Our sweet son was born on March 31, and is growing like crazy. My darling husband just got a job, and we are both working on school. As Christmas approaches, we are excitedly gift shopping, decorating our home, and sharing the joys of the season with our little angel. We are living life, smiling, and enjoying this beautiful time together. Life couldn't be more perfect.
Or so it may seem.
It amazes me how little people see. It makes me wonder how much I miss in other people's lives.
It is really hard for me to share this, but I think I need to. There is such a stigma, but... there shouldn't be, and I want to help remove it.
The birth of our little one was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I really mean that. I will have to write his birth story later for those of you interested, but for now, let's just say it was incredible!
The next 6 months or so, however... Not so much. It started with our little hiccup being unable to nurse. At all. I kept thinking he was latching on, but within seconds he was pulling away and screaming in frustration. I felt like the worst mom ever. I couldn't even feed my own son. After a day and a half of this, we finally had a lactation consultant come help. By this time Hiccup was too weak to do much. I had to pump a bit, and he was offered his first taste of colostrum on a spoon. After a few spoonfuls he gained enough strength to try to nurse again, and finally he was getting something--although it was very hard for him, and extremely painful for me.
I do not wish to detail the nightmare that the next months brought. If anyone reading this needs to feel understood in difficulties with nursing, please feel free to contact me. For the rest of you, let me just explain that we tried.
Hiccup had a tongue tie that was clipped not once, not twice, but THREE times. He is now terrified to let anyone try to see or feel anything in his mouth for fear of being hurt again. We dealt with thrush for 6 months. We dealt with his tongue and lip ties, as well as his extremely high palate. We worked with 4 lactation consultants, a doctor, an ENT, a speech therapist, a physical therapist, and a chiropractor. I spent hours and hours studying the problems for months. After about 3 months of absolute, tear wrenching, sobbing agony every time he nursed, I finally started pumping, but only during the day. I continued nursing all night (between 3 and 8 times a night). This gave me a bit of time to heal, but not enough. He was gaining weight really well, and was very healthy, but it was still not working for us.
When he was 4 months old, I gave in, and offered him some formula. I cried my eyes out while he drank his first few bottles. I felt I had failed as a mother. We continued nursing all night, but eventually I stopped pumping and started giving formula all day. This ended when Hiccup was 6 months old, and I ended up in the ER.
No, this was not because of nursing. Oh no, much more was going on. You see, between the agony of nursing, the sense of failure, the sleepless nights, and the physical and hormonal changes and pain I was going through, I developed a very bad case of clinical depression. Nearly every minute of every day was spend thinking of death, and wishing there were a way to make mine sooner without hurting my family too badly. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to be out of bed. I didn't want to be a wife, or a mother. I didn't even want to be.
I lost all of the weight from the pregnancy, and then another 15-20 lbs (I was on the low end of healthy to begin with). I started losing my hair by the handful, and... life was pretty bad. I was working with my doctor, and taking a tiny pill every day to "help me feel better." I was even working with a counselor, which seemed to be helping a bit, but not enough. Nothing was enough. My sweet husband had to stop working and stop school in order to be home and keep me alive. My wonderful mother had to have the three of us come stay for a week at a time over and over again, hoping to help, and ease some of my husband's burden. She even had to drop everything to come and help me a few times.
Finally, it all came to a head, and I was prompted to text a dear friend of mine about my discouragement with nursing (which obviously was only the tip of the iceberg). She had a prompting that something more was wrong, and without hesitating, drove directly to my house. We sat on the couch for a few hours as I cried and told her what was going on. By the end of this Heaven-sent visit, we had a bit of a plan. I was going to stop nursing entirely, as it was taking too much out of me physically and emotionally. I was also going to talk to my doctor about getting a different prescription, as this one wasn't cutting it.
After I left, I texted my doctor, who insisted that I go directly to the ER (it was a Saturday). I thought he was overreacting. Little did I know. They very nearly hospitalized me that night, but agreed to let me go home if my mom and sister could come help for the next few days.
This was the start of my healing. Sadly, it was also the start of the worst of my depression and anxiety. The next day I met with my counselor, and with an NP who specialized in mental health. It was a busy day, and caused a lot of stress. While the NP was very helpful, he didn't have any solutions for NOW. This meant that I left the appointment with him telling me that he thought I would be doing a lot better in a few months.
After that appointment I determined to kill myself that night.
There was not enough hope. Feeling better in a "few months" is all well and good, but I knew I didn't have the emotional stamina to make it that long. I no longer wanted to live, and no one had given me any immediate help.
The fact that I survived that night is a miracle. Honestly, looking back, I'm not even sure how it happened. The Lord prompted my sweetheart to say and do certain things, and it ended in me telling him my plan, and begging the Lord for help.
I don't even know how to explain the couple of months that have followed that experience. I went through a lot, dropping off of one medication and starting on another, slowly increasing it until it finally seemed to help. I took a few medications that I seriously regretted, and finally found one that works for me. I have worked with my counselor weekly, and we finally feel that things are a lot better. We are planning to meet another time or two, but when Christmas break comes, our visits will end.This was NOT an easy journey. All of it. Not just the mental health aspect. I truly feel that I have walked through hell in the past months, but I finally feel hope, and that things are getting better. My moods are evening, my baby is finally sleeping more (I swore I would never sleep train, but, again, please ask if you want details. The Lord has taught me a lot), I am finally sleeping more, my medication is working pretty well, my weight is coming back, and I am not as terrified to drive or be around people anymore! My sweetheart got a job that he is enjoying, and I am actually enjoying and utilizing the time with just me and our hiccup. The house is in better order, we are actually getting food, and I smile a lot of the time. I actually am enjoying my sweet little one, finally!
I recognize that this post is mostly catch-up, and that it may not seem to have much of a purpose, but I guess I just want you to know that there is always hope. Always. Whether your problem is lack of sleep, hoping for a baby (I've been there too), dealing with agonizing pain, poor health, mental illness, or whatever it may be. There is always hope through the Lord. He understands you perfectly. And you may be surprised to learn how many other people also understand you, and have walked a similar path. Don't be afraid to reach out for help. There is always hope.
