Diary of a postpartum depression

Lutheran, The, May 2002 by Groninga, Kimberly

I looked at our daughter in her father's arms-after 19 hours of labor that ended only when my doctor said she was going to"rescue"me and do a Caesarean section. That's when my sadness began.

During my pregnancy, through the morning sickness, fatigue and insomnia, I would think of the moment they would lay this child on my chest for the first time. Looking at her, all dirty and naked and miraculous, I knew I would cry. But that moment never came.

Oh, I still cried. And they were definitely tears of joy. But they were also tears of distress. As I lay on that operating table being sewn up, they didn't lay Carly on my chest. They took her to the nursery. Earlier I had begged Tim, my husband, that if I ended up having a C-section he would be there for our child. So he went with her.

And there I lay alone, fully aware but physically incapable and with the sense of failure that came with the Caesarean. My heart breaks whenever I think of being unable to be with my baby in the first moments of her life.

Experts say many factors contribute to postpartum depression (PPD). A difficult pregnancy or delivery is one. Another factor, for me, was the experience of two significant deaths in my family when I was young-my father and a 3-year-old niece. I learned early that nothing is sure.

After we brought Carly home, I exhausted myself worrying. Sudden infant death syndrome, sleep apnea, cancer and leukemia-I had seen them all. But I didn't run in to check Carly's breathing constantly or call the doctor over every little thing. Mostly I prayed. It was the only way I could calm down enough to rest. I know God has a plan for my little girl, and I continue to pray that it includes a long and healthy life.

Another factor in my experience with PPD is that someone I love is facing infertility. A big part of me didn't believe I deserved this gift of a child. And in my mind, it became all the more reason to worry about her being taken away.

Of course, I was exhausted. All new parents are. But the exhaustion of PPD is twofold: It comes from being extremely sleepdeprived and overly emotional. This is why dads and adoptive parents also can get symptoms of PPD.

What newborns are really like-- aliens-contributes to PPD too. They can't focus their eyes or control their arms and legs. I thought once or twice that there must be something wrong with Carly.

I also thought breast-feeding would come naturally. But not only could she not suck, she couldn't swallow! Even when we resorted to bottles, she would fill her mouth with milk that would drain right out the sides. She was starving. So she cried a lot and didn't sleep. We used syringes (without the needle) to forcefeed her and kept working hard to learn how to breast-feed. We finally learned what we were doing, but I was overwhelmed by the added stress.

As I write this, I find myself telling this story rather matter-offactly. But the truth of those times is that I've never been so distressed in my life. Some days I begged Tim to stay home with me, and he did several times. Then one night I fell down the basement stairs, and I think it knocked something loose. I started crying and didn't stop for hours. I wasn't terribly hurt, just finally falling apart. The next day I made an appointment to talk with my doctor about PPD. Carly was 3 months old.

My mom came to baby-sit and said I looked tired. "I've been crying," I said. Of course, she asked why. I told her I had PPD and didn't want to talk about it. I was ashamed.

The doctor asked me if I thought I would hurt Carly. Of course not!

Did I ever think what might happen if I was "not here?" she asked. Suicide? No. But driving off into the sunrise, maybe. During my 5:30 a.m. workouts at the gym I often thought that if I didn't go home, Tim couldn't leave for work. I don't know where I thought I might go. But I didn't want to go home. It wasn't because I didn't love Carly with all my heart. Maybe it was because I loved her so muchI don't know. I just didn't feel capable or deserving of this experience of motherhood.

Maybe I didn't really know who I was anymore. As I look back on my life, I notice that I have suffered depression before-at a time of change. I was a college graduate but had no meaningful job, had just become a wife and had moved to another city. I didn't know how to be this person.

Just like now I didn't know how to be a mother. I felt like a fraud-like everyone who looked at me could tell I had no idea what I was doing. I made notes in my journal during those months of my postpartum depression that seemed to help make sense of this new life:

My resolutions about Carly: * She's not that fragile.

* Get her on a schedule (try).

* Relax when she's relaxing.

* Love her.

* One day at a time; one "minute" at a time.

* I'm not alone-Tims a great dad.

* Pray.

But to move out of PPD, I had to do more. I saw my doctor and began taking anti-depressants. A counselor helped me understand why I was having this problem. And I worked to become the person and mother that I wanted to be.