PND The truth is so scary, why do so many suffer in silence when so many experience the same emotions?

FB_IMG_1532072014016The first time I had PND (Post Natel Depression) I lied. I lied to myself and I lied to the health professionals. I’d Just turned 17 and my 1st born son was 7 days old. Labour hadn’t been the most straight forward after a lot of intervention and a close escape from  C-section. Four days in hospital and an intense desire to feed my son from my breasts I found myself at home crying with a teenage pregnancy midwife watching me nervously trying to latch him on.

I’d never intended to breastfeed at the time I’d been quite repulsed by the concept. Surrounded by formula feeding parents breadtfeeding was something that had never crossed my mind . This changed the moment I held him. The maternal urge to give him mothers milk became a deep necessity but I had no clue what to do. As I sat on the red materiel sofa soaked in dripping colostrum I wept tears of insecurity. The tears turned into a sob needing reassurance as he struggled to latch on. Unbeknown to me at the time he had a very strong tongue tie . This made breastfeeding and latching on virtually impossible.

Rejection set in, I wasn’t good enough. Four days of being a mother and I had let him down already. He didn’t want me, my body wasn’t working properly and I had fallen at the first hurdle. Too hurt to try again when the midwife returned the next day I couldn’t bare to try again and feel humiliated, frustrated and lost. I passed him to his father and as he took the bottle I felt depression kick in. With every bottle feed I drifted further and further away from my son and lost any belief in myself and my capability to be a ‘good mum’.

Intrusive thoughts flooded in to my mind within days, replaying scenarios of harming myself and running away haunted me daily.  Mentally battling I opened the door to the health visiting team with a smile and ticked the questionnaire forms to make it look like I had everything under control.

Control was how I was going to cope, I’d control the house and bleach was to become my closest friend. Vacuuming, bleaching the floors and wiping the work surfaces at least 3x a day was what I did. If my house was clean then surly everyone would think I was clean, my thoughts were clean. I thought about telling the doctors how I felt, how much I hated myself and my body but if I told them, would they take my son away? Would they label me an unfit mum?

Then the reflux started, 7 ounce bottles everyday were projectile vomited anywhere and everywhere. In a taxi, in a car seat, over me, over the sofa, carpets or a passenger on a bus. Why is my baby so sick? What am I doing so wrong? The washing pile became relentless and for the amount of sick you would of thought I had triplets. 2 busses to the GP became a weekly event, they didn’t listen nor take me seriously. He was now 4 months old and I had just come to realisation that I was going to need a lot of faith as I was expecting a second child. I didnt want another child especially not to his father. We had only had intercourse once and I had even sourced the morning after pill. 17 and I was going to have two children under two!

I’d just enrolled back at college for the following September to complete my A levels and my dream of performing arts was slowly slipping away. I didn’t want this, I didn’t want to be pregnant but I gazed at my son Jacob’s eyes and saw love, joy, perfection and the only thing I was proud of. How could I ever have an abortion? I was already shit at breastfeeding and now I was contemplating murder. Surly it was fiat or meant to be if I was still pregnant after taking emergency contraception?

The pregnancy flew as I battled on trying to get support for my son’s reflux. Know one medically took me seriously or listened for a whole year! I saw the way they looked at me, eyes can speak a thousand words in ten seconds. I was young, naive and they assumed I was anxious or exaggerating – This was once a term used by a doctor.

The nights were long as I would always be on watch as he was often sick in his sleep and I’d be forever checking he wasn’t choking, changing the bedding and cleaning sick out of his blonde curls. I was stuck daily in my flat with SPD (Symphis Pubis Disorder) a pelvic disorder common in pregnancy . The hospital had provided me with a hip brace and crutches and a long list of exercises to try and reduce the pain. This wasn’t exactly realistic with a 13 month old child to look after.

The depression was at an all time high but I could never acknowledge my emotions because of the stress I was under. Stress is a strange emotion, I found myself on auto pilot constantly. Single handedley surviving  whilst my fiance’e at the time would leave me all weekend in my flat on my own, whilst he went out and got off his head on drugs at house parties.

Coffee and Cigarettes where how I survived or my ‘go to’ they were a coping mechanism to fight back the tears of loneliness and isolation. The thoughts remained, my mood swings were fierce and tough like a wave charging towards the shoreline. I’d lost so much of myself when I crashed on an evening it was like hitting a cliff wall. Numbness was where I was at by the time he got given a consultant at the LGI for the vomiting. He was now approaching 14 months old and my pregnancy was in full force. Unbeknown to me we were to endure 3 years of various medication trials before resulting in key hole surgery in 5 places in his abdomen.

One thing I learnt from persevering with medical professionals was that a mothers instinct is always right!

At 36 weeks pregnant his sister was birthed 4 weeks early. Stress most likely played a role in this happening and after a traumatic, long, frightening delivery a tiny, blue, vernix covered 5.6lb baby girl was born called Faith!

Whipped away from me and incubated, tube fed formula and separated for the best part of 3 hours I’d lost all my control again. Scared and missing Jacob back at home I spent 7 days in hospital with her until I was allowed to be discharged from the neonatal unit.

Greeted by too many visitors back at home, feeling guilty over formula feeding and my son not recognising me when I returned I felt the PND worsen. How do I tell anyone how I feel? Iv’e two beautiful healthy children, why am I so unhappy? Who would understand? Where do I start to open up?

Alcohol was the answer, formula feeding meant I could leave her and her brother with her father an go out. I found myself counting down the hours until their bedtime until I could escape and feel slightly human again. It was the freedom I felt when I danced that I needed. For me it was escapism and a sense of letting go when the music hit me. I didn’t feel as much pain and the beat of the song made me feel safer. Contradictory to that the hangovers made my mood worse and I found myself feeling emotionally unstable and the weight started to drop off me. I continued to draw a smile on my face and tick the boxes of the forms all over again. I lied out of fear, fear for my self, fear for my children and the lack of trust I had in the health professionals.

Three months had passed and I found myself trapped in a toxic domestic violence court case, again I swallowed back the emotion but this time my physical health was to take the strain. I was hospitalised with ‘eyeritus’. Hooked up to drips and on various forms of medication as I had lost all my vision in one eye and had horrendous headaches and swelling to accompany the site loss. Looking back part of me believes this was a symbolic message. I couldn’t bare to face the depression, I couldn’t ‘see’ a future with myself init and I couldn’t find a way to voice my internal pain so instead by body came out with external illness.

Two months passed with relentless treatment and hospital stays because as one eye healed I started to get it in the other eye. I was still frightened to speak out and I’d been suffering with PND now for nearly 16 months.

Reflecting back on my mental health back then I realised that PND is like an invasive bully that know one else can see. It was in the spring of 2009 that the depression had won. I couldn’t envision a way out other than to end my life. My relationships were dysfunctional my friends were not always real and they didn’t see past my smile or realise that my state of mind was fractured when they visited me for coffee.

One spring afternoon whilst the toddlers napped I decided that today I could no longer continue the way I felt. I had started to take tablets and drink alcohol, with each tablet I felt nothing but a tear roll from my cheek on to the box of co-codomol. With each swig of alcohol tear droplets became faster and faster and I sobbed silently as the drowsiness began to take effect. An hour passed and realisation that the children may wake to find me unconscious kicked in. I texted a close friend to say that I felt very unwell and that the children urgently needed looking after.

It was already to late and without going into too much graphic detail I ended up in hospital over night and seeing a psychiatrist. Thankfully they were able to undo the damage I had tried to do physically and I was discharged with a long term prescription of antidepressants and a CBT therapist referral.

The PND didn’t dissolve there sadly I had to continue to battle with it after I had a 3rd and 4th Child to my future husband. The only positive was that when I started to suffer again I was able to ask for help a lot sooner. CBT therapy was great at calming my irrational thought pattern but the long term effects of PND never really disintegrated fully.

During my journey of becoming a mother and having experienced PND it concerned me that there is probably thousands of women out their that experience the same emotions as I around pregnancy, labour and postnatal parenting. Becoming a mother is such a huge change that it is no wonder that so many women suffer in silence like I did.

I hope that with sharing some snippets of what mentally happened to me I can encourage others feeling similar emotions to seek support. You are not ALONE, you are not CRAZY and you are not a FAILURE! You most certainly are not a BAD MOTHER and your feelings are NOT STUPID. It is most definitely OK to not be OK!

 

Written by Francesca Shaw on the 2nd July 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comments

2 responses to “PND The truth is so scary, why do so many suffer in silence when so many experience the same emotions?”

  1. Sarah Hudson avatar
    Sarah Hudson

    Thank you Fran for sharing such a honest reality of your ordeal with PND.
    You express with such poise and grit. I truly admire you and your strengths.

    I personally have not suffered PND but I am touching on the subject for my assignment at Uni. ThankQ for giving me a human insight into your real experiences. Your words were felt profoundly.

    Your blogs are inspiring, to your children and to the world. Well done woman warrior and realist bad ass mum!
    You have inspired my own love affair with words and writing. I plan to channel some of that passion myself one day…when the deadlines are over!

    Happy writing lovely lady…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Cheryl Cowling avatar
    Cheryl Cowling

    Oh Fran
    You’ve brought tears to my eyes
    I remember seeing you back then with the kids but at the time I’d never heard of such things and can remember the weight dropping off you
    It makes me so sad to think of you like this
    You are a very strong lady
    You put up a good fight daily bless you
    You’ve been through sooo much too young xx

    Liked by 1 person

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