On Postpartum Depression.

It’s taken me a while (nine months to be precise) to be comfortable enough to write about my experiences with postpartum depression (henceforth “PPD”).  Though difficult to write, I think it’s important to make people aware that this is normal, and that it will also pass. This is my honest story.

Maddie wasn’t born breathing.  My labor was long and, at the forty-first hour mark, I was told she wasn’t handling the pushing and I was prepped for c-section.  Once in the operating theatre they managed to get her out via forceps and rushed her to the table to be revived.  At the time I didn’t know this was what was happening, all I knew was the seconds ticked by slowly as they filled with silence instead of the scream of a healthy baby.  But that scream did come, and she was given to me finally.

We spent two days on the ward following birth, and I became terrified as the nights came and visitors made to leave.  Suddenly I was left to care for this tiny, helpless being all on my own with no experience… I was afraid of her.  I was afraid of hurting her by accident, of doing something wrong, of dropping her when picking her up.  I didn’t know how to change a diaper, I hadn’t even packed diapers in my hospital bag (most likely under the naive impression I’d be going home shortly after birth).  I didn’t sleep at all, despite nearly two days of labor.  I hardly ate, as I was terrified to leave her in her hospital newborn bed and go the short distance into the hall for the breakfast cart.  We left the hospital not knowing how to properly breastfeed and without having had a proper latch.

When we got home, Maddie would not wake.  We tried a cool cloth, talking to her, rubbing her, etc.  At this point she had been born three days prior and had not latched on and, even if she had, my milk hadn’t come in anyways.  Mark called the hospital as I screamed in terror and they advised formula until my milk came in (these thoughts don’t come naturally to you when you’ve been a parent for a mere 72 hours). This fixed the problem immediately and, within the week, we were breastfeeding thanks to the wonderful nurses who came around to our flat for coaching.

This is where it began.

In as few words possible I became agoraphobic, not leaving the house for days and sometimes weeks at a time.  In my mind Maddie was extremely fragile and I needed to keep her where I could ensure she’d be safe, which I rationalized was within the flat.   After my mom went back to the US and Mark back to work, I was left on my own to care for this new addition, and that terrified me.  Visitors came around, suggesting I take her out for walks, out in the sun, out to the park.  I felt that these suggestions were an immense pressure, and I became withdrawn from even having people come to the flat.  I hated with all of my being each time I heard the word, “walk.”  I hated the very suggestion that I should take Maddie out where she could be harmed.  I hated others seemed to think this was just so easy and I should just get on with it.  Didn’t they know it was dangerous for her?  Didn’t they know I was still healing from a large amount of stitches?  Why couldn’t everyone and the entire world just leave me alone?

I didn’t want to take Maddie out for a number of reasons, all of them illogical.  The first being the fear someone would steal her, just swoop in, grab the buggy, and run off with her. What if some sicko came up, grabbed her, and tossed her in the sea?  The second is my own control: what if we were standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to turn and I wasn’t gripping the handles tight enough and the brakes on the buggy failed and she rolled out into traffic?  Even rereading what I’ve written just now seems almost comical in the degree of crazy, but even nine months later I can still recall where my mind was in that haze of hormones and depression.

I was terrified of SIDS (Sudden infant death syndrome, or cot death in the UK). I would check her as much as every five minutes, obsessing over the temperature in the room and whether or not she was warm / cool enough.  Sometimes I would stand at the bedroom door or window, adjusting it by mere millimeters until I could be convinced that this was the perfect open / close situation for optimal temperature.  I became obsessed with milestones, as I was certain that not hitting one on time would indicate something dreadful.

I cried.  A lot.  Some evenings Maddie became too big a burden to carry and I left her with Mark and took walks along the seafront, in the dark and by myself, listening to music.  I felt like I was in an incredibly dark place and, whilst I have always loved Maddie, I did not feel IN love with her.  I wondered why I didn’t feel this amazing high other women talked about when reminiscing about their babies.  I wondered if I ever would, if I was even cut out to do this.  I lashed out at Mark almost constantly who, bless him, took it and still stood there ready to put his arms around me or take care of Maddie while I composed myself.

About two and a bit months after Maddie was born I told those close to us about my agoraphobia and depression after feeling it became a necessity after running out of excuses as to why I couldn’t go do this or come out to that.  The second I said it out loud, however, I realized I had to change it.  There, at the end of September, we began going for walks.  I can still remember the first time we did: as I began to get ready, I kept telling myself I could turn around and change my mind any time I chose to.  I will just get dressed, I said to myself, then see how I feel.  After getting dressed, I got Maddie’s diaper bag together and reassessed again… still going.  I then slowly got Maddie ready and put the buggy outside. Lastly, we stepped out and shut the door behind us.  It was literally one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but we walked and we made it back… no rolling into traffic, no psychos out to get my baby… just Moo and I on the seafront.

With every mile we walked the depression began to lift.  As the weather got colder we put on more layers and braved the wind instead of staying in and, between October and November, we walked over seventy miles.  We walked every day and eventually out-distanced the demons that were chasing us.  I lost all of my pregnancy weight along with untold amounts of those hormones. My depression lifted and when it did I fell in love HARD.  I loved Moo more than anything in this world, and I continue to love her more with each passing day.  Once we made it out onto the other side, despite the settling in of a UK winter, our spring had finally arrived and life was beautiful again.

I’ve written this for all the mothers to be, the new mothers, those returning for another round, or those not-so-new still suffering in silence.  PPD is normal and it affects everyone differently.  I’ve written this to let you know it gets better, and that there is a light at the end of it all.  When I was in the thick of it I thought I would never be whole again, that I would feel this way forever.  Everyone always has a solution to your problems, a way to fix it, a “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality… but all I needed to hear was that it would pass.  Don’t suffer in silence, talk to someone about it and help yourself in any way you can… you’ve got to care for yourself as much as your new baby.

And I am telling you: it WILL pass.

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