My Postpartum Psychosis Nightmare (Part 4)

I realize that I am really dragging out the telling of my story, and I do apologize.  I’ve found that it takes lots of emotional energy to find words that best describe my experience, so I have had to space out my posts.  If you’re just joining in, read Part 1, 2 and 3 first.  I’m going to try my best to finish this saga soon so that I have the energy to write about new topics.  Hang with me if you can!

I’m pretty sure the date is not correct on this photo.  I think this was taken soon after my first hospitalization (early November).

As I said in Part 3, the two week hospitalization for ECT’s was a blur in many ways due to the nature of the procedure.  However, I have never been able to forget the anxiety I felt when my husband came into the room as I lay in the bed to tell me that he had just gone and smoked crack, once again.  Yes, this had happened while I wasn’t hospitalized, but this time, the anxiety was more than I could handle.  He told me that I couldn’t tell anyone, because our child could end up being taken from us by the state since I was hospitalized and he was considered to be the sole caretaker.  I felt like my world was completely out of control and as soon as he left, I called my Mom, who was working at the hospital.  I informed her of what was going on, and she was able to calm me and convince the nurses to give me something to ease my nerves.

The reason I share these details here is to give you all an understanding of the factors surrounding my mental state.  I have always believed that  I may have never suffered from postpartum illness, had my circumstances been different.

Upon finishing Electroconvulsive Therapy, I was released from the hospital once again.  And, once again, my family was shocked at how confused and disoriented I was.  I couldn’t remember how to do simple things in the kitchen, like mixing up a batch of cookies.  My sister has video footage of me being instructed on how to mix up cookies, and I have still not watched it.  In many ways, I think I just don’t even want to remember how bad it all was.  Seeing it in action just seems too much for me.

After a few weeks of being home (late December to early January) my husband (okay, I’m going to stop referring to him as “my husband” b/c he isn’t anymore, and it just seems weird.  From now on, I will refer to him as  “D”) decided that it was time for us to move out of my parent’s home and so we began renting a place of our own.  During that time, I was able to function, but still very depressed.  It seemed that the ECT’s jolted me out of the vegetative depression, but I was still far from being myself.  My son (who was, by then, 4 months old) spent most of his time in a swing while I slept on the couch.  I never went anywhere or made any efforts to contact my friends.  I fed my baby and slept, for the most part.  My Mom checked on me regularly throughout the day because she was worried.  She, and the rest of my family knew that I was far from better.

One day, my Mom stopped by and told me that she had found a doctor in Chapel Hill who specialized in postpartum illnesses.  She had already scheduled an appointment for me to see him on March 6th.  At this point, we were still in the month of February, and things were not going very well with “D”.  He ended up checking into a drug rehab mid February, and Gage and I moved back in with my parents.

On March 6th, my Mom, Gage, and I took a trip up to Chapel Hill to see a man who will forever be my hero.  His name is Dr. Pedersen, and he spent about 30 minutes with me, and knew what changes needed to be made in my medications to bring me back to myself.  I began those changes according to his instructions immediately, and within a week, my entire family began to see changes in my behavior.  For months, I had been non-conversant.  I had made no effort to take part in conversations.  I began taking part in the conversations going on around me.  Everyone knew that things were changing.  After 2 weeks, I began feeling motivated to do things I had not done in months.  I went for walks and cleaned up the house.  I began taking pictures of my baby and enjoying every second I had with him.  It was as if I had awoken from a fog to find a precious baby ready for me to be his “mommy”.  When I visited “D”, he could see the changes, too.  We were all thrilled.  I felt human for the first time in 5 months and I began to feel confident things would be okay.

Fast forward 2 months…………………

By May, I was completely back to normal, and had begun working again as a waitress. “D” came home from rehab and we rented a nice apartment.  I remained on my medication and things went smoothly with my mental state, despite numerous ups and downs in D’s struggle with addiction.  My doctor advised me to remain on medication for a couple of years, and so I continued taking my meds and had regular appointments in Chapel Hill for him to continue monitoring me.

Life through a new lens.   July, 2000

Over the course of that next year, following my extraordinary recovery, I encountered numerous trials, including a divorce and custody procedures.  I ended up moving away from family to go back to college as a single mom and maintained straight A’s, all while trudging through a divorce and the eventual termination of my ex-husband’s parental rights.  Things were far from easy, but my mental state remained steady and consistent.

It didn’t take long for God to bring me an amazing man who soon became my husband (and Gage’s Daddy).  Three years after our marriage (and 6 years after Gage’s birth), we welcomed our second son into the world, and I encountered no postpartum issues.  We did, however take some precautions, at the advice of my brilliant Dr. in Chapel Hill.  I’ll share those precautions in the next post.  Stay tuned!