I interrupt this broadcast for a present day update

I'm taking a break in my chronological journey to jot a few notes about my present condition. Today has been a struggle. It was a struggle to get up this morning, it was a struggle to get the kids breakfast, it was a struggle to talk on the phone and needless to say there isn't any homeschooling being done in my home today. Again I started feeling sadness, despair, gloom, anxiety and hopelessness. I talked with my mom on the phone and we talked about how far I have recovered from my original sickness. She asked me if the way I was feeling now was how I was before getting pregnant etc. (I've been depressed and angry much of my days with a few joyful ones sprinkled in the midst) I told her yes, this is who I was BEFORE Andrew was born. I was so complacent with myself and my daily misery I didn't expect anything more. Through my post partum depression I have learned how sinful of a person I am. The outer surface was striped clean and the ugly interior was being exposed. And what happens to a sore if it's exposed-it HURTS! So now I'm not ok with just being an irritable, non playful, cold hearted mom. I tend to think I've been going through a spiritual surgery. God entrusted me with these 3 wonderful children and I've taken the task for granted. I am repenting of this sin and am trying to endure the suffering. After talking on the phone with my mom I put my middle child on the computer and my oldest was working on her math (or appearing to do so) and the baby was milling about my feet as I stood in front of our family altar. I looked at the icon of the Theotokos (greek for Mother of God) and I just sighed, I looked up at the icon of Christ and pleaded with my eyes, then I remembered that I have an akathist to St. John of Shanghai. An akathist is a series of prayers of praises and pleadings to a paticular Saint. My priest, Father Seraphim, would pray the akathist over me at church when I was sick. I took out the akathist and while standing in front of St. Johns icon I poured my heart out in prayer. Tears flowed freely from my eyes and Andrew ended up in my arms as I was finishing. He looked at my eyes with a puzzled look on his face. I anointed myself with oil from the vigil lamp from his "tomb" and felt a lifting of the foggy despair. Now I am able to clean outside some, finish the dishes, make lunch without dread and get through the rest of the day with a feeling of grace. As Orthodox we utilize the complete fullness of Christ's church. We call upon Saints, who during their lives dedicated themselves to serving Christ in any capacity. We ask them to pray for us because they are so close to God. We use blessed oils to anoint ourselves and partake of personal blessings from our Priests. When we go to church we are surrounded by smells, sounds, and sights that are dedicated to God. And our homes become, in essence, mini churches. We try to look at this life as a temporary existence till we are called permanently home. With that mindset I have to look at my suffering as another means for salvation. In addition to, "accepting Christ" and attempting (though very poorly) to love our neighbors and do all the other things a "good Christian" does-we are repeatedly asking God to have mercy on us. God in Heaven is so incredibly Holy, how could I possibly assume that I, in my sinful nature, am going straight to Heaven without having to pass "Go" along the way. That would be pretty egotistical of me. And one thing this year has taught me is my ego needs some major deflating. So I get through the moment (or lifetime) of darkness and thank God again for allowing me to endure suffering here on earth. I thank Him that He allowed His Saint to pray for me and lifted my despair through his prayers. I thank God for this temporary moment of grace and mercy and for the ability to get through the rest of the day while murmuring, "Lord have mercy on me-a sinner."

Hey lady, your psychosis is showing

Have you ever felt like your skin was ripped off and everything inside you including emotions and feelings became exposed? As I write it, it sounds so trivial but at the time I felt like my inner most core was being exposed to anyone who happened to be looking. Whether it was my doctor, the nurse, or the other patients in the waiting room. I walked with a severe stoop, shoulders drooping. My head was down and my hair was a long mess. I walked slow-without purpose. My eyes held no life in them and my mouth couldn't have formed a deeper frown. I had a constant trickle of tears streaming down my face and my clothes were probably the pj's I had worn the night before. I was dropping weight fast and my will to live became non existent. I woke up crying and wishing I hadn't made it through the night, I went through the day begging God to take away my pain. I approached the night panicking that I would all of a sudden turn psychotic and out of control. I felt like I had to get my skin off of me or I would go nuts. I thought about driving away and never coming back. I thought about checking into a mental ward and living my life out there. I felt like I would never feel normal or happy again. I was beyond just wanting to be happy again though, I was praying that I would make it through the day without hurting myself or anyone else. I couldn't read the newspapers or watch the news if there were stories about moms hurting their children on them. I couldn't watch dramas on T.V. I could only surround myself with icons, listen to orthodox music and read about lives of the saints. I was slipping off the edge of reality and all though I had everyone around me, no one was going to be able to save me. This was a deep deep emotional and physical sickness. Even my blood pressure dropped. For two weeks I was unable to figure out how to make a lunch for my children, I couldn't bring myself to eat and could only function minimally to maintain my own personal hygiene (I'm sure those close to me were thankful for that). I had to go to see my doctor every few days to be monitored. I don't remember how we spent Fathers Day, I barely remember the 4th of July, I DO remember turning 40 in July (which sucked) and I don't remember a vacation we took to the beach or visiting my sister in law. I lost the entire Spring and Summer and fall was fast approaching. I did somehow manage to homeschool minimally my children during this time. By the end of August I was on Paxil, Clonzapan, Welbutrin and Risperidone (an anti psychotic) and a third psychiatrist was urging my doctor to put me on Effexor on top of all of this. None of my symptoms were subsiding, they were in fact getting worse. I started having hallucinations and had thoughts that my baby didn't like me and may be possessed. (The last two thoughts are VERY common in Post Partum Depression) I realized I didn't have to wish for death after all, I was already loosing my life slowly. All of the drugs I was taking were battling each other. Some were uppers and some were downers. I was basically taking speed balls daily and how I felt depended on which drug was winning out that day. The general opinion of my family, friends and priest was to get me off the drugs ASAP. There was brief talk of hospitalization for detoxing, but that was met with severe trepidation from my doctor and her nurse. The thing was, that these people were the closest to me, they saw me every single moment of the day every single day and night. They witnessed what was happening to me. But the medical staff only knew what they saw during the office visits. This was a huge education for them as well. By the beginning of September I was crashing emotionally, mentally and physically. My daughters Godmother called me and insisted I see a homeopath she knew. This just didn't seem to be a viable option for me. We couldn't afford to spend 300.00 for the initial consultation and I couldn't make a decision for myself. This homeopath nurse practioner comes to town once a month from Portland and he was going to be here the very next day. She made all the arrangements for me and got me an emergency appointment. I'll go into those details in another posting, but I'll end with....finally I was tossed a life ring and when I reached out for it I grabbed on to it and held on to it as if my life depended on it. It did.

Say "hive" to the doctor for me

Andrew was coming on 3 months of age. I had already had a nasty case of mastitis and was now nursing my second bout of it. I had been on a good dose of penicillin the first time and it took care of it. This time I reacted in full body hives. I woke on a Sunday preparing for my sons baptism. In the orthodox church this is a grand celebration for the family and church as well. I woke with hives covering my cheeks, eyebrows, eye lids etc. It wasn't an option not to attend my own sons baptism, so I went hives and all. As the service progressed I grew less and less attached to anything or anyone there. I got through the service and headed for the beautiful brunch prepared for us. Someone brought me a plate of food and I just started crying and panicking. I knew I couldn't eat it and started pacing like a caged animal. What was supposed to be a wonderful occasion in my sons life turned out to be the beginning of an official nightmare for me. Now up to this date in time I was progressively getting worse but didn't have a clue as to what to do. The uncontrollable crying wouldn't stop. The severe anxiety attacks wouldn't let up and people continued to question my ability to care for my children. Finally Andrews Godmother suggested I head to a walk in clinic to get help immediately. My priest was gone already and I sought out Matushka (his wife) to give her the heads up of me possibly getting some medication to help. I left my son, older children and husband and went with my mom to the nearest clinic. I didn't know what I needed at this point I just know I needed something to get me through the next 24 hours without falling off the edge of reality. Much to my dismay the doctor wasn't at the clinic and he was to contact me via phone later that day. When he finally called I just cried and told him what was happening. He prescribed Paxil and Clonazapin for my depression and anxiety. At three months I had to make the decision for my own sanity to stop nursing Andrew. Clonazapin isn't approved for nursing and in my opinion neither is mastitis. The next morning I woke to hives covering my entire body and begged my husband to stay home and help me with the kids. At 4am my mom drove me to the ER and they proceeded to give me a dose of epinephrine and benadryl. Note from my earlier posting my reactions to benadryl. I also have a heart murmur and don't need an added jolt of "epi" to jump start my heart. Needless to say NONE of this was helpful. I saw my OB later that day and he put me on a steroid to rid the hives and mastitis. Ahhhhhh some relief was in sight. I don't recall the next events of my life as I went out of commission emotionally for two full weeks. Cried hard and uncontrollably, slept 16-20 hours a day and could barely force a spoonful of food down me. My mom moved in with us and took two weeks off work to care for the family and me. She happens to work at the clinic where my doctors all are so everyone became very aware of my situation and incredibly supportive. My OB referred me to my primary not thinking I was suffering from PPD but didn't quite feel comfortable dealing with anti dep. and a new mom.
My primary finally diagnosed me with severe postpartum Depression and thus started the education for all.

What is PPD?

Post Partum Depression is an illness that affects 25% of women giving birth. It doesn't discriminate against age or lifestyle. It is NOT the baby blues that is sadness lasting a few hours to a few days. It's an illness that attacks the brain and messes with the seratonin levels. It isn't just a matter of being "depressed", one can't just pull themselves out of it. I have talked to some women who have experienced undiagnosed PPD that has lasted only a few weeks. But the women I know of , that have a diagnosis from their doctor, has suffered for months and a few, even years. Now I am NOT a medical doctor, nor do I have any special training, I only have my experience and research I have done to go by. DO NOT use my experience as a self diagnosis tool or for a medication plan. I have learned so much through this journey that I want other women and their families to be able to find help when they feel hopeless. Let my words be an encouragement to you. PPD can rob a woman of her ability to function on a normal daily basis. It can induce days and days of sleep. The appetite can cease to exsist-no, it's not a good weight loss tool. It can take a strong, independent woman and reduce her to a bag of uncontrollable emotions, feelings and actions. There are two types of PPD. The first is what I have described above and the second is all this with an added dose of pychosis. PPD with pychosis is more known to the public since this can be fatal to both the mother and/or her family. The media is quick to report the results of PPD/pychosis as opposed to educating the public before it's too late. Brook Shields and Marie Osmond have taken steps by writing their own personal stories about PPD to help those and their families suffering. The thing about PPD is you don't know if you will wake up one day and be psycotic. I had family members ask my husband and mom if my children would be safe with me. I was monitored very closely by my husband, mom, doctor and friends. I wish that Andrea Yates would have had the same support I had-who knows maybe she did. What the public must understand about this illness is it is SERIOUS and not something to be brushed aside, it can also influence the persons personality, actions, feelings, thoughts and responses, AND, IT IS TREATABLE!