Jill’s Story
You will be well.
I am living proof.
“Having a baby changes everything,” just not in the way I expected it to. I anticipated motherhood to at least have some semblance to the Johnson and Johnson commercials – a wide-eyed, smiling baby, snuggled skin-to-skin, and I looking down upon that baby with an even bigger smile and my heart overflowing with love and joy for this precious little one that I had been blessed with. Instead, I found myself feeling angry, isolated and alone, each moment filled with anxiety and dreading the days ahead.
My husband, Mark, and I were married in 2001, and I supported the two of us as a university administrator while he completed his MD and PhD. Being the planner that I was, I told Mark we could not have children until after he completed his degrees because we could not afford to support anyone else until that time. God took my well conceived plan very literally as our son, Hayden Dale, was born two days after Mark’s graduation from medical school in May of 2003.
We welcomed Hayden amidst a fury of changes in our lives. We had just found out two months prior that we would be moving to Kansas City from St. Louis for Mark to begin his residency in pediatrics in mid-June. As a result, Mark met up with my father in Kansas City in early April for them to choose a house (I was nine months pregnant and not allowed to travel). Although, through the magic of modern technology, I was able to view emailed photographs of the house, I purchased our first home sight unseen (they will never live down the bathtub IN the bedroom). Add to that, quitting my job, taking a third cut in our family income, and becoming a full-time mom in a new city away from our well-connected community of friends, and most could recognize this as a prescription for disaster. Yet, all these changes had become part of my PLAN so I felt I was in control.
What I did not PLAN on was being hit head-on with postpartum depression. Throughout my pregnancy, I felt emotionally the best I had in my entire life. I loved being pregnant. My only real challenge was being extra tired, but I fought that easily with extra sleep.
Everything came crashing down pretty quickly following Hayden’s birth, however. We were packing up to move in three weeks. Hayden had difficulties breastfeeding, and I could not stop crying for feeling worthless. I remember asking my husband if it would be ok if we took Hayden back to the hospital and gave him to a “good mother” to take care of him. This was all overshadowed by the fact that we had so much to do – boxes to pack, friends to bid farewell, a baby to be christened before we left – so I put on a happy face and pushed through those first few weeks.
After we moved, things only got worse. I spent all day and all night crying and zoned out on the sofa. I was filled with sadness that I could not explain or put into comprehensible words. I wanted to disappear and frequently thought about getting in the car and driving with no particular destination in mind – I just wanted to escape.
My mind filled with irrational thoughts; the thoughts became obsessive and then suicidal. I felt trapped, insecure, isolated, unsupported, and alone. I became confused and disoriented in my surroundings and unable to cope with simple tasks of life. I felt guilty for being irritable and angry around my husband and son and for feeling such extreme sadness when this was supposed to be such a happy time.
My husband was very supportive, yet unavailable due to his schedule. He worked 80 hours a week and only got four days off a month. Weekends were not the luxury that they once were. Yet, I kept telling myself how great it was to have him around because the previous year he was working 120+ hours per week before laws were put into effect mandating a workweek of less than 80 hours for physicians in training.
Having a master’s degree in social work myself, I definitely recognized something was wrong. I hungered for a cure to my melancholy. With a voracious appetite for knowledge, I read every book on postpartum depression that I could get my hands on at the library and every website dedicated to the illness. I searched for resources in the Kansas City area, but there were none. So, I decided that I would have to “fix” myself. Unfortunately I was so fatigued by new motherhood and strangled by the depression that I did not have the drive or energy to take action. Add to that the fact that I did not want to involve my family (who had always kept quiet about such things), our insurance did not cover therapy (and with our cut in income we could not afford it out of pocket), and my embarrassment in discussing my difficulties with anyone, I had a lot of hurdles in front of me. Mark often asked if I wanted to see a doctor to explore going on medication or figure out a way to pay for a therapist, but when I told him I did not want to do either of those things, he respected my wishes (he recognizes now that was the wrong thing to do).
“Having a baby changes everything,” just not in the way I expected it to. I anticipated motherhood to at least have some semblance to the Johnson and Johnson commercials – a wide-eyed, smiling baby, snuggled skin-to-skin, and I looking down upon that baby with an even bigger smile and my heart overflowing with love and joy for this precious little one that I had been blessed with. Instead, I found myself feeling angry, isolated and alone, each moment filled with anxiety and dreading the days ahead.
I had read stories of women whose doctors did not understand the illness and therefore offered little assistance. Especially since we did not yet have a doctor in Kansas City, I was reluctant to try and get help from someone that we did not know or have a history with. About this time, I developed a stubborn case of mastitis. As a result, I had to find a doctor to prescribe some antibiotics to take care of the infection. I found a wonderful, caring doctor whom I had decided to disclose my postpartum difficulties after we got the mastitis under control. After three courses of antibiotics, our insurance coverage changed and this particular doctor was no longer on our plan which left me at ground zero again.
In late October, after suffering for over five months, my husband and I agreed that something had to be done. We scheduled an appointment with a physician near our home on our insurance plan. She listened to my symptoms and concerns and then placed me on Prozac Weekly. I started the medication immediately. Unfortunately, the medication adversely affected Hayden whom I was still breastfeeding. It knocked him out to the point we could not arouse him after a feeding. And, since it was an extended release medication, it stayed in my system for a week after I took that first pill.
We called the physician, and she dismissed our concerns and said the medication should not affect him that way. Mark then did lots of research in medical journals and presented her with copies of studies on various antidepressants used in nursing mothers and the affects on the baby. The physician then reluctantly switched me to Zoloft, but still claimed that Prozac Weekly was the most appropriate choice (despite empirical evidence to the contrary that Mark presented to her).
The Zoloft helped minimally on the low dose, but I gradually started feeling somewhat better as the dosage was increased to 100 mg. Since I was still struggling quite a bit, we went back to see this physician to see if we could get the dosage increased or possibly try a different medication. Her response was that I needed to just “snap out of it”, and I should be over it by now since my son was seven months old. Then she said that I should just “go shopping” and that would make me feel better. She did eventually increase my dosage, but needless to say, due to the lack of support, this was our last visit to this particular doctor.
Around this time I started looking again for resources in the Kansas City area. Although the Zoloft helped significantly (I was taking 150 mg per day at this point), I was still far from well. I thought there had to be something else available, and I must have just missed it the first several times I looked. After another month or so of searching, I discovered the newly formed Pregnancy and Postpartum Resource Center.
After I mustered up the courage, I called the support line and spoke with the director, Meeka Centimano. She was very supportive and related to what I was feeling. She mentioned that the resource center had a weekly support group that met on Mondays that I might be interested in attending. I was not able to attend initially because Mark was working nights at the time, and we did not yet know anyone to baby-sit Hayden. Meeka, along with two women who were currently attending the support group were kind enough to offer to meet me for lunch one day so I could at least connect with some people for the time being.
I began attending the support group in May of 2004 – a year after Hayden’s birth. I attended approximately eight sessions. It comforted me meeting other women who were having the same struggles and finally having other people with whom to identify. It also helped me to learn more about the illness of postpartum depression and to classify it as a medical endocrine disorder.
It took another good year before I felt fully recovered. My husband and I had gone through a grieving process because we had originally wanted to have more than one child, but after experiencing postpartum depression, we did not want to take the chance of suffering through it again. I was finally able to enjoy spending time with my son and did not want to jeopardize time with him or another child.
Yet, armed with the knowledge and assistance from the Resource Center, we started to open our hearts to the possibility of another child. We trusted that God would not give us more than we could handle, and we felt so much better equipped to battle PPD if confronted with it this time and with the Resource Center team on our side, we hoped that we would be able to handle it.
We soon found out that we were expecting another child. My pregnancy presented itself quite differently than that of Hayden. I had severe vomiting and nausea for the first twenty weeks. Although this made for a few difficult months, I suppose the good thing about it was that it kept my mind off of the possibility of PPD. When the nausea finally passed, we made plans to do everything we could to help prevent the onset of PPD after our son’s birth as well as to prepare ourselves if it did occur again.
Mark changed his schedule so he would have more flexibility in the spring and be available to support me in the transition. I continued on my medication throughout my pregnancy and planned to stay on it postpartum as well. I prepared and froze a month’s worth of meals so none of us would have to worry about meals immediately postpartum. The Resource Center referred me to a therapist who I established contact with while pregnant so I would be prepared if I needed assistance postpartum. And, I finally disclosed my difficulties that I had after Hayden’s birth to my family and friends and enlisted their help following this pregnancy.
Jonah Daniel was born three weeks early on February 9, 2006. My husband and I were humbled by the abundance of support we had from our new community of friends in Kansas City. Various friends brought us meals for the first three weeks; others watched Hayden so I could get some sleep. As a result of our preparedness and planning and immense support from others, the first seven weeks of Jonah’s life were filled with such joy for our family. I still mourn that I have little memory of the first six months or so of Hayden’s life due to the depression. Yet, we are making new memories together now and cherish each of those. Not to say every moment has been all fine and rosy like the Johnson and Johnson commercials. Jonah had to stay in the hospital an extra day, and we had home health for the first week because of jaundice and some initial breathing difficulties he had with being early. I ended up with an umbilical hernia from all the stretching of pregnancy. Jonah was a much “needier” baby than Hayden was – fussier, does not sleep as well, etc. And, I still had a couple of moments of breakdown. Any of these things might have sent me over the edge the first time around. But the difference now is I am able to accept them as normal adjustment and be at peace with that as well as have the peace of mind to know where and what help is available. Without PPRC, I do not believe we would have ever felt open to more children, nor felt armed to take steps to prevent PPD or to combat it if it affected us again. Our whole family is so grateful to PPRC for all they have done for us. We would not be where we are today without it.
What I did not PLAN on was being hit head-on with postpartum depression. Throughout my pregnancy, I felt emotionally the best I had in my entire life. I loved being pregnant. My only real challenge was being extra tired, but I fought that easily with extra sleep.