After the birth of my first son, I suffered horribly from postpartum depression. It started almost immediately.. by the time we were released from the hospital, I was already feeling and exhibiting symptoms. At the time, we were still living in Midtown Manhattan, but I delivered in Staten Island because I wanted to keep my ob/gyn that I'd been with since my early 20's.
He was born on Memorial day weekend, and we were released on that Monday, and my hospital just happened to be down the street from the Staten Island parade route. Looking back, I can recognize that the anxiety and depression started building as early as that car ride. We had to drive to my parent's house to pick up my dogs, and so the family could get another glimpse of our newest family member..
What I remember from this day is this: I remember getting lost in a part of the island that I'm not too familiar with. I remember our GPS girl screwing us over and over because she kept sending us into the parade route... and I just wanted to be home... I wanted to have me, my baby, and the dogs in my safe little tiny apartment on 55th street, and never ever have to look the real world in the eye again.
But that would have to wait.
We finally got to my parent's house. My sisters were there and giddy with excitement over their newest nephew. They had fulfilled my dreams and wishes by putting out a big spread of cold cuts and deli delights when I got to my parent's house. (I had been completely avoiding all things deli during my pregnancy because of certain warnings, and of course a little bit of "first time Mom to be" hysteria.) As a Staten Island girl, going without cold cuts for nearly a year is pretty much comparable to torture.
I swiftly took my baby upstairs to one of the guest rooms (which happens to be my present bedroom) and tried to nurse him. I wasn't sure if he ate or not... I didn't know what the hell was going on with this strange new family member whose very existence depended on my reliability.
I have very limited memories from this point forward... To the best of my recollection, I think I pretty much ignored the cold cuts, or maybe made a sandwich but only pretended to eat it? I know for sure that I had no appetite.. not just that. I had a mental aversion to food. The thought of eating made me not only queasy, but made my heart pound like mad and my stomach feel like it was turning in on itself, all the while my lungs and chest caught on fire.... these are just a few symptoms that women with postpartum depression experience. And this was only the beginning.
John dropped me, the baby, and pups off at our building, and then left to park our car in our garage-- about 4 blocks away. (yeah yeah, i know- that sounds ridiculously stupid... but if you've ever lived in Nyc, or any city like it, you get it. You park where you can, for what you can afford)
The amount of time that it took for John to get back to us at the apartment seemed endless. I had no idea what to do with this child now that we were home. Seriously, no idea. I kept him in his infant car seat carrier. I have no clue what occurred from this point forward... for at least a few hours.
Next thing I recall is the crying. The wailing. The over the top, inconsolable screaming. No, not from me, from the baby. It started around dusk and continued well into the night. After a few hours of trying the few tricks I was taught at the hospital (feeding him, changing him, feeding him, trying to feed him.... trying to burp him??? trying to feed.... lather rinse repeat). We called John's sister Noreen to ask for help. She reassured us that he was fine... That we might be dealing with some colic, but he'd be ok... I, on the other hand, was very, very far from ok.
For me, eating was next to impossible. When I could tolerate it, I'd eat half a granola bar, or a little bit of a banana. I dropped weight right away. I had put on about 60 lbs with the pregnancy, and it was gone by week 3 or so.
Baby J was extremely colicky. If he was awake, he was screaming crying. I was a mess. I hated waking up.. For the record, I've always hated waking up... even as a kid, I was never a fan of morning. But this was very different. Waking up took the wind out of me. It sucked the life out of me, made me feel sick to my stomach. Made me cry. Made me hate being alive. Thank God I loved that baby so much with every fiber of my being, or there's no doubt in my mind I would have ended my life at some point in those first few months. I feel so sorry for the women that suffer as much as I did, and in addition, have that horrible feeling of disconnect with their baby. At least I had the maternal feeling of NEEDING to do anything and everything in my capabilities to take care of my baby. If I didn't think that that baby boy's life depended on my care, I would not be here today. I can say with certainty that Baby J both nearly forced me to take my life, and at the same time saved my life just by being born.
I'm not sure, to this day, what woke me up out of this terrible state. I know that I eventually made my way to my dr to ask to be put on anti-depression medication.. I'm going to assume that one of my sisters probably put their foot down at some point and insisted that I called the doctor after I avoided all calls and visits for a very long time.
After I started the medication, everything eventually straightened itself out... with time. J was a little over 4 months old before he finally stopped the colic. After that, he was a mellow happy little guy. Normal.
With my second pregnancy, my doctor and I worked very closely together to take all precautions to not let that happen again. I was monitored throughout the pregnancy, and literally within one hour of giving birth I was given antidepressants so that we could beat the hormones to the chase. Apparently, it happens that fast sometimes. The extreme amount of hormonal chemicals in a pregnant woman's body can drop just as quickly as the baby drops into the doctor's hands. The key is to balance out all the chemicals before your brain has realized what's happened.
This can only be done with those of us that know we're at risk... for all those first timers out there, it's up to them to catch on to what's going on and be proactive. In my opinion, it's very very difficult for a woman suffering from postpartum depression to recognize it within them self. Especially if it's their first baby. So it's up to us, their friends and family to look out for it.
I for one, warned all my girlfriends about it when they got pregnant... not to be the debbie downer, but I wanted to protect them. No one warned me. No one explained to me what it felt like. I had to figure it out myself. I wouldn't feel like a good friend or a responsible woman if I didn't. So let's tell our girlfriends. Not just about the beautiful first pictures and Christening pictures... Let's please tell them about the ugly too. They'll be glad ya did.
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