For those of you who have suffered

This post is a long time coming. Not because I have been collecting my thoughts or because I was afraid to talk. No, I was just too dang busy living my crazy life. So, spoiler alert - everything turns out fine in the end. To get the story before that...read on.

This is a tale of guilt, regret, joy, pain, tears, laughter, and total and utter fear. This is a tale of having twins and not being ready. This is a tale of having no clue what I was doing or going through. This is a tale of Postpartum Depression (PPD) to some extent, but there is another side that is not as well known. Postpartum Anxiety (PPA) and panic and rage. I know PPD is taboo in some circles (why, I do not know), but at least it is known. PPA and the panic and rage that goes with it, is not known...or at least is not known as well.

A bit of my history: Jay and I went through a long journey to get pregnant. Because of my history of Hodgkin's Lymphoma and Chemotherapy we were not sure if I was going to be able to get pregnant at all. Luckily we were able to conceive with the help of modern medicine. We did not do IVF, but one step below that, IUI. We needed help and in the process I had to be on a lot of medication. I tell you this because I was warned (by an amazing friend of mine) that women who go through fertility treatments have a higher incidence of PPD/PPA - due to the extra hormones during treatment I guess. Of course at the time I stored it in the back of my brain as "interesting, but ain't gonna happen to me." I don't know why I was in denial on this so early on...I had suffered through situational depression before (after chemotherapy)...I really should have been watching for this. But again, this wasn't traditional depression. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. It reared it's ugly head in a way I couldn't predict.

Looking back on what I went through it was so obvious I was having issues. But a lot of them were only seen or known by me. Those loved ones that saw the outside stuff probably just thought I was a seriously stressed out and sleep deprived mama. Maybe some of you knew? I know my husband finally stepped up and said something to me. That is what eventually opened my eyes.

I had troubles with the pregnancy and postpartum in general. Sure I was happy to be pregnant, but there were so many things going on that I did not picture when we decided to have a kid.
We got pregnant in a lab.
I was poked and prodded every week for the first 12 weeks of pregnancy - blood tests, ultrasounds, etc.
Surprise you're having twins.
We found out we were pregnant by a blood test and a phone call, not the pee stick and a private surprise moment with my husband.
I was on "no exercise" restrictions for the first 12 weeks.
I gained 25 pounds in the FIRST 12 weeks.
I never went through a cute pregnant phase. I went from kind of looking swollen and bloated - to huge!
I couldn't deliver...I was going to have a c-section.
I wasn't going to make it 40 weeks...38 at the most.
I was on modified bed rest from 32 weeks on.
My legs were tree trunks for the last 2 months (ok, this may be a general pregger thing, but I was still angry about it).
Anyway, all of these things combined left me a bit resentful and stressed during most of my pregnancy. Not a great way to spend 38 weeks.

Then the boys were born. And they were healthy. Huzzah! We delivered at a hospital that took a hard line on the family staying together in the hospital room and the no bottle method was strictly enforced. Therefore we were immediately sleep deprived and I was still recovering from a major abdominal surgery while learning to breast feed twins. Of course my body couldn't keep up with them and before we even left the hospital we had to start supplementing. Another disappointment - I would not be feeding my boys "naturally." Almost immediately it was evident that our boys had some serious spit up/reflux issues, but it seriously took 4 months to diagnose. Why? Because we didn't know any better. In addition to everything else that a new parent (of twins) goes through, my c-section incision wasn't healing well, I was trying to do too much, and next thing you know...my incision had opened up and I had a hematoma forming throughout my incision. This lead to some of the most painful moments of my life. I had to get the wound cleaned out and go to wound care every other day. I had to get the wound packed and cleaned at each session. I was constantly bleeding or being afraid of doing more damage. I couldn't sit, lay down, or hold my babies without extreme pain. Breast feeding at all was not an option. So then came the pump. That stupid evil pump.

I was so very very very tired. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating, I was constipated from the pain pills, I was on antibiotics that made me nauseous. My wound dressing smelled all the time. I was covered in spit up all the time. Our twins were on a 1.5 hour wake/feeding schedule on their own. They were fussy babies. They were reflux babies. I was "sleeping" in a recliner for over a month. My damned legs, feet, and ankles were still swollen. And the pump. Oh that damned pump. I was determined to give my boys some breast milk, even if it wasn't directly from me. I would sit at that pump while my exhausted husband dealt with not only helping to feed one of the babies, but also change the screaming babies. They screamed a lot, all the time. He resorted to ear plugs for diaper changes to keep his sanity. That pump just added that much more time and effort to our feeding routine which only allowed us 45 minutes of sleep by the time each kid was fed, burped, changed, and all of the pump crap and bottles were cleaned.

Why do I tell you all of this...not to complain...but to give you an idea of where we were as a family. Where we were as a couple. And where I was as a mom and person. Through all of this I was miserable. I didn't coo and aww at my babies. I didn't like them. I was fiercely protective of them and fearful of them getting sick, but I didn't like them and didn't know if I loved them. And there is the guilt on top of everything else.

I cried a lot. In private mostly...sometimes in front of my husband. I told my babies as I was feeding them what a horrible mother they had. I had no patience with them. I got frustrated very easily. As I was alone in our room pumping, I would often really truly believe that my life was over. I would get so very angry whenever they would wake up from their nap or cry for some unknown reason. Or not go down for their nap. Or not sleep for anything longer than 45 minutes. Or dear god when they kept spitting up - and they were spitting up the breast milk that I had pumped for them. I would get so angry. And I could not separate my anger from them. I threw things at walls (usually pacifiers that my boys would not take to stop crying), I punched the floors as I was sitting there trying to feed them and they were just crying and crying and spitting up every where. I would scream, a lot, usually in to a pillow. I had no hope. I felt as if I were in a nightmare. I asked myself horrible questions like "why did we do this?" and "Is there a way out?" I really felt (although logic defied this) as if we were going to be stuck in this infant hell forever.

On top of all of this anger there was fear and anxiety. My boys hated their car seats, the stroller, the swing, and the pacifier. There was no comforting these boys - in a traditional sense. I could not get out of the house for long walks because they would scream the entire time. We could not put them in the car seats and go for a drive to quiet them because they would scream the whole time. I could not put one in the swing to just swing to sleep, because they hated it unless you were constantly entertaining them. We had to be ON and IT for them all of the time. I dreaded every moment they were awake. I was so tired at the end of the day that I just wanted to go to bed, but I also hated the nights, because I would have to do everything the same as in the day...except in the dark and quietly.

I asked for advice and told my story. Often people would say to get out of the house. Go for a walk. Try a teether. Little did they know that none of this worked. After 4 months of this insanity something had to change. I went for a walk with another twins mom and one of my boys screamed the entire time. The entire 45 minute walk. I would have called it a loss earlier than that, but we were doing an "out and back" walk and the only option I had was to continue on to make it home. By then end of that walk, my nerves were fried. The mom I was walking with was getting out with friends, working out, going back to work and seemed in very good spirits. Her boys took their pacifiers, loved the stroller, and generally seemed like happy babies. This information on top of severe exhaustion, fried brain and nerves, and the (now obvious) depression and anxiety finally broke me down. I got the screaming babies in the house, put them in a safe place and I blasted the music, grabbed a beer, and sat on the floor and cried and cried and screamed. And then Jay came home to see us all screaming and crying. This night he took me aside and said, "it's not normal for someone to react so strongly to a bad walk. i think you need help."

Now I have to say all this time I had help. Jay took time off from work to help. The grandparents were flying across country multiple times to help. In addition we had hired a doula on random days when the grandparents weren't here to help me. So help...I had help. But I needed more and in a different way.

Around month 5 everything finally started falling in to place. Finally. After 5 months of this. The number 1 thing was having a great doctor who responded to me when I flat out started bawling when he asked how I was doing. Luckily (unluckily?) his wife had gone through postpartum depression and he took it very seriously. He immediately put me on a prescription and really pushed getting therapy. I took the pills, but really could not see finding the time to go to therapy. I decided that would be just one more thing to add stress, and more stress I did not need. I felt as if my moms groups (especially my twin moms group) were my therapy. So medication - check. We also finally got the boys in to see a gastrointestinal specialist and got some medication that they both desperately needed. In addition we started them on some solid food (rice cereal of course) which was heavy enough to stay in them along with the medicine to help reduce stomach acid. Also, around the 4 month mark our Pediatrician gave us the much anticipated advice that we could finally start sleep training. So we did. And it was amazing. Just getting them to sleep through the night helped immensely. However, I know that was not all I needed. I wasn't just a sleep deprived mama. The medication dose originally prescribed for me didn't start to work for a couple of weeks and even then it's effect was minor. Luckily my doctor required me to come in for a follow up a month after starting the medication and he knew right away it wasn't working at that dose. We doubled what I was taking and again, it took over 2 weeks to see any effect. The dose then, is the dose I am currently on.

So life is perfect now right? A year later the "situational" depression or anxiety should be gone? Um, nope. I recently went to see my new doctor. An amazing doctor who really hears what a patient is saying. I told him that my old doctor (who retired amidst all of this chaos) suggested I start to wean off of the medication about a year after starting it. I spoke with my new doctor about this. He asked "do you want to discontinue the medication?" Such a loaded question. Immediately I said "yes, of course I want to discontinue the medication. Who wants to be medicated?" But..."I am worried. I am worried because I am still stressed and anxious and still have moments of depression, although brief." He said, if there is ANY doubt in your mind about whether you're ready to discontinue this medication, do not do it." "It is a safe medication."

So I continue on. And let me tell you...every day is hard. Still. Motherhood is hard. I still have anxiety. I still have stress. I still have depression, sometimes. This is not the end all, be all medication. I am not skipping through life with rose colored glasses. I know motherhood is meant to be hard. It is stressful and annoying at times. But those who did not go through PPD/PPA have coping mechanisms. I do not.

I am worried about other moms out there that don't know about this. Other moms that are ruining their lives, their marriages, and risking the relationship with their children all because they don't know that life could be a little bit better. That this isn't how motherhood is supposed to be. That what we feel isn't really normal.

I hope this reached someone that needs it. Or maybe even someone who knows someone that might need help. A lot of times all that new mom needs is someone to say "you know what, you don't have to be all smiley and perfect around me. Motherhood sometimes sucks. It's ok. And if it's getting to a really bad place, that is not normal and I'm here to help."

Thanks for reading this post. I hope to post more. I'm insanely busy with my boys, training for a triathlon, and starting a new business. I hope to keep all of these things connected. And just to clarify from the title of my blog, I do not consider what I went through a fail. It just is what it is.

Posted in: fear , guilt , mama fail , mama win , post partum anxiety , post partum depression , rage