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Maria's Story:
I was the youngest of eight children (four boys and four girls),
born on December 15, 1966, and raised in Cincinnati. My mother died
suddenly when I was 23 of a massive heart attack. My father died
3 years later when I was 26. I married my husnad on February 6,
1993. He had one child before we were married Adam, and we have
Ellie, born February 6, 1996.
I had no signs of PPD before my delivery nor did I have any signs
of any type of depressive illness before getting pregnant. I did
take an anti-depressant right after my mother’s death for about
three months (the doctor said I looked anemic and gave me the medicine).
Being the youngest of eight, I already had 23 nieces and nephews
before I got pregnant. Two of my sisters had grown children and
the other sister’s children were all over the age of 10.
I had a doctor’s appointment on February 6, 1993 at 4:30, when
I went to the doctor, I had signs of labor (very slight contractions).
Upon examination, he told me that I was 100% effaced and was about
to go into labor, however, the baby was backwards. He told me to
meet him in the hospital at 7:00 and he would perform a c-section.
I wasn’t upset that I had to have a c-section, I was just worried
about going through an operation awake and being afraid that it
would hurt. Upon arrival at the hospital I was extremely nervous.
They had to give me some type of nerve medicine because I couldn’t
calm myself down. The c-section went fine and she was born at 8:34
p.m.
Everything was fine with recovery in the hospital. I actually liked
it there. I had no signs of the PPD in the hospital at all. Three
days later we went home. Upon coming home, we had a flurry of visitors.
I was able to eat the first day I was home. I tried breast-feeding
and the first night she slept six straight hours.
The next day, whoa! The PPD hit. Although at the time I just thought
I had the stomach flu. Everyone kept telling me it was the c-section
-- I had just had a major surgery and I needed rest. My sister came
over and cleaned my house while my husband took care of the baby.
I wasn’t producing any breast milk because I was dehydrated
from throwing up excessively. I was so anxiety ridden that I thought
it must be the flu or something. I stayed in bed all day with an
overwhelming feeling of guilt for not being with my baby. I decided
I couldn’t breast feed and sent my sister out for formula.
I thought this would be easier on me because someone else could
feed her while I rested, I felt very guilty over this decision.
The next four weeks were extremely difficult. I had extreme anxiety,
panic attacks, bizarre thoughts, a feeling of being trapped or drowning,
feelings of no self-worth, severe insomnia; I just wanted to die.
I felt that if the baby would die she would be better off without
such a terrible mother. I never had thoughts of hurting the baby
I just wanted her to go away from me because I knew I was such a
terrible mother. I never ate, I couldn’t sleep or even nap,
I was afraid to be alone with the baby because I felt I couldn’t
handle the responsibility, I was extremely lonely and I had the
dry heaves constantly. My dominating thought was of killing myself.
The pit I was in kept spiraling down.
At four weeks post-partum, a friend from Arkansas called me. She
had heard that I was having a rough time. She told me that I had
PPD and to immediately call my Ob/Gyn. She also told me that if
he told me it would pass, I should call her back and she would find
me a doctor that could help. It was 9:30 on a Sunday night and I
called my doctor. He was wonderful, he told me to come in first
thing in the morning. Upon arrival at his office all I could do
was cry. I was down below my pre-pregnancy weight from practically
eating nothing over the last four weeks. I was very sick—mentally
and physically. He saw the signs and immediately put my on an anti-depressant
(Serzone) and told me to seek counseling for the guilt I was feeling.
He recommended a counselor who was in my area. She was not in my
insurance book and upon calling her she told me her fees were $160/hour
for the first visit and $80 per visit after that. She would not
do a sliding scale and there was no way my husband and I could afford
those rates. So I didn’t go, I figured just the medicine would
be enough.
The anti-depressant seemed to take the edge off. At this point,
Ellie was six weeks old and I went back to work. I couldn’t
wait to get back to work. Work was my saving grace. It was the only
place I felt in control. I felt semi-normal at work and could focus
on doing my job versus being what I thought was a “terrible
mother”. My co-workers for the most part (at least I think)
didn't know what was going on. They could see I wasn’t eating
and losing weight rapidly, however, they did not know the depth
of my problem.
I kept feeling the need to up my dosage. I still was having panic
attacks and extreme anxiety. After about 3 months of being on the
medicine my Ob/Gyn asked me to see my family physician (who is an
internist) because he felt as if my family physician could better
monitor the medicine I was on. My family physician immediately took
me off my high dose Serzone and put me on a high dose of Paxil.
That night was the worst night I ever had. I had hallucinations
and should have gone to the emergency room however I was afraid
they would take my baby if I went. At this point I knew I had lost
my mind or was having a nervous breakdown. I didn’t think I’d
make it through the night. I laid in our living room and a little
voice in my head just kept saying sleep it off . . . sleep it off
. . . you will make it until the morning. I did make it through
the night and paged my doctor at 7:00 a.m. the next morning. He
told me that it couldn’t have possibly been the medicine that
soon and that I sounded as if I had an inner-ear infection.
At this point I was extremely low. I called my Ob/Gyn back and he
was very supportive. However, there wasn’t much he could do.
I told him that I was afraid of the medicines at this point. He
told me that I had probably been overdosed and that it would probably
be best to go off all the medicines for awhile. I felt as if I had
no help anywhere. I made the decision that I was going to win this
battle and fight it on my own. I could do it without medicine and
any doctor! At this point my baby was 5-6 months old.
I was trying everything I knew to ease the pain of my PPD. I read
any information on PPD I could find, I took herbs, I tried exercise,
I meditated, I tried massage, I took time for me . . . nothing worked.
I was deeper than I ever had been. The panic attacks got more intense.
The thoughts of suicide were constant. I heard voices telling me
I was a terrible person and terrible mom. I knew something needed
to be done so I started to look for a support group. Through DAD,
I found one in Columbus. I couldn’t believe that there was
no means of support in Cincinnati. I began to think I was crazy
and that this only happened to me and a select group of other women
who wrote articles about it. I had to drive to Columbus to attend
a support group meeting. I spoke to a woman named Terese who made
me feel comfortable about coming to the meeting. It took every ounce
of strength to travel the 2 hours alone in the car but I knew I
had to do it.
The meeting was wonderful. There were mothers that had just been
through PPD and mothers with two week old babies just starting with
PPD. They talked about the same exact symptoms I had. They had the
same fears. They were just like me. It was recommended to me to
try medicine again with the experience of a good psychiatrist. I
trusted these women and finally found hope that I too would one
day be “normal” and PPD free. The next day I called a
new family physician, went for an appointment and he referred me
to a wonderful, knowledgeable psychiatrist.
Finally I was seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. A tunnel
that was once suffocating me was now showing signs of letting up.
My new psychiatrist immediately knew ways of helping me. She prescribed
Atavan for the panic attacks (Atavan is not an anti-depressant),
it simply is a type of “chill pill” (as my husband would
call it). It would help with my extreme anxiety as well as an immediate
relief from the panic attacks. Then I started my long journey with
trying medicines. Because of the previous overdose and side effects
of the medicines, I had to try many medicines before we found one
that I could tolerate although I now had the Atavan that helped
tremendously with the panic and anxiety. My psychiatrist was very
reassuring that we would find an anti-depressant to help and that
she would stick with me through thick and thin. I now had a doctor
on my side.
My daughter is now three years old. I still suffer from slight Depression
(after the baby turns 3 they no longer consider it PPD, it is depressive
illness now). I am on Zoloft, which is helping. I can function normally
and no longer have the debilitating effects of PPD. I have anxiety
for which the Zoloft helps and still carry Atavan with me just in
case.
I had a supportive husband who carried me through this. I also had
the unconditional help of a sister who was there for me at a drop
of a hat! Without the two of them, I would not have lived. I also
had the names of several women from the Columbus group who were
always there to call anytime I needed someone to listen, which helped
tremendously. They all saved me from this debilitating illness.
Now, I want to help anyone I can by telling my story. I have no
medical training and can offer no advice on what is best for you.
I can however tell you that you have a friend that has been through
this illness and has recovered. I have been there, I know how that
darkness surrounds you, I know that you do not see the light at
the end of tunnel and I will remind you that there is a light there
and I will help you until we can reach that light.
After all is said and done, I must give some credit to PPD (I know
that sounds crazy). Before PPD, I went through life not knowing
what a precious commodity my health (mental and physical) was. I
took for granted the power of the love and support my husband, family
and friends had for me. I walked through life thinking life would
always be there for me--during PPD, it was not. I am now a stronger
person. I can help others in many ways I was never able. I am more
caring and compassionate. I treasure my “normal” days
and realize that on “bad” days I am strong and will survive.
After suffering through PPD (the severe time) for 9 months, my daughter
was waiting for me. I don’t know if I will ever be what I considered
“normal” before pregnancy again. However, the mom I am
now is great! I make mistakes and I kiss boo boos and play games
and I still occasionally cry. This is all part of the “normal”
me now. And I really like this normal me.
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