Category: baby

Lordhamercy

Or how a trip to the doctor ended in a CT scan

First of all, hello readers! I have been MIA. Finishing school, struggling financially, mentally, physically. So basically the same as before! Anyway, in the spirit of “keeping it real” I want to share today’s events, but I’ll have to back up a bit so you get the fullest picture.

So last week was crazy (as usual for our fam). I was rushing around trying to get my scholarly project manuscript edited, printed, and submitted. I was also trying to apply for my APRN (advanced practice registered nurse AKA nurse practitioner) license AND submit my certification paperwork. Also, I was trying to study for boards and feed my kids that are always hungry, etc. Clark threw up a couple of times, and was stuffy and snotty, but I was pretty sure it was just viral, and he was fine. Anyway, Saturday rolls around and I graduated! I graduated, y’all. I have a Master’s of Science in Nursing degree and will be a certified Family Nurse Practitioner as soon as take and pass my boards. Eeeek! I digress. Anyway, Sunday I woke up not feeling awesome. I was coughing, but Darcy had been coughing directly into my eyeballs for about a week, so I figured I was getting that. Sunday night my throat was scratchy. Monday morning I woke up feeling like I swallowed razor blades, and Darcy threw up on the couch. That morning was shitty to say the least. I had to keep Darcy home all day while I was in and out of fever basically using Disney+ as a babysitter. Ben finally got home that night and said he also felt terrible.

The next morning I went to the doctor–I had strep throat. WTH. I have never had strep in my life (that I can remember). I had my tonsils out as a child and have never had issues. So, then I started thinking, “Duh. Both of your kids have strep, too.” They haven’t run fever, and Darcy hasn’t said her throat hurts, BUT both have had decreased appetites, vomiting episodes, AND Darcy complained of a headache the other night. I had brushed it off because they were also both snotty and coughing (not generally associated with strep). So, I took them to the doctor this morning even though both were perky acting and looked “well.” Darcy freaked the eff out when they swabbed her throat, so the doctor gave her a sucker for being “good.” Darcy needed a hug, and I didn’t want Clark to sit on the floor and contract whatever virus he hasn’t yet had. So, I sat Clark in the chair and turned around to open her sucker. SMACK. He fell face-first out of the chair onto the hard floor. Immediately he screamed and had a GIANT blue goose-egg. I picked him up and walked out of the room to tell the doctor that he fell, hit the floor, and that she should shine my trophy for ‘Mom of the Year.’ She came in to inspect my hysterical baby and also to confirm my suspicions–they were both positive for strep. She said she thought Clark was okay but wanted to watch him for a bit. She brought me an ice pack. Clark continued to cry, and I frantically called Ben to let him know why he should divorce me immediately. I called work to call-in AGAIN (second time this week) because my life is a regular shit-show. Mom guilt consumed me. Why had I put him on that chair? Why hadn’t I told Darcy to wait. Why hadn’t I just sat down and held Clark while opening the sucker? Why do I suck at this?

Clark continued to whimper and cry. The doctor came in to check on him and he gagged like he was going to be sick. She told me that she was concerned enough to order a CT scan to ensure there wasn’t a fracture or brain bleed. She ordered a stat CT and away we went to radiology. In the waiting room, I started tearing up and quickly swiping them away so Darcy didn’t see and get upset. Looking for a distraction, I got out my phone and I realized I got a FB message from a college friend who told me she was praying for me, and that I was an incredible mom. Melinda, that meant the world to me in that moment, btw.

My mind quickly went back to guilt. What if he has a brain bleed? My sweet baby who has been through so much? Injured due to my mistake. He’s already had to have a CT scan before, and it’s a lot of radiation. Mom guilt, mom guilt, mom guilt. Thank God for iPhones because I put “Three Little Pigs” on for Darcy so I could hold Clark’s hands during the CT scan and keep him calm. He did just fine and even smiled at the technicians. We went BACK down the hall and did the walk of shame by the nurses station. They were very sweet, but still. Mom guilt, y ‘all. The doctor came in and said Clark was okay, the antibiotics had been ordered, that Clark probably had a mild concussion, and to watch him closely the next few days.

So, there you have it. In the last few days, I have posted some fun pictures of my graduation and a sweet picture of Ben and Clark on social media. I could post one of Clark now, but it’s very pitiful, and I’m really not trying to garner sympathy votes. Sometimes it seems like days like today happen in my life with unfortunate regularity. Not the head trauma/CT thing, but the throw up, sickness, forgotten doctor appointments, calling into work, burning supper, locking keys in the car, forgetting kid’s lunches/diapers/school supplies kinds of things. Life is filled with strep throat and the mundane. I haven’t been the perfect mom today (OBVIOUSLY) but I did give them a dose of medicine, feed them, and stress-clean all surfaces of the house.

This is not intended for sympathy or “poor-you.” I just want to assure you that if this holiday season is filled with mishaps, mom-fails, and ugly stuff–you aren’t alone. You’re not. And someone always has it worse. Truly, they do. That doesn’t minimize your struggle, but it should put it into perspective. I am so thankful that Clark is going to be okay. I am so thankful to be finished with school. I am so thankful for a husband that doesn’t want to divorce me for letting Clark attempt baby-suicide. I am thankful for friends who support and lift me up when I feel especially undeserving. During this busy season, take the time to be the light for others. Be kind. Be understanding. Be generous. And don’t sit your baby on chairs in the doctors office while you open your hysterical daughter’s sucker.  Lordhamercy.

 

The bumpy, ugly, and altogether beautiful road to a diagnosis

Clark’s diagnosis: Part I

Hello all! I’ve been super MIA lately, but that’s because I have been living life and staying busy. I think I previously mentioned that we went to the very long-awaited genetics appointment for Clark the first week of March. It was an intense, 3-hour-long appointment. We went through our families’ entire genetic history, health history, social history, our reproductive history, etc. The interview was extremely thorough and filled with high-level conversation. By that, I mean that I am a nurse with a science education, and it was still difficult to comprehend a lot of the information given to us. Now, the geneticist was super kind and explained things as well as he could, but honestly it’s just very complicated, and I really feel sorry for those with no scientific/medical background. The geneticist is obviously super smart and you could tell he was trying to dumb everything down–he tried. So basically the geneticist told us that Clark did not fit any “box” of diagnoses he was familiar with. This was not new to us. I mean, we’ve been to about 8 specialists and 3 therapists who haven’t been able to figure Clark out either. So, he recommended Whole Exome Sequencing (WES). Long story short, it basically looks at Clark’s genetic information and *hopefully* identifies the glitch.

We have known that Clark has some type of syndrome. We have had many different diagnostic tests run to identify the issue. Nothing has come back positive. At first, this gave me great hope that *maybe* nothing was wrong. Once I couldn’t lie to myself anymore, the negative tests became irritating. You see, there a lot of children in this world who have “unknown syndromes.” You know what that means? That means their parents have no answers. No answer, no diagnosis, no possible prognosis, etc. The geneticist warned us that we may not get an answer even with exome sequencing. The test results could identify a genetic abnormality of “unknown clinical significance.” That seemed too horrific. Because we would have done everything possible to come up with no answer.

Y ‘all, I prayed a lot after that appointment, but for the first time I wasn’t pleading for Clark’s healing. Instead, I was begging for peace and understanding. Instead of praying for God to change the circumstances (which, let’s be honest–that’s my usual prayer), I was now praying that God would sustain me, equip me, and give me peace and strength. I prayed that we would find answers, but that even if we didn’t, He would use this situation for His glory. It took about 15 weeks to get the WES results. And I noticed some huge changes during that time:  changes in Clark, and changes in me.

Clark now sits up and plays for long periods of time. He can stand unassisted for up to 5 minutes. He rolls and swings himself around to get to his toys. He can run like a banshee on his gait-trainer. He is eating less purees and more mashes–he’s biting and eating graham crackers! Clark is trying so hard to army-crawl and is even pulling himself forward occasionally.

Changes in me?? Well, let’s scoot back in time to December of 2017, when I felt like every lab test held my world in its cruel hands. I simultaneously anticipated and dreaded the result. Every negative test felt like a shallow victory, because at least Clark didn’t have that disorder, but we were no closer to finding a diagnosis.  I continued living this way for a solid, miserable year. It was undoubtedly the hardest and bitterest year of my life. My heart was irrevocably changed when it was broken to pieces this past December. That was when I was forced to accept that life would not be “normal” for Clark. When I say that my heart was broken, I mean it. I actually had literal, physical pain in my chest, and there was no earthly comfort to be found.

Even still, God found me there. He met me in my suffering and no, it wasn’t like this blazing, yet oddly comforting light where He revealed his master plan and it was all suddenly hunky-dunky. Because it wasn’t that way at all. It was gentle and subtle, and came in little pieces instead of all at once. He gave me peace and hope, true hope for our family’s future. I honestly did not even feel anxious about these genetic test results. I mean, sure, I thought about them, but I did not dwell on them. It’s so odd, and I cannot describe it other than God gave me this incredible gift of joy and peace and acceptance.  I was truly okay and could praise God with an earnest and grateful heart, not knowing the testing’s outcome. Y’ all who have been on this journey with me know that I have been torn up and crazy and railing at God for almost two years over this situation. To say that I am at complete peace proves that Jesus is alive and well and still working miracles. And no, the miracle wasn’t Clark’s earthly healing, but maybe instead He broke my heart to save it, and that for sure is a miracle worth celebrating.

In the next post, I will tell you about Clark’s diagnosis, what that means for us, and why our future is so bright ❤

 

I dropped my basket, and it feels pretty good

A baby Clark update

In early December, I was feeling pretty great about life. I had finished the semester with A’s and survived the hardest months of my life. I had run the St. Jude 10K, celebrated Clark’s first birthday, and relaxed for a few days. At the end of that week, I took both Darcy and Clark to the doctor. Darcy had been diagnosed with an ear infection 2 weeks earlier and needed her follow-up appointment to ensure that the infection cleared.  I had also scheduled Clark’s hearing screen since he got new tubes in his ears. So, it should have gone 1)hearing screen 2) doctors appointment. It’s all in the same building, so whatever. Needless to say, we barely made it on time, and then had to pay our entire balance before we could see anyone, even though we were on a payment plan. Alrighty then, that sucked, moving on to the hearing screen! Clark failed. “After 3 failed screenings and previously failed ABR, it could be that he just has conductive hearing loss. It may be permanent and we need another ABR test to confirm because early intervention is necessary if he is in fact, deaf.”

Y’all. I started crying right then. I was just so upset that after multiple tests and two sets of tubes that Clark might actually be deaf to some degree. It just seemed too much. But we still had a full morning, so I went downstairs to his pediatrician’s office. Darcy’s ear infection had not cleared. 10 more days of antibiotics. I had some concerns about Clark’s chest wall and requested imaging. The doctor agreed that his chest deformity was not looking like the pectus excavatum we originally thought he had. So we went to x-ray and waited an hour for them to say the physician never put in the order. Waited 30 more minutes, and got the x-ray.

Holy shit. It was an effing nightmare. Clark has multiple fused vertebrae, fused ribs, and significant deformities. If you’ll remember…in the NICU after Clark was born we had a similar x-ray result followed by an MRI that was “normal.” I questioned it and the neonatologist at the time. He reiterated that the MRI was conclusive, that it was normal, and no follow-up was needed. If I ever see him again I will “accidentally” trip him, help him up, and stick a “Kick me” sign on his back because he is an idiot. We truly believed Clark had been healed. But he wasn’t. 

I won’t even try to tell you what kind of shape I was in because it was ugly. Ever since we had Clark’s 20-week ultrasound back in August of 2017, I’ve felt like I was holding this giant, heavy basket full of stuff. As time went on, and we got bad labs or missed developmental milestones, I would readjust the load and occasionally drop an item causing me to lament my ineptitude. On this day, though? I dropped the whole damn thing. I was so angry that everything I had prayed for and believed was wrong. What was the point of it all? Why believe, why trust in God when it doesn’t even make a difference? When it doesn’t change the one thing I would die to make better?

And that’s how I learned my hardest lesson I’ve learned so far. My faith was weak. It was dependent on the outcome. And when that outcome wasn’t what I wanted, my faith was crushed and my hope disappeared. Luckily, I had supportive friends and family members that dropped some truth bombs, “Our Lord is so much more than a being that is there to help life go right….when evil causes something terrible in our life, God promises ultimate good for those who love him and keep his commands. But this is not a promise for those without faith.”

And…I’m better. I am enjoying life more than I have in over a year because I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop–it already did.  I am still apprehensive of the future, but for the first time since August 2017, I’ve stopped actively fighting this thing because it’s a fight that cannot be won. We have a genetics appointment scheduled for Clark at the end of this month, and the bigger, stronger part of me knows that the only way I can help Clark at all is to have all the information. And that requires stepping out into the really bright light, so that no thing is left in the dark. It may mean that we get a diagnosis that’s hard to accept, or  it could just raise new questions. Either way, I know it will be okay because Clark will be who he is meant to be.

On another note, Clark’s ABR testing was normal and he can hear, and I will straight up refuse another hearing screen because they are useless and upsetting. His neurosurgery appointment and ENT appointments have been uneventful and “good.” He’s getting stronger and making some really great progress with therapy. Darcy is sassy and funny and sweet and sour. School is hard, but I graduate in December and it is my motivation to keep on, keeping on. We are truly living our best lives these days. It may be a while between updates because life is busy. As always, we are thankful for your prayers as we continue on the journey towards a diagnosis. Love to all ❤️

 

 

The 2nd anniversary of my motherhood

Or, Darcy’s birthday letter

Bittersweet. According to Merriam-Webster, bittersweet is defined as, “pleasure accompanied by suffering or regret.” I know for a fact (okay, not really) that this word was invented by parents to describe the landmark occasion of their child’s birthdays. Today, Darcy is two years old. That two years represents so much to me. Such as:

1. The death of my beloved sleeping patterns. RIP late weekend sleep-ins.

2. The death of my intense selfishness–thank you God for working some of that out of me!

3. The birth of my motherhood. I’m a mom, which has been my greatest blessing in this life.

Darcy-bird, you are it, man. You are the most precious little 2-year old on this planet. You love to play outside. You pronounce “outside” as “a-die” by the way. Your daddy and I had no freaking clue what you were saying for like 2 weeks. Mattie finally figured it out–yay Mattie! You stall like a pro when it comes to bedtime. You have to say goodnight to EVERYTHING. Including the “tash” on the floor which means “trash,” which reminds me of another thing you brought into my life:

4. The death of my clean house. I used to be able to walk barefoot (LOL) without that special *grit* you manage to spread all over.

I know all parents think that their children are beautiful, but you ARE. You have huge brown eyes with long, perfect eyelashes. You have a luxurious mane of hair. You can’t even see that big scar from your surgery. In fact, it’s very hard to get all that hair wet during your bath. It repels water like a dog…in a good way, though. Girl, you make me so proud with your “I do it!” attitude, even if it stings a little sometimes. By that I mean that while I am so glad that you are self-assured and brave and independent, sometimes I want to shrink you tiny again so I can just hold you. That’s the bittersweet part, love. I never despair the passing of time. Really. I don’t want time to slow down or stop. Watching you grow is beautiful and special, and each birthday we’re given is an absolute gift from God. ABBA–who prominently stars in our dance parties–wrote a song called, “Slipping through my fingers,” and it describes your growing up best:

Slipping through my fingers all the time,

I try to capture every minute,

The feeling in it

Slipping through my fingers all the time.

Do I really see what’s in her mind?

Each time I think I’m close to knowing,

She keeps on growing

Slipping through my fingers all the time.

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture,

And save it from the funny tricks of time,

Slipping through my fingers all the time.

I want so many things for you, baby. I want you to always look in the mirror and smile, just like you do right now. I want you to continue to drop it like it’s hot in the middle of the aisle in the grocery store when one of your jamz comes on. People may laugh, but you’ll get to groove to some awesome music, and dance parties have always made us feel better. I want you to always walk into a room, belly-first, knowing that you sparkle, and that you are an important person. The world will try to smash that out of you, but I’m going to do my best to fill up your love-tank. Your daddy will, too. I cherish these times with you, Darcela. I really do, even when you’re unreasonable, which is a lot because you are two years old.

You are the answer to so many prayers, and I know you are going to do so many big things. I just pray I get to see you accomplish all that God plans for you. I’m so proud of you little girl.

Broken for a purpose

Welcome back, Beka

Tomorrow’s the big day—back to work. Surprisingly, I’m not dreading it. The last three months have been so wonderful and also SO hard. I counted up all the appointments as well as I could remember–

OB/GYN: 3

Pediatrician: 8

CT scan: 1

Craniofacial surgeon: 2

Neurosurgeon: 1

Neurologist: 1

Cardiologist: 1

Orthopedic surgeon: 2

ENT: 1

Pre-op anesthesia: 1

Additional labwork: 4

Hearing screen: 1

ABR testing: 1

Helmet fitting: 1

Yeah…that’s roughly 28 appointments that I’ve been to on this maternity leave. And I’m not even including the 3 separate evaluations and 1 physical therapy appointment we’ve had so far because those were done in our home. I am tired, y’all. I am also thankful. I’m thankful that I was able to go to these appointments to rule out and/or monitor this baby. I’m glad we’ve been able to take the best care of him. But I will also throat-punch anyone who suggests that maternity leave has been vacation just because I haven’t been working at my job. Because my job is WAY easier and less stressful than taking my newborn to sit around in shady waiting rooms for 30ish appointments during the worst flu season in years. Appointments with potentially scary diagnoses. Neurosurgery and a PICU stay.  So, it has not been a walk in the park.

Even so, I feel really strong now. I’ve been lifting emotional weights for months, so I’m basically Channing Tatum now. My anxiety is completely under control, I’m back to running again (slowly), have lost all baby weight plus some (here’s looking at you, stress), I’m killing it in grad school, and I’m about to return to a job I love. While I am head over heels in love with little Clark, this maternity leave has been mind-bendingly hard. I have been the empty, crushed paper cup littering ball fields after the big game; discarded and swept aside. But…I have also been superwoman. The one with a clean house, fed kids, going on a run before showering AND shaving 💁🏼‍♀️, with dinner on the table when her husband gets home.

I’m thankful to my Jesus. No, He did not remove my suffering, and He did not remove my anxiety. He did; however, JOIN me in my suffering and anxiety. He healed my son, and surrounded me with people who ferociously love me and come to my aid on a moment’s notice. These people–my parents, sisters and brother, are like a pair of Spanx. They make me feel good, like I have my shit more together than I do and make me feel more confident without actually changing anything—just by staying very close. Also, Spanx aren’t easy to peel yourself out of, and my family is kinda like that, too. You can’t escape the Alfords. Thank God for that, too.

So, as I head back out into this world, I can say that I was broken for the better, and I feel stronger than I ever was.  This life is hard. Sometimes, it’s really hard, but there is always something bright to look toward, even if it’s just clinging to the smallest fleck of hope. Trust in Jesus, fiercely love others, and your rainbow will shine through, if you’ll just take the time to notice it. Love to all ❤

“Surgery? What?! I can’t hear you.”-Clark

Or at least that’s what he WOULD say

When Clark was born, he failed his initial hearing screen. He was a c-section baby, and a lot of times these babies retain fluid in their ears and even lungs because well…they don’t get squeezed in the same way they would if they were born via vaginal delivery. So, failing his hearing screening wasn’t all that impressive and we made an appointment for a re-check at one month old. He failed this hearing screening also. They performed another test and they were able to determine that one ear failed because of fluid but they couldn’t say for sure if the other ear was failing because of fluid. I didn’t know why he failed, but I KNEW he couldn’t hear me. He doesn’t respond to sounds. I can clap my hands and his eyes don’t even flinch toward the noise. Now, I had to worry if my child was deaf. They told me we could either repeat the hearing screen in 2 weeks or request an ABR to diagnose.

I chose the ABR testing. ABR stands for auditory brainstem response. It tests the actual acoustic nerve. So, basically, it can tell what’s wrong and how bad it is as opposed to the hearing screen, which can only say pass or fail with no information as to why he failed. I called and made an appointment for the ABR. Now, this was about the time that I wanted my child’s cranio diagnosed, so I had an appointment with his pediatrician the day after his second failed hearing screen. At that appointment, my doctor diagnosed Clark with an ear infection which probably didn’t help him with his hearing screen the day before. We started antibiotics and proceeded with our craniosynostosis diagnostics.

A week ago, we had his ABR screening. It was super stressful. Of course, I was worried Clark may be deaf, but it’s also kind of a tricky test. Clark had to be asleep for the whole thing which takes over an hour. I had to keep him up all morning and kind of starve him. That way, when we arrived at the facility, I could nurse him to sleep. My generally sleepy baby did NOT want to sleep because real life is a real beyotch sometimes. It took the first hour of our appointment for him to even go to sleep. Then it took an additional hour for the test to be performed. I was so scared he was going to wake up and ruin the test, and every time he stirred my heart would start pounding and I would internally scream, “NO!” Thankfully, once he finally fell asleep, he did not wake up. The audiologist explained the ABR test results immediately—cue the praise hands! The test determined that Clark had moderate/severe hearing loss, BUT that his bone conduction test was normal. This is super important because it tell us that his dysfunction is conductive and NOT sensorineural. For nonmedical people, this means his ears/hearing are probably fine, but they’re plugged with fluid resulting in hearing loss. Still. It hasn’t gone away like it should. It needs to go away for him to be able to hear. Tubes could help with this.

I knew that to “qualify” for tubes, they (ENTs) want children to have had multiple ear infections and be at least 3 months old, but I made an appointment with an ENT and prayed she would put tubes in his ears even though he is only 2 months old and has only had one ear infection. I hoped that they could just put the tubes in his ears when he goes under anesthesia for his cranio. I met with the ENT and she reviewed his history and said,”He failed 2 screenings and the ABR, has had an ear infection, can’t hear, and is going under anesthesia in 2 weeks, anyway?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “Let’s do tubes. If I can’t fit tubes in his tiny ears, I’ll make a small hole and suction the fluid out anyway.” I said, “Thank. You,” and I asked her to run away with me. Just kidding, but after a lot of disappointing appointments, this one was really great.

All that to say that Clark will also be getting tubes on the day of his surgery! I’m so relieved. There has been very little that I can do to help my son. Mostly, I’ve had to take the watch and wait approach, and I’m thankful we won’t have to do that anymore with this fluid in his ears.

Clark’s big surgery will be on Monday February 19th. I am ready to have it over with, but also dreading the recovery period. Darcy’s recovery was brutal. She cried for over 36 hours about 5 days after her surgery due to a pain crisis. For months, I would start having anxiety attacks when she started crying for any slightly extended length of time. Her craniosynostosis was more severe and the surgery was much more invasive than Clark’s will be. Her surgery required the top half of her skull to be removed, cut into pieces, and then put back together with resorbable plates and screws. Yes. Brutal. She had an incision from one ear to the other. His is endoscopic, which will require two smaller incisions on either side of his problematic, fused suture. Through these incisions, they will remove the portion of his skull that includes that fused sagittal suture and remove strips of skull bone on the sides of his skull as well. So, I don’t imagine he’ll feel awesome–it IS neurosurgery, after all. But he shouldn’t have quite as much pain as Darcy did. Within a week or 2, he will be fitted for a helmet to wear for the better part of a year. It will help to shape his skull as he continues to grow. *Bonus* It will also protect him from Darcy. He is not expected to stay in the hospital more than a couple of days. Hopefully, we will be able to go home quickly and start the road to recovery.

So that’s what’s been up.

Specific prayer requests include:

1. The surgery will go smoothly and as planned

2. Blood loss will be minimal, and he will not require blood transfusion(s)

3. His pain is well-controlled

4. We quickly leave the hospital, complication and infection-free

5. The tubes will solve Clark’s hearing problems

If you are still reading, thank you for being a part of Clark’s cheerleading squad. It has been quite the journey and this surgery is just another stop. I hope that Clark’s story will bring all the glory to our Jesus. He has been faithful to answer our prayer requests and has blessed us immeasurably with this little boy. We are thankful for your support, love, and prayers. Love to all.

The crushing weight of anxiety

My journey, my story, my kind of crazy

I wake up to hear Clark stirring via the baby monitor. It’s 1:30am. I’ve been asleep 2.5 hours. I get up to nurse him before he starts crying and wakes up Darcy. After nursing him, I go back to my bed, and try to sleep. I am exhausted. I haven’t slept more than 3 hours at a time since he was born 3 weeks ago. But I can’t sleep because what if Darcy heard him? Do I hear her? Is she going to wake up again at 3am crying? Why isn’t he settling down?! Is he going to go back to sleep? Please, God, let him go back to sleep. Do I need to go burp him again? Should I enroll in classes this upcoming semester? Or take a break? OMG! Go to sleep, Beka. Now I only have like 2 hours before he wakes up again, ready to eat! Shut up, brain, shut up!

And I didn’t go back to sleep because these (among other) thoughts are racing through my mind nonstop. Just like the previous night. And the one before that.

In the morning, I check to see if Clark is breathing–constantly. Did I turn off the coffee maker? What are we going to eat tonight? Is Clark still okay? Is Clark going to be okay? Do we have any paper towels? What if Darcy has another ear infection?

I’m easily able to convince myself that I just “have a lot on my mind.” I mean I’m a mother of two children that are under two years old. I’m a grad student that works full-time. I’m just a little stressed, and that’s why I’m having trouble and feeling anxious. Then the other thing with those symptoms happens…the heart racing, palm sweating, stomach dropping, limb paralyzing thing. It’s kind of like the exact moment where you remember that you forgot to do something really important. Except I haven’t forgotten anything, and knowing I haven’t doesn’t stop these feelings. I have exactly zero relief.

Anxiety–postpartum anxiety to be exact–is the worst, and these episodes can occur three or four times an hour lasting anywhere from 2-15 minutes and occur independently of my unrelenting, worrying thoughts. If I’m completely honest, it probably started with all the drama surrounding Clark’s pregnancy, and his birth, combined with the heavy postpartum hormonal shift, made it pretty terrible. Making matters worse, I felt guilty, and I tried to pray my anxiety away. Philippians 4:6 “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” But my anxiety wouldn’t dissipate because I was sick. My brain was, anyway. We wouldn’t be expected to pray away diabetes or high blood pressure, would we?

According to americanpregnancy.org, postpartum anxiety affects around 10% of women, but I’m pretty sure it is severely underreported. Why? Because women are scared of judgement. Of being ignored. Or of confirming their worst fear—that they are, in fact, a “bad” mom. Just last week I read this article, where a postpartum woman told her provider she was having persistently violent thoughts she would never act on, but was disturbed by. Yeah, they called the police on her, who escorted her to the ED, treated her like a criminal, and finally released her 10 hours later with a list of phone numbers to call for “help.” Zero support, zero medication, and zero empathy.

No.

Just. No.

That is so far from acceptable that I actually hurt for this woman. I know firsthand how hard it is to get help. You see, I experienced postpartum depression with Darcy. I claimed it was situational depression only because of her surgery, etc. It was hard and dark and affected my initial bonding with her. Thankfully, with meds, love, and support, it quickly abated and I became strong again. Towards the end of my pregnancy with Clark, Ben had mentioned he was worried I might struggle again once the baby was born. So in my favor, I had a husband who was looking out for me. This is important because when you’re bogged down with the weight of depression and/or anxiety, it can be hard to see things for how they actually are. So, when I confessed to him how insanely worried and anxious I felt, and that I didn’t know why, he told me, “Call Dr. B right now. Get help.”

My reaction wasn’t calm. “I’m not crazy, dammit! I’m just…I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“No, Beka, you’re not crazy, but the way you’re feeling IS making you sick. Call her.”

Dodging it, I said, “Well, my appointment is in a couple of weeks, so I’ll talk to her then.” There. That should satisfy him that I’m going to take care of it, and (bonus) will put it off for now. Because I’ll get better by then. Right?

“Call her now,” he insisted.

“But it’s Friday.” Even I knew that was a weak argument.

“Yeah, and her office is open. Call her, Beka. Now.”

“FINE!”

So I did, and I told her nurse, “Look, my anxiety is kinda bad. Ben said I should call…shouldn’t I just monitor it and see if it gets better?” She immediately responded,”No way! It will only get worse if we don’t do anything. We’ll start some meds now and see if we need to adjust the dosage when you come for your appointment.”

The second thing in my favor:  a matter-of-fact, yet compassionate response from my doctor’s office. When I returned to her office 4 weeks later, we decided to increase my dosage AND she gave me a PRN (as needed) script because I told her Clark’s surgery might just push me over to crazy town 😜. The reason I go into all this, and air my “dirty” laundry is because this is a problem. I’m a nurse, I’m educated, and it still took my symptoms, my husband’s urging, and my doctor’s following up to get me on the road to a more therapeutic place. If a link in any of those chains is broken, women will slip through the cracks and take on motherhood with an additional, massive weight on their shoulders.

So, maybe we should talk about this. Maybe we should de-stigmatize these mental health issues that are SO very relevant to our loved ones. We should listen, support, and help those we know are struggling. We need to look out for our friends when they’ve had babies and encourage them to seek help if they need it. If you are struggling, you aren’t alone. It’s going to be okay, mama. You won’t always feel this overwhelmed. Love yourself, give yourself grace, and get some help. Because your children need a happy, healthy mama, and you’re gonna get there. Love to all ❤

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