I got a text from a work colleague this morning and instantly cried.
I cried through the entire text conversation, and carried on for half hour afterwards with Sophie asking me what was wrong and bringing me tissues. I tried not to do it in front of her but I just couldn't help it, once the crying started it wouldn't stop.
I cried for the kindness from the lady that texted, cried when she said they needed me back for things to run smoothly, and cried when I told her my baby was born on the 17th (I'd not yet bought myself to tell anyone at work because I didn't want to open a dialogue of conversation like this one that I knew I'd get extremely anxious about)
But most of all I cried for the old me, the one a year ago that happily and confidently went to work in a job that was set for life, with people I adored. I cried for everything that's changed, for the fact that I can't unchange it and for the fear I have of the future.
I'm crying writing this.
I feel so low again.
My husband came home from work at lunchtime and I asked him to take the kids out without me. He has kindly obliged and I'm now in bed, writing this because otherwise I think I'll just curl up in a ball and sob. I'll just go back over all the bad things again and make myself hurt.
That's what leads me to the title of this particular entry. I thought maybe I was doing the right thing, asking him to take the kids out so I can vent/cry/sleep off whatever is happening in my brain, that I was giving my self a break and a bit of self care, but what if I'm actually doing the opposite and I am just letting myself mope? Am I just indulging the depression or hormones and letting them win by giving in to my lethargy and disinterest in anything else? Would better self care have been to make myself go out and attempt social interaction to keep my mind busy and distracted?
To be honest I fear maybe it would've been, because since hubby left with the kids I've found myself thinking self harming thoughts for the first time in ages. And what's worse is that before, being pregnant was always my buffer, my thing that meant I never let anything but my mind go there. But I'm not pregnant anymore and I keep having those stupid thoughts of 'they'd all be better off without me'.
I'm pinning everything now on these emotions being triggered by hormones and passing in the next few days because I just don't know how much more fight I've got left in me.
Tuesday, 29 July 2014
Friday, 25 July 2014
Hello baby Joe
He is here :-)
Born at 9.33am on the 17th July weighing 6lb 2oz. He is diddy!
After a long and difficult pregnancy and the worst bout of depression I've ever suffered I can honestly say it was utterly and absolutely worth it. He is gorgeous and I adore him.
It's taken me numerous attempts to write this blog entry. Partially because I'm struggling to do anything other than slump on a sofa asleep & drooling, with a new born baby throwing up on my dressing gown and a toddler tugging at my arm. But also, because of my mood. I'm finding my mood difficult to describe at the moment.
The lead up to Joes birth was incredibly anxious, I drove to the hospital with my husband in silence, my heart thundering in my chest. It wasn't just the prospect of the surgery, but the inevitable things that would follow.
I worried that I'd resent the baby after such a difficult pregnancy, that I wouldn't bond with him. I worried about Sophie's reaction, about my ability to cope during the first few weeks, and as I've said before, I dread the prospect of post natel depression. I got myself in such a state.
My midwife, yet again, was amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better one. From the outset it was obvious she'd read all the notes about my medical history and mental health and she made a conscious effort to take this into consideration, not only with everything she did or said, but also in influencing others actions around me. I love her a little bit for that.
When we first arrived we were told that I was second on the list to go down for the op, which would've meant around a three hour wait. However, for some reason that was never explained, I was bumped up to first on the list and taken straight down to theatre.
I suspect my midwife may have influenced this, because of my anxiety, and that perhaps the surgeon etc had picked up on it too. If that was the case then I can't tell you how much I appreciate their observations and the action they took - the longer I'd have waited the more anxious I'd have got.
I won't bore you all with the details of the surgery, I found it very difficult and sobbed until Joseph was born. But this time, unlike with Sophie, they gave me him to hold (with help from my angelic midwife) and once I had him I was a lot calmer. It distracted me from what was happening and gave me something to focus on instead of the washing up feeling going on in my stomach. I was relieved; relieved he was ok, relieved that I instantly loved him, and relieved that this whole experience was one step closer to finally being over.
I found a couple of members of the staff in theatre frustrating - one kept commenting that I had nothing to cry about as it was a joyous occasion, and another that tried to chat to me about work (my ultimate anxiety trigger at the moment). Neither of them were to know though, they were just trying to be friendly and pleasant. I'm pretty sure I felt the midwife give one of them a glare at one point and they never said a word after that!
The first week since Joseph's birth, whilst challenging to say the least, has been quite positive. He's quite a contented baby but eats very often. Soph seems to adore him, but the change has obviously made her feel a bit anxious as she's really pushing her boundaries at the moment. Her most common act of rebellion at the moment is deliberately peeing on the floor. It's great fun....
Things are starting to get a bit harder now though. Over the last three days I keep getting completely overwhelmed by a sense of panic, feeling trapped and bored and worried about the future. The feelings aren't dissimilar to what I remember feeling during the baby blues with Sophie, and I keep telling myself that's all it is and it will pass.
It's scary for me. The way my mind jumps to negative conclusions and the constant need to cry is so similar to where I was a month ago, it feels like I'm going backwards.
Being stuck indoors doesn't help. Having had a C section I'm not allowed to drive for 6 weeks, and it's so hot everyday I'm a bit nervous of taking Joe out in the pram. He goes so red faced and he's so tiny, it makes me anxious.
I'm not sure if this is part of the blues, or a normal mum thing, but I'm also feeling guilty about every decision I make, questioning whether I'm doing the right thing and doubting myself and my parenting skills constantly. I started using a dummy with Joe just to help out when he's trying to feed every hour, and to buy me time when he and soph kick off at the same time. It made sense as a decision to make my life a little calmer and easier, but I can't tell you how much I've beaten myself up about it everyday since. I don't even know why! I think it's knowing how much some people look down on dummies, it frustrates me that the opinions of others bothers me so much.
All in all, despite the emotional up and downs, I guess the important thing is that I AM coping. I'm getting through each day, perhaps not with a skip and a smile but I am getting through them. And that's all I think I can ask for at this stage, to get past this hormonal bit and look after my children. Further down the line I know I need to spend some time on me and getting myself better, but right now just getting by will be enough.
Born at 9.33am on the 17th July weighing 6lb 2oz. He is diddy!
After a long and difficult pregnancy and the worst bout of depression I've ever suffered I can honestly say it was utterly and absolutely worth it. He is gorgeous and I adore him.
It's taken me numerous attempts to write this blog entry. Partially because I'm struggling to do anything other than slump on a sofa asleep & drooling, with a new born baby throwing up on my dressing gown and a toddler tugging at my arm. But also, because of my mood. I'm finding my mood difficult to describe at the moment.
The lead up to Joes birth was incredibly anxious, I drove to the hospital with my husband in silence, my heart thundering in my chest. It wasn't just the prospect of the surgery, but the inevitable things that would follow.
I worried that I'd resent the baby after such a difficult pregnancy, that I wouldn't bond with him. I worried about Sophie's reaction, about my ability to cope during the first few weeks, and as I've said before, I dread the prospect of post natel depression. I got myself in such a state.
My midwife, yet again, was amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better one. From the outset it was obvious she'd read all the notes about my medical history and mental health and she made a conscious effort to take this into consideration, not only with everything she did or said, but also in influencing others actions around me. I love her a little bit for that.
When we first arrived we were told that I was second on the list to go down for the op, which would've meant around a three hour wait. However, for some reason that was never explained, I was bumped up to first on the list and taken straight down to theatre.
I suspect my midwife may have influenced this, because of my anxiety, and that perhaps the surgeon etc had picked up on it too. If that was the case then I can't tell you how much I appreciate their observations and the action they took - the longer I'd have waited the more anxious I'd have got.
I won't bore you all with the details of the surgery, I found it very difficult and sobbed until Joseph was born. But this time, unlike with Sophie, they gave me him to hold (with help from my angelic midwife) and once I had him I was a lot calmer. It distracted me from what was happening and gave me something to focus on instead of the washing up feeling going on in my stomach. I was relieved; relieved he was ok, relieved that I instantly loved him, and relieved that this whole experience was one step closer to finally being over.
I found a couple of members of the staff in theatre frustrating - one kept commenting that I had nothing to cry about as it was a joyous occasion, and another that tried to chat to me about work (my ultimate anxiety trigger at the moment). Neither of them were to know though, they were just trying to be friendly and pleasant. I'm pretty sure I felt the midwife give one of them a glare at one point and they never said a word after that!
The first week since Joseph's birth, whilst challenging to say the least, has been quite positive. He's quite a contented baby but eats very often. Soph seems to adore him, but the change has obviously made her feel a bit anxious as she's really pushing her boundaries at the moment. Her most common act of rebellion at the moment is deliberately peeing on the floor. It's great fun....
Things are starting to get a bit harder now though. Over the last three days I keep getting completely overwhelmed by a sense of panic, feeling trapped and bored and worried about the future. The feelings aren't dissimilar to what I remember feeling during the baby blues with Sophie, and I keep telling myself that's all it is and it will pass.
It's scary for me. The way my mind jumps to negative conclusions and the constant need to cry is so similar to where I was a month ago, it feels like I'm going backwards.
Being stuck indoors doesn't help. Having had a C section I'm not allowed to drive for 6 weeks, and it's so hot everyday I'm a bit nervous of taking Joe out in the pram. He goes so red faced and he's so tiny, it makes me anxious.
I'm not sure if this is part of the blues, or a normal mum thing, but I'm also feeling guilty about every decision I make, questioning whether I'm doing the right thing and doubting myself and my parenting skills constantly. I started using a dummy with Joe just to help out when he's trying to feed every hour, and to buy me time when he and soph kick off at the same time. It made sense as a decision to make my life a little calmer and easier, but I can't tell you how much I've beaten myself up about it everyday since. I don't even know why! I think it's knowing how much some people look down on dummies, it frustrates me that the opinions of others bothers me so much.
All in all, despite the emotional up and downs, I guess the important thing is that I AM coping. I'm getting through each day, perhaps not with a skip and a smile but I am getting through them. And that's all I think I can ask for at this stage, to get past this hormonal bit and look after my children. Further down the line I know I need to spend some time on me and getting myself better, but right now just getting by will be enough.
Monday, 14 July 2014
Macaroni and C-Sections
Two days to go!
Everyone keeps asking me if I am excited and saying how much they're looking forward to meeting the baby. Don't get me wrong, I am excited too, I'll be meeting my little boy for the first time - seeing what he looks like, holding him next to me... not even my depression can dull that sparkle.
But I am also utterly terrified -
1. Of going through the surgery again
2. Of coping afterwards
Anyone who thinks that opting for a C-section is an easy way out of child birth would be wrong. I've never had a 'normal' labour (Sophie was born by emergency C-section) so I've no direct comparison, but I can tell you that having a C-section is no walk in the park.
All I keep remembering is the half an hour after the baby is out, laying there feeling something like a 'washing up' sensation in your stomach whilst you're being stitched up. It's uncomfortable, unpleasant and not anywhere near the bonding experience with your child that I understand natural labour to be. When Sophie was born I didn't get to hold her until after the surgery was over, all I could do was look at her out of the corner of my eye as her Dad held her.
The recovery afterwards can be painful and long winded too, in comparison to natural labour. I was lucky last time and had little problem getting up and about quickly, but I suspect that may have been down to all the exercise I did throughout the 9 months prior. I've not been so good this time round....
As much as I am dreading going through all of that again, it's quite easy to dismiss it in my mind as just something I'm going to have to do, and I know it will be over before I know it. The harder thing for me to not get anxious about is my ability to cope after the baby is here.
The first few weeks with a new born are hell on earth. Little to no routine, little to no sleep, hormones all over the place, and physically and emotionally wrung out. I remember how hard it was last time round, how trapped I felt and how out of control I was. I am a creature of habit and routine and an absolute control freak. I remember wondering what on earth possessed me to think I could cope with a baby after Soph was born.
But cope I did. That phase passes, you find a routine and things settle down. I've the good fortune to know that's the case this time round and I will try to keep reminding myself of it. However, this time round I also have a 2.5 year old and severe depression and anxiety to contend with and that's what scares me.
Just the thought of being so out of control again, of Sophie being unhappy and disrupted, a constantly crying baby and no sleep... argghhh it all makes me start palpating a little. How am I going to cope? What if I can't cope?
I want to be a good mum, I don't want to let everyone down and collapse into another pit of misery for weeks. I can't get like I was a few weeks ago and just leave my husband and family to cope, I have to be able to take care of my children. To let depression get the better of me now, when they will need me the most, is one failure too far. I HAVE to be able to do this.
Hopefully that determination will be what sees me through.
My health visitor and midwife are both planning to give me extra visits wherever possible. The Health visitors now do something called 'listening visits' where they come out purely to chat and see how you are and mine made a point of coming to see me last week, as she quite sensible and rightly pointed out that it would be easier for her to spot when I'm not coping, if she gets to know me when I am.
I am reassured by this, although I do sincerely hope neither she, or my midwife, will ever have to do anything more than just keep an eye on me.
Other than worrying about everything above, which mostly happens at night when I can't sleep, I am actually doing ok. My days are so full and busy with Sophie that I don't really get a chance to think too much, and that's how I like it. My hardest times are always when I'm on my own, or in the middle of the night when insomnia takes hold.
Today was another 'Make Something Monday' so we busied ourselves with more jewellery making, this time it was Macaroni necklaces.
We tried some new paints with the brushes built in today, to attempt to get some separate colours. Soph has not yet mastered washing a brush between colours so with normal painting everything (and I mean everything!) ends up the same dirty brown colour of all the paints mixed together!
Some of the macaroni stuck to the paper and couldn't be used, not sure how to avoid that next time?
Everyone keeps asking me if I am excited and saying how much they're looking forward to meeting the baby. Don't get me wrong, I am excited too, I'll be meeting my little boy for the first time - seeing what he looks like, holding him next to me... not even my depression can dull that sparkle.
But I am also utterly terrified -
1. Of going through the surgery again
2. Of coping afterwards
Anyone who thinks that opting for a C-section is an easy way out of child birth would be wrong. I've never had a 'normal' labour (Sophie was born by emergency C-section) so I've no direct comparison, but I can tell you that having a C-section is no walk in the park.
All I keep remembering is the half an hour after the baby is out, laying there feeling something like a 'washing up' sensation in your stomach whilst you're being stitched up. It's uncomfortable, unpleasant and not anywhere near the bonding experience with your child that I understand natural labour to be. When Sophie was born I didn't get to hold her until after the surgery was over, all I could do was look at her out of the corner of my eye as her Dad held her.
The recovery afterwards can be painful and long winded too, in comparison to natural labour. I was lucky last time and had little problem getting up and about quickly, but I suspect that may have been down to all the exercise I did throughout the 9 months prior. I've not been so good this time round....
As much as I am dreading going through all of that again, it's quite easy to dismiss it in my mind as just something I'm going to have to do, and I know it will be over before I know it. The harder thing for me to not get anxious about is my ability to cope after the baby is here.
The first few weeks with a new born are hell on earth. Little to no routine, little to no sleep, hormones all over the place, and physically and emotionally wrung out. I remember how hard it was last time round, how trapped I felt and how out of control I was. I am a creature of habit and routine and an absolute control freak. I remember wondering what on earth possessed me to think I could cope with a baby after Soph was born.
But cope I did. That phase passes, you find a routine and things settle down. I've the good fortune to know that's the case this time round and I will try to keep reminding myself of it. However, this time round I also have a 2.5 year old and severe depression and anxiety to contend with and that's what scares me.
Just the thought of being so out of control again, of Sophie being unhappy and disrupted, a constantly crying baby and no sleep... argghhh it all makes me start palpating a little. How am I going to cope? What if I can't cope?
I want to be a good mum, I don't want to let everyone down and collapse into another pit of misery for weeks. I can't get like I was a few weeks ago and just leave my husband and family to cope, I have to be able to take care of my children. To let depression get the better of me now, when they will need me the most, is one failure too far. I HAVE to be able to do this.
Hopefully that determination will be what sees me through.
My health visitor and midwife are both planning to give me extra visits wherever possible. The Health visitors now do something called 'listening visits' where they come out purely to chat and see how you are and mine made a point of coming to see me last week, as she quite sensible and rightly pointed out that it would be easier for her to spot when I'm not coping, if she gets to know me when I am.
I am reassured by this, although I do sincerely hope neither she, or my midwife, will ever have to do anything more than just keep an eye on me.
Other than worrying about everything above, which mostly happens at night when I can't sleep, I am actually doing ok. My days are so full and busy with Sophie that I don't really get a chance to think too much, and that's how I like it. My hardest times are always when I'm on my own, or in the middle of the night when insomnia takes hold.
Today was another 'Make Something Monday' so we busied ourselves with more jewellery making, this time it was Macaroni necklaces.
We tried some new paints with the brushes built in today, to attempt to get some separate colours. Soph has not yet mastered washing a brush between colours so with normal painting everything (and I mean everything!) ends up the same dirty brown colour of all the paints mixed together!
Some of the macaroni stuck to the paper and couldn't be used, not sure how to avoid that next time?
Soph was very happy with the end result, although she did find putting the macaroni on the string too fiddly and time consuming. After several tantrums, that part became a mummy job!
Next week's 'Make something Monday' may be interesting, with a new baby in tow! Perhaps I'll give myself a slightly easier week and get the playdoh out.... :-)
Wednesday, 9 July 2014
Depressed? Call the Midwife
Anyone who follows me on Twitter (@honestmumwaffle) will probably have an inkling that today has not been a good day for me.
Firstly let me just say that, as a whole, I love the NHS. I think we are extremely lucky to have it and the majority of people working for it are doing their best to help others with the only tools and information they have available to them.
However, since my most recent episode of depression started to rear it's ugly head, I've had varying experiences with the NHS and the support I've received.
I first mentioned my concerns that my depression was coming back to my midwife. She happens to be the same midwife who looked after me when I had Sophie, and has a good knowledge of my mental health history. She was concerned and supportive and encouraged me to see my GP about going back on my meds as she felt it wouldn't cause any issues so late in my pregnancy.
I went to see a GP the same day, unfortunately not my normal one but a new GP at the same surgery and if I'd realised that I'd have probably not booked the appointment to be honest.
For someone who is suffering awfully from anxiety and depression, and has a long history of doing so, there is nothing worse than the prospect of meeting a stranger for the first time and having to pour out your soul to them in a ten minute time slot. My doubts were not alleviated by the GP I met. It was a horrible appointment, I had Sophie with me and ended up sobbing with frustration with her asking 'what's wrong mummy?' It makes me feel anxious now just to remember it.
Sensitivity and understanding of depression and it's effects were not a strength of this particular GP. His first response to my feelings of depression was that "Some people have to have IVF to get pregnant you should consider yourself lucky" closely followed by; "Now is the time to think about all the good things you have in life, do you have any friends?" and my personal favorite "you only have 6 weeks of pregnancy left can you not just stick it out?"
Can you imagine how guilty this made me feel? I had known for sometime that my depression was coming back. I recognised the signs and tried my best to combat it in all the ways I knew that work for me. I wanted to beat it by myself and I wanted to be able to protect my unborn child. I had made the mistake of googling 'Citalopram during pregnancy' and scared myself stupid at the thought of going back on the medication. I delayed visiting the GP over and over again until I literally couldn't bare it any longer. In the end I went to the GP because I was desperate. Because I wanted advice, guidance and help before things got any worse.
I did not get any of these things. He made me feel ashamed.
What I got was patronised, misunderstood and discouraged. He offered me no alternatives to citalopram. He did not discuss the risks of citalopram during pregnancy or any of the possible side effects of going back on it. He prescribed what I've since been told was a pointless dose of 10mg, and I believe he only did that because he didn't have a clue what else to do and I was crying in his office begging for something to help.
I was so defeated by the whole experience, and still non the wiser about taking citalopram during pregnancy, so I ended up not taking it for a further two weeks - at which point things got so bad I just gave in. I couldn't see any alternative.
I left it much later than I ever should have, and as a result, in my opinion, things got a lot worse than perhaps they would've if I'd seen a different GP.
A week after starting the 10mg dose I had an appointment to book in my c-section. My best friend came with me for moral support. This appointment, and most of what followed, was a very different experience of the NHS to my GP appointment. I ended up crying for the vast majority of the meeting with the registra, trying to explain how I was feeling and although the communication was a little frustrating as she was foreign, she was obviously keen to help me. Looking back on it now, I must have taken up three appointments with the time she spent with me, and I'm sure I was rude to her in my frustration, but she didn't blink an eye.
In my routine urine sample they found 5 Ks of Ketones due to how little I'd been eating, and this, combined with a request from the in hospital mental health team, lead them to ask me to stay on the ante-natel ward for a few days.
It was massively unexpected, but I honestly think I felt relieved. Somebody was doing something.
I won't bore you with the details of my 5 days stay in hospital. Some of those days were the lowest I have ever been in my life and I've no desire to re-live them. I denied visitors, stayed in my room 24/7 and struggled to do anything but cry, read and sleep. Sometimes I just stared into space for hours on end, waiting for the medication to start working.
What I will say, without doubt or hesitation, is that every midwife and support worker on that ward, on every shift during my stay, was amazing. Depression is not an easy thing to understand from the outside, especially if you've never had any experience of it in your life or with someone you know, and I fully appreciate that it makes some people feel uncomfortable. If that was the case with anyone who took care of me in that time though they never let it show. I felt nothing but compassion, quiet understanding and a genuine desire for me to feel better. If I wanted to be alone, they respected that. if they found me crying, they offered comfort. They soon realised I was too anxious to leave the room so made me tea and bought it to me. These people had no training or experience in mental health as far as I am aware, but they dealt with me with common sense, sensitivity and patience. That was all I needed. I hope I get to see some of them again when I go in to have the baby next week, and that I get to tell them how much it meant to me. I hope they get to see that I smile sometimes now!
I did have a couple of chats with a lady from the mental health department whilst I was there and she was pleasant and understanding. She liaised with MIMHS (the Mother and Infant Mental Health Service) to sort out my medication and the best route to go down and she was certainly helpful. I only saw her twice though, and I have to say that she lacked the warmth of the midwives. It wasn't as easy to open up to her.
After my discharge I received a call from MIMHS to see how I was doing, and whether I felt I needed to see their specialist Doctor. We agreed that, whilst certainly not feeling 100% I am coping a lot better now, and that my main concern was (and still is) for post natel depression after the baby arrives. We agreed that it would be in my best interests to see the specialist and review my medication a few weeks after he is born, to see how I am coping.
Then, out of the blue, I got a phonecall this Monday to say that the specialist wanted to see me and introduce herself this week. I advised them of the previous conversation, that we'd agreed it would wait until after the baby was here, but they insisted that she wanted to see me and that, my dear readers, brings me to today (Finally, I get to the point, but then I have warned you, I waffle...)
Today my mum had Sophie for the day. I woke up after a rare lay in to an empty house, with time on my hands. I can't really explain why but this is not a good thing for me at the moment. There is simply too much time to think when I'm on my own. Too much time to just sit and go over all the things wrong with my life, to beat myself up and wear myself down.
So it wasn't the best start to the day. Anxious and overthinking before I've even headed into town, then I have to wonder around by myself trying to find the place for my appointment that I've never been to before. I always feel like everyone is looking at me when I'm out and about, especially without the distraction of pushing a buggy or walking with Sophie to talk to and hold hands. It's a very self conscious experience, I don't enjoy it. But I got on with it.
Arriving at the appointment I was greeted by a grunting receptionist who told me to sign in. I then assumed I was to sit in the waiting area until someone came to get me. Half an hour later no one had come. I can't tell you what a hellish half an hour this was for me. I'd started to wonder if I was meant to have gone somewhere but the receptionist hadn't told me. I convinced myself that the Dr was waiting somewhere for me to turn up and thought I was late. I got wound up trying to build up the courage to go and ask the receptionist if I should still be waiting. I pinched my skin on my arm over and over again to stop myself from crying. I thought about getting up and walking out.
Eventually the receptionist asked me when my appointment was and said they were having trouble finding the Dr but she was definitely there.
Reassuring.
She came to get me in the end, and apologised for running late. The meeting with her was stilted, uncomfortable and pointless. She made notes on post its, asked me nothing new, and was awkward in her manner. It didn't help that I'd got myself in such a state by this point that I just wanted to leave.
We agreed she'd call me after I have the baby, unless my midwife or health visitor refers me to her sooner.
I have two major points of contention about the whole experience:
1. Appointments run over, meetings run late. I understand that. But this was an entire building dedicated to mental health and a Doctor that apparently specialises in mental health for mums. If she had rung down to the reception and advised them she was running late and asked them to let me know, this would have massively improved the whole experience for me. I would have felt calmer and more reassured and I instantly would have warmed to her more. It frustrates me that this didn't occur to someone who is meant to have an understanding of mental health.
2. What was the point? I mean, I have felt worse today than I've felt since I've left hospital. My anxiety was at it's peak, I cried, I felt frustrated and unhappy and I now feel embarrassed for feeling that way. I'm starting to wonder if it's just me being ungrateful, or unfair, or the old classic - oversensitive. I start questioning myself, and it all starts a self hate cycle again. And to what purpose? In terms of my healthcare I am exactly where I was a week ago.
In fact, if anything I think I am worse off that I was a week ago. I was feeling optomistic about MIMHS, and mpressed with their regular contact. I have read recent news articles about mental health for mums and was thinking how much more positive my experience has been until now.
Now, however, I can't help but feel that even with extra visits from my midwife and health visitors, and support from a much more suitable GP, I will be reluctant to be honest about any feelings of severe depression I might have after the baby is born, if the result is going to be that I'm going to be referred back to MIMHS and todays Doctor.
Truth be told, through this whole illness so far my worst experiences have been with people 'specialising' in mental health.
My best experiences, with Midwives.
Firstly let me just say that, as a whole, I love the NHS. I think we are extremely lucky to have it and the majority of people working for it are doing their best to help others with the only tools and information they have available to them.
However, since my most recent episode of depression started to rear it's ugly head, I've had varying experiences with the NHS and the support I've received.
I first mentioned my concerns that my depression was coming back to my midwife. She happens to be the same midwife who looked after me when I had Sophie, and has a good knowledge of my mental health history. She was concerned and supportive and encouraged me to see my GP about going back on my meds as she felt it wouldn't cause any issues so late in my pregnancy.
I went to see a GP the same day, unfortunately not my normal one but a new GP at the same surgery and if I'd realised that I'd have probably not booked the appointment to be honest.
For someone who is suffering awfully from anxiety and depression, and has a long history of doing so, there is nothing worse than the prospect of meeting a stranger for the first time and having to pour out your soul to them in a ten minute time slot. My doubts were not alleviated by the GP I met. It was a horrible appointment, I had Sophie with me and ended up sobbing with frustration with her asking 'what's wrong mummy?' It makes me feel anxious now just to remember it.
Sensitivity and understanding of depression and it's effects were not a strength of this particular GP. His first response to my feelings of depression was that "Some people have to have IVF to get pregnant you should consider yourself lucky" closely followed by; "Now is the time to think about all the good things you have in life, do you have any friends?" and my personal favorite "you only have 6 weeks of pregnancy left can you not just stick it out?"
Can you imagine how guilty this made me feel? I had known for sometime that my depression was coming back. I recognised the signs and tried my best to combat it in all the ways I knew that work for me. I wanted to beat it by myself and I wanted to be able to protect my unborn child. I had made the mistake of googling 'Citalopram during pregnancy' and scared myself stupid at the thought of going back on the medication. I delayed visiting the GP over and over again until I literally couldn't bare it any longer. In the end I went to the GP because I was desperate. Because I wanted advice, guidance and help before things got any worse.
I did not get any of these things. He made me feel ashamed.
What I got was patronised, misunderstood and discouraged. He offered me no alternatives to citalopram. He did not discuss the risks of citalopram during pregnancy or any of the possible side effects of going back on it. He prescribed what I've since been told was a pointless dose of 10mg, and I believe he only did that because he didn't have a clue what else to do and I was crying in his office begging for something to help.
I was so defeated by the whole experience, and still non the wiser about taking citalopram during pregnancy, so I ended up not taking it for a further two weeks - at which point things got so bad I just gave in. I couldn't see any alternative.
I left it much later than I ever should have, and as a result, in my opinion, things got a lot worse than perhaps they would've if I'd seen a different GP.
A week after starting the 10mg dose I had an appointment to book in my c-section. My best friend came with me for moral support. This appointment, and most of what followed, was a very different experience of the NHS to my GP appointment. I ended up crying for the vast majority of the meeting with the registra, trying to explain how I was feeling and although the communication was a little frustrating as she was foreign, she was obviously keen to help me. Looking back on it now, I must have taken up three appointments with the time she spent with me, and I'm sure I was rude to her in my frustration, but she didn't blink an eye.
In my routine urine sample they found 5 Ks of Ketones due to how little I'd been eating, and this, combined with a request from the in hospital mental health team, lead them to ask me to stay on the ante-natel ward for a few days.
It was massively unexpected, but I honestly think I felt relieved. Somebody was doing something.
I won't bore you with the details of my 5 days stay in hospital. Some of those days were the lowest I have ever been in my life and I've no desire to re-live them. I denied visitors, stayed in my room 24/7 and struggled to do anything but cry, read and sleep. Sometimes I just stared into space for hours on end, waiting for the medication to start working.
What I will say, without doubt or hesitation, is that every midwife and support worker on that ward, on every shift during my stay, was amazing. Depression is not an easy thing to understand from the outside, especially if you've never had any experience of it in your life or with someone you know, and I fully appreciate that it makes some people feel uncomfortable. If that was the case with anyone who took care of me in that time though they never let it show. I felt nothing but compassion, quiet understanding and a genuine desire for me to feel better. If I wanted to be alone, they respected that. if they found me crying, they offered comfort. They soon realised I was too anxious to leave the room so made me tea and bought it to me. These people had no training or experience in mental health as far as I am aware, but they dealt with me with common sense, sensitivity and patience. That was all I needed. I hope I get to see some of them again when I go in to have the baby next week, and that I get to tell them how much it meant to me. I hope they get to see that I smile sometimes now!
I did have a couple of chats with a lady from the mental health department whilst I was there and she was pleasant and understanding. She liaised with MIMHS (the Mother and Infant Mental Health Service) to sort out my medication and the best route to go down and she was certainly helpful. I only saw her twice though, and I have to say that she lacked the warmth of the midwives. It wasn't as easy to open up to her.
After my discharge I received a call from MIMHS to see how I was doing, and whether I felt I needed to see their specialist Doctor. We agreed that, whilst certainly not feeling 100% I am coping a lot better now, and that my main concern was (and still is) for post natel depression after the baby arrives. We agreed that it would be in my best interests to see the specialist and review my medication a few weeks after he is born, to see how I am coping.
Then, out of the blue, I got a phonecall this Monday to say that the specialist wanted to see me and introduce herself this week. I advised them of the previous conversation, that we'd agreed it would wait until after the baby was here, but they insisted that she wanted to see me and that, my dear readers, brings me to today (Finally, I get to the point, but then I have warned you, I waffle...)
Today my mum had Sophie for the day. I woke up after a rare lay in to an empty house, with time on my hands. I can't really explain why but this is not a good thing for me at the moment. There is simply too much time to think when I'm on my own. Too much time to just sit and go over all the things wrong with my life, to beat myself up and wear myself down.
So it wasn't the best start to the day. Anxious and overthinking before I've even headed into town, then I have to wonder around by myself trying to find the place for my appointment that I've never been to before. I always feel like everyone is looking at me when I'm out and about, especially without the distraction of pushing a buggy or walking with Sophie to talk to and hold hands. It's a very self conscious experience, I don't enjoy it. But I got on with it.
Arriving at the appointment I was greeted by a grunting receptionist who told me to sign in. I then assumed I was to sit in the waiting area until someone came to get me. Half an hour later no one had come. I can't tell you what a hellish half an hour this was for me. I'd started to wonder if I was meant to have gone somewhere but the receptionist hadn't told me. I convinced myself that the Dr was waiting somewhere for me to turn up and thought I was late. I got wound up trying to build up the courage to go and ask the receptionist if I should still be waiting. I pinched my skin on my arm over and over again to stop myself from crying. I thought about getting up and walking out.
Eventually the receptionist asked me when my appointment was and said they were having trouble finding the Dr but she was definitely there.
Reassuring.
She came to get me in the end, and apologised for running late. The meeting with her was stilted, uncomfortable and pointless. She made notes on post its, asked me nothing new, and was awkward in her manner. It didn't help that I'd got myself in such a state by this point that I just wanted to leave.
We agreed she'd call me after I have the baby, unless my midwife or health visitor refers me to her sooner.
I have two major points of contention about the whole experience:
1. Appointments run over, meetings run late. I understand that. But this was an entire building dedicated to mental health and a Doctor that apparently specialises in mental health for mums. If she had rung down to the reception and advised them she was running late and asked them to let me know, this would have massively improved the whole experience for me. I would have felt calmer and more reassured and I instantly would have warmed to her more. It frustrates me that this didn't occur to someone who is meant to have an understanding of mental health.
2. What was the point? I mean, I have felt worse today than I've felt since I've left hospital. My anxiety was at it's peak, I cried, I felt frustrated and unhappy and I now feel embarrassed for feeling that way. I'm starting to wonder if it's just me being ungrateful, or unfair, or the old classic - oversensitive. I start questioning myself, and it all starts a self hate cycle again. And to what purpose? In terms of my healthcare I am exactly where I was a week ago.
In fact, if anything I think I am worse off that I was a week ago. I was feeling optomistic about MIMHS, and mpressed with their regular contact. I have read recent news articles about mental health for mums and was thinking how much more positive my experience has been until now.
Now, however, I can't help but feel that even with extra visits from my midwife and health visitors, and support from a much more suitable GP, I will be reluctant to be honest about any feelings of severe depression I might have after the baby is born, if the result is going to be that I'm going to be referred back to MIMHS and todays Doctor.
Truth be told, through this whole illness so far my worst experiences have been with people 'specialising' in mental health.
My best experiences, with Midwives.
Friday, 4 July 2014
The good, the bad and the Promethazine
It's been an up and down week. I've flitted in between feeling ok, able to push bad emotions aside and function, sobbing my heart out with renewed feelings of hurt & despair and quite motivated, optimistic moments.
My past experiences of depression have taught me not to expect a sudden overnight cure, I know there's no such thing. But this constant change in emotions, the ups and downs, is so frustrating. I'm exhausted just from trying to keep up with it all, trying to manage my mood as much as I can and trying to avoid letting it impact on Sophie or my pregnancy.
It's hard not to get excited and carried away when I have a period of time feeling positive and more like myself. It's equally as hard not to be overwhelmed with a desire to give up when I feel like I've a taken ten steps backwards and darkness is engulfing me again. I'm constantly fighting my body and my emotions, trying to find some sort of calm middle ground, just to keep going.
Perhaps some of the ups and downs can be explained by medication. I have been prescribed an antihistamine, Promethazine, in addition to my anti depressants, to help my anxiety and to combat my insomnia. It is apparently fine to take during pregnancy and I must admit it does help. I get off to sleep much quicker after taking it and don't wake in the night.
The problem is I barely wake up in the morning either. I'm so drowsy my husband has to drag me out of bed when he leaves for work at 8am, to look after Sophie. I also get a bit anxious the following day when the effects wear off. Given that it's now less than two weeks until I'll have a newborn baby to take care of both of these things make me feel a bit wary of becoming reliant on the Promethazine, so I've decided to try and avoid taking it unless I have too, and stopped two days ago. Both my crying outbursts and lowest moments of the week have been in the past two days since I stopped taking it, surely that cant be a coincidence?
I don't know, sometimes I just like to attach a reason to how I'm feeling. I find it hard to accept it just is. That the ups and downs are for no reason. It's easier to attach it to something, and it gives me more hope and optimism about it passing, eventually,
Depression aside (if only that was as easy to do as it is to write!!!) it's been nice being at home this week, spending so much more time with Sophie. I've never had any real desire to be a full time housewife, my career has always been important to me, but I can understand why people love to do it. Sophie is different with me at the moment too, more clingy and affectionate. I hope it's because she's enjoying having me around more.
Stopping work has been so incredibly hard for me. Even writing about it here makes me feel very anxious. My job, my career, has always been a defining part of who I am, and not knowing what I want to do, or how the future is going to pan out makes me feel so... Lost.
I just don't know who I am without work.
That's quite sad really isn't it? To not know who you are other than what you do for a living. Maybe one good thing that will come out of all of this godforsaken pain and misery will be that I do find some more of myself, and end up happier. That's a thought to cling to, and to end today's waffle on I think.
My past experiences of depression have taught me not to expect a sudden overnight cure, I know there's no such thing. But this constant change in emotions, the ups and downs, is so frustrating. I'm exhausted just from trying to keep up with it all, trying to manage my mood as much as I can and trying to avoid letting it impact on Sophie or my pregnancy.
It's hard not to get excited and carried away when I have a period of time feeling positive and more like myself. It's equally as hard not to be overwhelmed with a desire to give up when I feel like I've a taken ten steps backwards and darkness is engulfing me again. I'm constantly fighting my body and my emotions, trying to find some sort of calm middle ground, just to keep going.
Perhaps some of the ups and downs can be explained by medication. I have been prescribed an antihistamine, Promethazine, in addition to my anti depressants, to help my anxiety and to combat my insomnia. It is apparently fine to take during pregnancy and I must admit it does help. I get off to sleep much quicker after taking it and don't wake in the night.
The problem is I barely wake up in the morning either. I'm so drowsy my husband has to drag me out of bed when he leaves for work at 8am, to look after Sophie. I also get a bit anxious the following day when the effects wear off. Given that it's now less than two weeks until I'll have a newborn baby to take care of both of these things make me feel a bit wary of becoming reliant on the Promethazine, so I've decided to try and avoid taking it unless I have too, and stopped two days ago. Both my crying outbursts and lowest moments of the week have been in the past two days since I stopped taking it, surely that cant be a coincidence?
I don't know, sometimes I just like to attach a reason to how I'm feeling. I find it hard to accept it just is. That the ups and downs are for no reason. It's easier to attach it to something, and it gives me more hope and optimism about it passing, eventually,
Depression aside (if only that was as easy to do as it is to write!!!) it's been nice being at home this week, spending so much more time with Sophie. I've never had any real desire to be a full time housewife, my career has always been important to me, but I can understand why people love to do it. Sophie is different with me at the moment too, more clingy and affectionate. I hope it's because she's enjoying having me around more.
Stopping work has been so incredibly hard for me. Even writing about it here makes me feel very anxious. My job, my career, has always been a defining part of who I am, and not knowing what I want to do, or how the future is going to pan out makes me feel so... Lost.
I just don't know who I am without work.
That's quite sad really isn't it? To not know who you are other than what you do for a living. Maybe one good thing that will come out of all of this godforsaken pain and misery will be that I do find some more of myself, and end up happier. That's a thought to cling to, and to end today's waffle on I think.
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