I hope that my journey will bring hope to other moms and/or family members that are suffering from the illness of PPD (Post Partum Dep.) My entire family, church family and doctors have all learned the seriousness of this illness as they watched me swim, sink and flounder. It felt like my skin was turned inside out exposing every ugly part of my being. My in-laws came to help out with the older two when I went into labor. The plan was for them to stay for two weeks and help out while the new Mommy rested and adjusted to having now 3 children. Once I was home I became a basket case and a complex mix of emotions. I would sit down to dinner with the rest of them, having no appetite, and after forcing down one bite burst into tears and have to retreat to my room for the rest of the evening. The presence of too many people in the same room as me was intensely overwhelming and I would start to panic. The only consolation I felt was in holding my new baby and begging God to release me from this physical and mental affliction. I cried every day, hard, gut wrenching tears asking God and the Theotokos (Mother of God) to have mercy on me and heal me. I couldn't decide what was worse, being in physical pain from the surgery or being in emotional pain. My inlaws left and I thought things would settle down with me emotionally. My husband took off two more weeks to help tend to me and the kids. He became a rock and realized I was truly suffering. In Orthodoxy, after giving birth the mother and child wait 40 days to go back to church. My priest graciously granted me economia and allowed me to go back to church 2 weeks after Andrews birth. That was the first life raft thrown to me. Being able to take communion again and be in the church was like medicine for me. My road to recovery would be a long one, and back then I couldn't see an end to it. I continued to cry, panic and get worse and worse as the days went by. By now I knew it wasn't just the baby blues but I didn't know what was happening to me. I just thought I was going crazy and no one would be able to help me. The Saints were busy praying for me, my Guardian Angel was working overtime for me and my whole church family stepped in and took over care of my kids. But I still had to walk through the fire, though so very alone I felt, in my heart I knew that God would not abandon me and He didn't.......

My Dooms Day, I mean Due Date

I always thought I was tough as a warrior and could endure any type of suffering thrown my way. I'd already had two previous c-sections and having a third at the age of 39 would be a piece of cake. Feeling like I wanted to retreat from the world during my pregnancy should have been my first red flag that things weren't going to be as I had assumed they'd be. My c-section happened 2 1/2 weeks earlier then scheduled. It was a joyous occassion at first....my husband was with me, my dear friend (also a former midwife) was with me, and my other dear friend, the attending surgical nurse, was also with me. Andrew was born and only opened his eyes upon hearing my voice. As he was wisked away to the nursery I was busy chatting with my friends about various things......then it hit.....the morphine reared its ugly head. I would never make a good drug addict since even benadryl sends me into a drunken stupor. I became so sick from the morphine, feeling like I was on a boat in a deep ocean with 20 foot swells. There was no relief at all until it worked itself out of my system-about 72 hours later. I started feeling anxious, depressed and out of control back in my room. The doctor thinking he was helping, gave me benadryl, which of course, I reacted to. I finally begged to be released after 3 days post op. My first c-section was 5 days in the hospital, my second was 4 days and I'm thinking if I have to do this again I may just ask my husband to use the sharp kitchen knife and we'll do a home birth. (JUST KIDDING!)
Once home, I started on the miserable journey of Post Partum Depression. I'm 9 months recovering now and am ready to talk about it.