35 ½ weeks pregnant. That was the day when my two midwives and their assistant came to my Cambridge apartment, birth tub in tow. They looked around the apartment and declared it suitable for a homebirth. Then they discovered that my baby was breech (head up) and they told me they wouldn’t deliver him at home. My entire world came crashing down.

We looked into other options, and had a consultation with an OB who’d done breech deliveries in the past at our original hospital, but she wouldn’t deliver my son. At the end of a few tearful weeks, it looked like our only option was a Cesarean-Section.

This is when my depression came back roaring with a vengeance. I couldn’t contain it, I couldn’t hide it, and I couldn’t hide from it. It overwhelmed and overpowered me like a wave crashing on me, over and over and over again.

I remember crying almost nonstop for days after getting confirmation that my son was breech. I cried so much that even my husband (who’s not a big proponent of counseling or self-help) said, “I think you need to get some help. Do you think you should talk to somebody about this?”

I remember dreaming that I was watching myself die on the operating table, and I woke up sobbing from that one. But the baby wasn’t here yet, so I didn’t think this was depression. Now I’ve learned that birth-related depression can actually start (and can be the strongest) in the third trimester of pregnancy… but I didn’t know that back then.

Then Evan was born. The C-section was extremely traumatic, in ways I can’t describe in just a few sentences. I’ve written extensively about the birth itself in other posts on this blog.

I cried for the first few weeks…but I thought it was the baby blues. I went to a postpartum support group six weeks after my C-section. I sat in a roomful of women and talked angrily and sadly about my experiences as a mom. All of the other women were on medication for Postpartum Depression (PPD). I felt bad for them, but I was glad I didn’t have PPD… I was just really, really pissed off and angry about my C-section. That’s all.

I went online when Evan was a few weeks old, to take some tests to see if I had PPD, and at that point in time I met almost all of the criteria. But I thought I’d get better soon… after all, I wasn’t depressed or anything. I don’t get depressed. I’m too self-aware, too healthy, too strong, and way too in tune with myself.

Then we moved to a new house three months after Evan was born. I was still crying a lot and being angry a lot and I still didn’t like my son… but I thought that I was just having problems adjusting to being in a new house in a new city.

I signed up for a Money and Business course (by phone) when Evan was 5 months old. Interestingly enough, several people in that group were depressed. I felt bad for them, but was glad I wasn’t depressed. I was just having flashbacks and crying spells from my C-section. That’s all.

It took until I was 7 months postpartum for me to realize that something very serious was wrong with me and my reactions to new motherhood. I remember that day very well. I was on the phone with another holistic health counselor, and we were planning a support group for new moms (ironically enough). This other new mom had an empowering natural vaginal birth with her 3-month old son. As we spoke about our first few months of motherhood, I could hear – quite clearly and distinctly – the difference between the ways I was talking about motherhood… and the ways she was talking about motherhood.

We were both talking about sleep deprivation and a loss of freedom and the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding and getting our babies down for naps. The topics were the same. But the underlying tones in our voices were very different. There was an anger, bitterness, frustration, resentment, sadness, grief, and depression present in my voice that simply wasn’t present in her voice. I was shocked to realize that not all new moms felt the way I did… not all of them were depressed and still in shock from the experience. The way that she remembered her birth was almost the exact opposite of my memories of my birth. Her birth had empowered her and made her feel confident in herself. Mine had made me feel disempowered and violated.

That was the moment in time when I knew something was wrong with me. So, seven months after Evan was born, I found myself taking the same PPD tests I’d taken when he was a few weeks old… and I was scoring just as high. I also found a few sites that talked about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, you don’t have to be a prisoner of war to get PTSD – you can get it from a traumatic birth. So, as it turned out, I had a combination of PPD and PTSD… a double whammy.

Looking back, I should have known (and someone else should have caught on) that depression was in my future. I’d never been depressed before, so I didn’t even know that it was a possibility. I’d heard about PPD, I’d read about it, but it was similar to the C-section in my mind – I never thought it would happen to me. And it if did happen, I simply thought I could handle it. And the old Christi (non-mommy Christi) might have been able to.

Summary of PPD/PTSD Books

As part of my healing process from Postpartum Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after the birth of my son, I read many, many books on this topic.

I read some of these books when I was deep in my own depression, and I read others when I was almost out of the depression. At that point, I was thinking of writing my own book... and wanted to see what I had missed during my first reading session.

There are many PPD books out there, and I must share with you that I found nuggets of wisdom and help in every book that I read. They were all similar, yet very different.

Different books will appeal to different readers...

When I was most depressed, I wanted to read stories written by other moms. I wanted to hear about their yuck, their anger, and their grief. I wanted to know I wasn't alone, and that I wasn't crazy. Most of all, I wanted to know that I would come out of it... for at that point, it felt like I would never, ever surface from my PPD hell.

When I was almost healed, I wanted to read more about the logistics and details of PPD... I wanted to uncover - in a sane, coherent fashion - what I had just gone through in such a dazed stupor. I wanted to see if there was any stone left unturned... and what I would do differently next time.

The books that I've summarized here contain both types of reading experiences. I've included my own synopsis of the books... but please keep in mind that these are my own personal responses... not my professional responses.

Here's a link to the list of books:

http://www.bostonhealthcoach.com/ppdbooks.html

Response to a quote from Jennifer Block's book "Pushed"

I started this letter on July 27, 2007 – Evan is 17 months old.

I finished it on September 4, 2007 - Evan is 18 1/2 months old.

** Please read my next blog post after this one... and you'll see how complex the road of C-section recovery is. A month ago, when I started this letter after reading "Pushed" I was still very much in angry/sad mode... but you'll see at the end of this letter that I was starting to pull out silver linings from my birth experience. The post that follows ("Did I Need a Cesarean?") will show you how my thoughts and views changed in a month's time. At that point, I was starting to see how the negative parts of my C-section were actually strengthening me and impacting my life in a positive way. For moms who feel like it will never get better... know that a lot can change in just a month. This post and the next one proves it. **

*********************

I just finished reading Jennifer Block’s book “Pushed.” It’s a magnificent book, and I loved everything in it. Much of it made me mad, but I’m glad it’s out there for the public to view.

There was one quote in this book that I feel compelled to respond to. On p. 64, a certain Dr. Crane (an OB who is quoted in the book) says,

“There’s no doubt in my mind that there’s more maternal morbidity with a cesarean. But a hole in the bladder, a post-operative infection – that’s not going to ruin their lives. A bad baby is going to ruin our lives.”

I don’t even know where to begin. This statement makes me so furious. And it very clearly demonstrates why women who enter a hospital for a positive birth are fighting an uphill battle.

If you look at Dr. Crane’s statement, you’ll see a very interesting fact emerge: the life of a doctor is really the doctor’s main concern during labor and delivery. And the life of the baby becomes important to him mainly because if the baby dies, he believes that will ruin his (the doctor’s) life.

My question is: Where does this leave the mom?

And, if Dr. Crane doesn’t think that a hold in the bladder or a post-operative infection ruins a mom’s life, then what WILL it take to ruin a mom’s life, in his mind? Does the mom have to die? What does a ruined mom’s life look like, anyway?

**********

I’d like to address that question from my own personal experience. Since Dr. Crane is a medical doctor, and will assumedly perform many C-sections in the future, I feel compelled to set the record straight. Also, since he’s a man, and will never have to endure the repercussions of a C-section, I feel compelled to tell him the truth about what he’s doing to many of the women that he operates on. He probably won’t choose to accept the truth, but I am compelled to tell him anyway.

The truth is that it doesn’t take a hole in the bladder or a post-op infection for a C-section to ruin the life of woman, her child, and her family. A C-section has far-reaching effects, and these effects go way beyond the physical ramifications of surgery. Many doctors only think about the physical experiences of their patients, and they ignore the fact that there’s a PERSON on that operating table… a human being whose very energy, soul, cell memories, and sense of self-worth are being traumatized as the knife cuts the skin… as the hands reach in to tug and pull the baby out… as the uterus is plopped out of the belly unceremoniously and exposed while it’s sewn up… and as the stitches zig-zag back and forth on once-virgin pubic skin.

THE DOCTOR’S VIEW

From a medical perspective, here are the details of my C-section.

Patient: Christi Collins. 2/15/06 “planned” Cesarean Section for baby’s footling breech presentation. Bicornuate uterus/septum. Picture-perfect operation and recovery. No post-op infection, no hole in the bladder, no spinal headache, no incision splitting, no hysterectomy. Baby and husband were with mother during uterine repair. Mom breastfed in hospital. Baby roomed in the entire hospital stay.

From the medical view of things, one would think that Christi Collins was ecstatic and delighted with the experience. No life ruined here, right? Healthy baby, healthy mom. Picture perfect C-section. In fact, you’d probably suggest that Christi Collins would be an excellent candidate for a repeat C-section, right?

THE REAL VIEW, FROM THE PATIENT’S PERSPECTIVE

Repeat C-section, my ass. Let me, Christi Collins, share with you, Dr. Crane, the real story. You see, you as a doctor only see one side of it. You see us moms drugged up and tied down and so you think (because we are too terrified, numbed, or full of hatred to tell you otherwise) that we are fine. That we are grateful to you for slicing us open and medicalizing an inherently natural process. That we don’t care about what’s happening to our bodies, because it’s all in the name of a healthy baby, after all.

You have the gall to say that a hole in the bladder or an infection wouldn’t ruin our lives? Well, let me tell you that it doesn’t take a hole in the bladder or an infection to ruin a new mother’s life.

All it took to ruin my life was a “picture perfect” C-section.

Let me count the ways…

How EMOTIONAL TRAUMA/PTSD/PPD ruined my life

I went to a postpartum support group six weeks after my C-section. I sat in a roomful of women and talked angrily and sadly about my experiences as a mom. All of the other women were on medication for Postpartum Depression (PPD). I felt bad for them, but I was glad I didn’t have PPD… I was just really, really pissed off and angry about my C-section. That’s all.

I signed up for a Money and Business course (by phone) when my son was 5 months old. Interestingly enough, several people in that group were depressed. I felt bad for them, but was glad I wasn’t depressed. I was just having flashbacks and crying spells from my C-section. That’s all.

It took until I was 7 months postpartum for me to realize that something very serious was wrong with me and my reactions to new motherhood. I remember that day very well. I was on the phone with another holistic health counselor, and we were planning a support group for new moms (ironically enough). This other new mom had an empowering natural vaginal birth with her 3-month old son. As we spoke about our first few months of motherhood, I could hear – quite clearly and distinctly – the difference between the ways I was talking about motherhood… and the ways she was talking about motherhood.

We were both talking about sleep deprivation and a loss of freedom and the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding and getting our babies down for naps. The topics were the same. But the underlying tones in our voices were very different. There was an anger, bitterness, frustration, resentment, sadness, grief, and depression present in my voice that simply wasn’t present in her voice. I was shocked to realize that not all new moms felt the way I did… not all of them were depressed and still in shock from the experience. The way that she remembered her birth was almost the exact opposite of my memories of my birth. Her birth had empowered her and made her feel confident in herself. Mine had made me feel disempowered and violated.

That was the moment in time when I knew something was wrong with me. I’d gone online when my son was a few weeks old, to see if I had PPD, and at that point in time I fit almost all of the criteria. But I’d forgotten about it (or the sleep deprivation took over, I’m not sure what happened, to be honest!). Seven months later, I found myself taking the same PPD tests and scoring just as high. I also found a few sites that talked about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, you don’t have to be a prisoner of war to get PTSD – I got it from my “picture perfect” C-section.

How can PTSD wreck a mother’s life? Well, imagine that you can’t stop thinking about your surgery at all… You see, people ask me how much I thought about my C-section when I was in the depths of my PPD… and the truth is, I can’t remember when I DIDN’T think about it. It wasn’t in the front of my brain all the time, but it was always present in this persistent, underlying, dull, lingering, aching sadness or anger. These feelings never fully went away. At times, I felt like a zombie. I would play with my son, and the second he’d turn his back to pick up a block, I would feel my face go limp. Trying to pretend that you’re OK… when you’re not… is exhausting. Especially when you’re trying to pretend in front of a baby all day long.

There were sharper PTSD memories, too. These were flashbacks to the surgery itself, and the weeks leading up to the surgery, when I knew that my homebirth dream had come crashing down. These sharp memories were accompanied by insomnia, floods of body-wracking tears, angry yelling fits, extreme aloofness and despair. The memories were triggered by specific experiences: breastfeeding my son, going for a run, seeing a pregnant woman or a new mom, seeing any birth shows on TV, hearing my son cry, seeing my son, seeing my scar, attempting to have sex with my husband. All day long, I got constant reminders of my C-section, and they would plunge me back into despair.

The worst part is… most people don’t even know I’ve had trouble since Evan’s birth. See, that’s the thing, Dr. Crane… moms who are depressed usually don’t say anything to anyone. Because they’re not allowed to be unhappy. They have to be happy because they’ve got a baby. And a baby is supposed to make you happy. At least, that’s what everyone else says.

I’m not like most people, though. I’m pretty honest about what’s going on with me. I also knew that I needed help. So I tried telling people. When I finally got in for a medical physical and PPD support, and I told the nurse at the new doctor’s office that I was suffering from the traumatic effects of my C-section, she told me, “Well, at least you have a happy, healthy baby.” No help there… that only made me feel worse.

I called my OB-Gyn and told them that I had PPD and needed help (because that’s the thing all the books and literature tell you to do… tell your OB-Gyn – she’s the first line of defense). She never even called me back… her office manager simply left the name of an acupuncturist on my voice mail. She never checked up with me again. I could have committed suicide and she’d never know.

I tried telling my parents, but they didn’t really want to hear about my pain – they just wanted me to enjoy the time with their grandson because “it all goes by so fast.” I called my doula. I called the Catholic Church (I haven’t been to Mass in years, but I was desperate). I called Jewish Family Services (I’m not Jewish but I heard that they could help – they actually denied my request for a visiting mom volunteer when Evan was younger, but I tried again nevertheless). I told my mother-in-law, but she never asked me about it again. I told my friends, and some of them were really supportive, but many of them never checked in on me again either. Most of them don’t have kids… and the ones with kids didn’t have PPD, so very few people understood. I told my husband, and he tried to help me brainstorm places to get help… and he took care of my son a bit more… but he doesn’t know how to help me… it’s not covered anywhere in those “What to Expect” books. He just wants me to get better, to fix myself. And my husband doesn’t have time to be my therapist – he’s too busy trying to hold the rest of our lives together while I recover from my picture-perfect C-section. Remember, the one that hasn’t ruined my life?

You see, I did all the “right things.” I told the people in my innermost circles. But there was little help for me there. People didn’t understand how bad it was for me. They didn’t know what to do. So, I retreated, and I’ve been with my own pain for a long time. Many people still don’t know how much pain there is for me on a daily basis. So, has that pain ruined my life? You be the judge.

How a LACK OF BOND WITH BABY and – MISTRUST IN MY OWN MOTHERING CAPABILITIES ruined my life

I didn’t like my son for a long time. Like, 7-10 months, that’s how long it took. I didn’t feel a bond with him. To this day, I still have a twinge of regret when I see him sometimes, or when he cries for me. You took away our ability to breastfeed well for the first few weeks, because he was so tired from the drugs. We persisted, but I know many moms whose ability to breastfeed has been taken away because of C-section after-effects. Now, if breastfeeding is one of the best ways to positively impact the health of a baby and child, then couldn’t you say that a C-section ruins the lives of the babies whose moms can’t breastfeed them any longer? Again, you be the judge.

Now, 17 months later, I still don’t feel like a real mother. The C-section took away an important ritual and right of passage whereby my body was supposed to become a mother. What happened was surgery, it was not a birth. My cells and my psyche never got to transition into motherhood. So I find myself not quite knowing what to do with my son, or able to understand how I ended up with this little creature who depends on me.

For the first 3 months of my son’s life, I wouldn’t bathe him. I wouldn’t pull shirts over his head. I didn’t take him to the grocery store, or out to the stores. I wouldn’t put him in his carseat. Those things made him cry, and because the C-section made me doubt my abilities as a mom, I simply didn’t have the courage to do those typical mom things. When other people came over, I assumed that they knew how to take better care of my baby than I did. So I passed him off. The C-section ruined my chance to be a mother to my son for the first year of his life. I couldn’t even plan a birthday party for him, because the thought of February 15 was so painful I couldn’t even face it. I had to go to a therapy session that day and try to re-brand the day into a less painful memory for myself.

How FEAR OF ANOTHER PREGNANCY ruined my life

I am terrified to get pregnant again, because of the fear of another C-section. You have increased my risk of another surgery, simply because you forced me into the first one. If I get pregnant again, my options are extremely limited. You have essentially forced me into a high-risk category that I shouldn’t be in. I will have to fight, claw, and basically hibernate in order to get a natural birth next time around. You have taken away the bliss and happiness of trying to conceive another child. I am terrified of going through Postpartum Depression again.

How SERIOUS MISTRUST OF MEDICAL COMMUNITY ruined my life

I hope to never have to see another doctor again. If I got cancer, I would rather die than have chemo or see a traditional doctor. I am afraid to have my first dental filling, because I don’t want another doctor touching my body. I don’t want any doctors to come near me.

My son apparently needs surgery right now, and I’m procrastinating because frankly, I can’t trust that the doctor is telling me the truth. I can’t understand how a community that is supposed to serve women is taking away their options, one-by-one. Women with breech babies must have C-sections. Women with twins and multiples must have C-sections. Women who are induced, who “fail to progress,” who have “big babies,” who go past their “due dates”… they’re all forced into C-sections. These are not maternal request C-sections. These are C-sections that earn more money, keep you from getting sued, and increase the convenience of a nicely-balanced work-life schedule. If doctors were truly looking out for their patients’ well-being, they would provide them with options. They would consider the moms’ needs and desires over the insurance/malpractice companies’ mandates. So, you have basically told me that for my next birth, I must remain at home, and if I cannot find a homebirth midwife to attend my birth, then I will birth alone.

Ah, but perhaps you think that THIS concept (meaning, an unattended homebirth) will ruin my life by putting myself and my baby in danger… maybe I’ve got you at last!

How a 15-month pause in my SEX LIFE ruined my life

My husband and I were not able to have sex for 15 months after our son was born. 15 months. Tell me this, Dr. Crane… would 15 months of no sex ruin your life? It can sure ruin a marriage. Luckily, I have a loyal and understanding and very patient husband… but I can tell you that there were times in the last year and a half that I thought our marriage was ruined. Not because of anything my husband said or did – he was amazingly patient and kind and gentle. But because you lose intimacy when you can’t have sex. We lost intimacy. We became roommates. I almost took off and left a few times. I’m sure he wanted to, as well. Not only do I feel like my body is “broken” because of the C-section, but now I’ve got a ruined sex life to add to my brokenness.

Why would a C-section ruin a sex life? Well, I’m sure you’d have no problem understanding why a rape victim might have problems having sex after a rape. So, now you know why I’m having problems having sex after a C-section. That C-section that you said wouldn’t ruin my life… well, it felt like a rape. It was brutal and it was traumatic. I was powerless, out of control, and forced into something that I DID NOT WANT TO DO. In case you’ve forgotten what you’re doing there at the end of the operating table… you are CUTTING into my skin. While I’m awake. While I can hear you… smell the burning flesh (my own flesh)… and know that my virgin belly was being ripped open. You are a man, so you’ve never had a C-section. Why don’t you try staying awake for your next major surgery, and tell me how that feels? Oh, and don’t try to tell me that I can’t feel anything during surgery. That’s bull. Let me jump on your stomach, over and over, and you can tell me if you don’t feel anything.

The C-section happened at night. So, pretty much, my nighttimes feel like I’m reliving a rape over and over. Makes night sex pretty much impossible. Daytime sex? Well, then it’s light out, so I can see my scar, which makes me cry and reminds me of my rape… I mean C-section… so daytime sex is out, too.

I’m also terrified of getting pregnant again. It’s hard to enjoy sex (or even want to have sex) when you’re terrified of getting pregnant.

But again, the C-section hasn’t ruined my life or anything.

How THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS/HOURS SPENT ON COUNSELING AND SUPPORT ruined my life

Lest you think I’m simply wallowing in my despair, and trying to hold on to this event… let me tell you that my goal is to let it go and get over it. I have seen/talked with/met with TEN different counselors, trying to climb out of the depths of my despair from Evan’s birth. I’ve seen three people who specialize in traumatic birth counseling. I’ve seen a traditional psychologist. I’ve worked with three holistic health counselors and a spiritual counselor. I’ve had sessions with a shiatsu practitioner and a clinical nutritionist. I’ve waited months to see a traditional MD to get blood tests run to rule out physical causes of my depression.

I called more than 9 different doctors, trying to get in to see someone. The average wait time? THREE MONTHS. My life was ruined in an instant, and they want me to wait THREE MONTHS before I can start to get help? Three months feels like a lifetime when you’re depressed, and you’ve got a little baby to take care of and new motherhood to adjust to.

So, as you can see, I’m not sitting here wallowing in my despair. I am trying, desperately, to get help. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on this counseling, trying to get over an event that earned you thousands of dollars. If/when I ever get pregnant again, I will need to continue this counseling because of the intense fear I feel about perhaps having to deal with you and a C-section again next time around. But as you said, “It’s not going to ruin her life.” But it sure as heck has ruined my bank account. On that note…

How LOSS OF INCOME/BUSINESS SLOWDOWN ruined my life

As you might imagine, all of this counseling and depression jazz sure takes a toll on my mental and emotional capacity to run my business. You see, I’m a holistic health counselor… it’s my job to support other people and help them get healthier. When a holistic health counselor is so depressed she can’t even feed herself… when she’s so tired and in so much pain from a surgery she never wanted… when she’s focusing on just making it through another day… then she is in no place to support her clients, do lectures, facilitate teleclasses, write books, write magazine articles. I put my book on hold because of my C-section. I put my business on hold because I need to get better first. I’ve lost tens of thousands of dollars of business income because of this one “picture perfect” surgery… but of course, it hasn’t ruined my life or anything.

How DECREASED SOCIAL OPPORTUNITIES ruined my life

When a woman is depressed from her birth, they tell her: “Just go out and hang out with other moms!” Well, that doesn’t work. Let me tell you why. When you’re depressed, the last thing you want to do is go out and put on a happy face and try to pretend like everything is OK. The last thing you want to do when you’re a traumatized C-section mom is hear stories of vaginal births… or hear moms tell of C-sections that they liked (because most of them are lying, but they’re too much in denial to tell the truth). Contrary to what you hear (or what ACOG tells you), most moms don’t want C-sections. It’s just that most of them are too tired or scared to tell you how they really feel. That’s why I’m writing this to you.

I felt like a failure for having a C-section. Seeing pregnant women, moms with new babies, strollers, hospitals, doctors, etc. all made me relive that horrible memory. So, I literally couldn’t go out in public. It was too painful. And I was terrified that someone would ask me about my birth story. Who wants to hear someone tell them the story of how they were raped during their child’s birth? No one wants to hear that.

Here’s the other reason why I lost out on a lot of the “Mommy & Me” social events after my son was born. I was in too much pain to go. My other mom friends were out and about… but I could still barely even move around my own apartment. And remember, I had a “picture perfect” recovery. But I sure as heck missed out on the first few weeks. Remember, I wasn’t allowed to drive, I couldn’t lift my son’s carseat, I couldn’t carry groceries, and I sure as heck couldn’t get his stroller down from our 3^rd floor apartment. You sent me home with a newborn, and yet you told me I couldn’t lift his carseat. How in the world does that work, exactly? Lucky you, you’ll never have to find out.

HOW SURGICAL PHYSICAL RAMIFICATIONS ruined my life

You may notice that I haven’t mentioned many physical side effects of the surgery. Aside from the intense digestive problems that surfaced for 15 months after my C-section antibiotics were given… I haven’t had many physical problems. Thank goodness. Many moms have post-op problems that are debilitating to their bodies and crushing to their psyches. I was lucky enough to avoid that fate. But I have no idea what will happen the next time I want to get pregnant. Will I be able to get pregnant? Will my scar cause problems? Will I rupture? Will I be able to find a care provider who will attend the kind of birth I want to have… or will I be forced to labor alone or travel to a different country or go underground to find a care provider who doesn’t consider me to be a ticking time bomb? You see, my C-section has forever labeled me high-risk. The physical ramifications remain to be seen, but you have forever complicated things for me. You’ve taken away birthing options and you’ve lowered my confidence levels just enough to make the self-doubt creep a bit. You have ruined the innocence of my next pregnancy.

THE GOOD NEWS

When I think about the good that has come from my C-section, there is one silver lining. It has made me mad. It has made me mad enough that I will never, ever accept what you say as truth. I will fight to help other mothers avoid my fate.

You see, I was a well-educated woman. I was healthy. I’d planned hard for a natural birth. I’d prepared physically and emotionally. I’d read a ton about birth, and I thought I’d almost all but eliminated my chances of having a C-section by planning a homebirth. Well, now I know that even smart, well-meaning, strong women have C-sections. And now I hold no judgment for women who have C-sections. I know that most of them have these operations because they have no other choice, they’re not given accurate information, because they’ve been beaten down by their doctors, the media, their families, the TV shows and books that make them feel like they are broken. I never realized how strong the pressure was on women to succumb to C-sections until I was in the situation myself.

If you tell women how strong they were, instead of telling them they’re defective, they wouldn’t submit to C-sections. If you tell a woman you’ll be there to support her during labor, instead of telling her you’re going on vacation so you need to induce her, she wouldn’t submit to a C-section. If you tell her that her pelvis and body are designed to know exactly what to do to birth a baby, instead of telling her she’s too small, too large, too bony, too fat, too late, etc., she wouldn’t submit to a C-section. If you told moms that their bodies, their intuition, and their babies know exactly the right timing to start the labor process, instead of telling them they need to push the kid out by 40 weeks and under a 12-hour time table, then they wouldn’t submit to C-sections. And less lives would be ruined.

If I’d had my homebirth, I would probably judge C-section moms. I would think that they simply weren’t strong enough, didn’t read enough, didn’t have the right care provider, etc. But I know that simply isn’t true. Sometimes you need to go through the trauma and brutality of your first C-section to gain the power, strength, and self-confidence and TRUST in your own body to refuse a C-section the second time. And to help other women have the confidence to do the same. It’s my mission to help moms develop this power, strength, self-confidence and trust BEFORE they get sliced open by your scalpel.

And lest you think I’m the only crazy one who feels this way, know that I’m not. It’s just that most women won’t tell you. Most women don’t have the energy left to fight. They don’t want to speak their truth because when they spoke their truth during their pregnancies (or their labors) you told them they didn’t know what was true. Or you told them that they were putting their baby at risk. So, they remain silent.

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So let me be their voice and tell you that you HAVE ruined lives. Because, regardless of what you think, it takes less than a bladder infection and post-op infection to ruin a new mom’s life. Sometimes all it takes is a picture-perfect C-section.