Gone, Baby, Gone brought some PPD OCD memories back

This weekend D and I watched the film Gone, Baby, Gone based on the Dennis Lehane book of the same name.  I cannot stress enough what an excellent film it is.  Two days later I am still thinking of its themes as I wash the dishes or straighten up around the house.  The only Lehane book I have read is Mystic River (saw the movie too), but after reading up on him and learning that Shutter Island (another awesome film) is one of his novels, I think I may have to read a lot more of his stuff.

I liked Gone, Baby, Gone's complexities, the fact that it didn't make a right or wrong statement necessarily but left the audience to wallow in the grey area.  About parenting.  About pedophilia.  About kidnapping.  About murder.  About what love really means and what love can tolerate.    

The part of the film in which Patrick Kenzie encounters a pedophile brought back my memories of some highly unpleasant intrusive thoughts that I first experienced when N was a baby and that still sometimes make a brief resurgence.  Fortunately, my medication, my past reading about PPD OCD and my therapy all help me manage these thoughts when they pop up now.

At one time, though, these thoughts were paralyzing because I thought having the thoughts meant I wanted to act on whatever I envisioned in the thoughts.  And the thoughts, let alone the idea of acting on them, were revolting, repulsive, horrifying.  I would feel full-blown panic set in whenever an intrusive thought would pass through my brain.  

Because of these thoughts (that were of a sexual nature and centered around my child(ren)), I couldn't help but wonder what pedophiles think and feel, and watching this movie brought that question back up.  Is my horrifying intrusive thought over which I have no control similar to what they think?  Are they horrified by an idea that pops in their heads but feel powerless not to act on it?  Or is the idea that pops in their head exciting to them?  Or is the idea not something that pops into their head as an accident or weird brain spasm but a desired idea that they created?  

And if the thought that pops into their head is horrifying to them but an overwhelming urge makes them act on it, is this mental illness or evil?  Or both?  And does this mean that in addition to feeling sickened by what they do to children, is it possible to also feel some compassion because their thoughts might be something beyond their control?

Like Patrick in the movie, the only answer I have is, "I don't know."

Even though I know that my intrusive thoughts were some of my worst fears flashing before my eyes, to this day I have to remind myself of this fact again and again.  Or I might begin to doubt again what kind of person I am.  

6 weeks

Yesterday I had my 6-week postpartum check. Incision is finally healed and infection free. Nipples....well, I'll let you know if and/or when they heal up. Uterus is back to normal.

And I got the go-head to "resume sexual activity." Does every woman chuckle when her doctor gives her the thumbs-up, or am I the only one who has ZERO interest in sex? Between being sucked on 10 times a day, lugging an infant and toddler around, and not getting much sleep, I do not under any circumstances want to be touched in anything even remotely resembling a sexual way.

Fortunately I don't have to worry about turning down my hubby because D is on the "I do not want a 4th child" plan and has become a monk until his vasectomy. I did get the name of a urologist, so sometime in the spring I figure we can go in for his consult, and he can get the boys snipped around March (when M is 6 months old).

Emotionally and mentally, I am feeling better about adjusting to this new life as a mom of 3. I am venturing to playdates if they are at someone's home. And I can manage taking G and M to the grocery or other quick errands. I'm still not up to taking all 3 of the kids out by myself, and I suspect I won't be until M is weaned or walking.

But at least I feel like I can cope. And even manage to sweep the kitchen periodically too.

That's enough, now.

Dear gods,

It has been a month, and while you blessed me with a wonderful son, you have also handed out a fair amount of shit to me as well.

The c-section itself. No fun, really. Major surgery.

The infection of the c-section incision. Really no fun. I do have anxiety, ya know.

The sore boobies. Why couldn't you cut me a break on kiddo #3?

The sick kids. Twice in 2 weeks? C'mon.

The sick husband. Even requiring antibiotics.

And now, the sick me. Poster girl for Nyquil. I have a newborn so my sleep is awful anyway. And you had to go and make it worse with the coughing.

Quota of crap has been met for me for the fall.

Thank you for finding some healthy, non-postpartum lady to bother.

C

What now?

Just when I think, "Hey, things are calming down," things starts to get chaotic again. And I hate chaos.

My incision has healed.

Breastfeeding (knock wood) seems to be slowly improving.

I have been able to get out with the boys by myself without too much trouble.

And then the kids, all 3, get sick. Dammit!

It is just a little upper respiratory thing. N has her usual fever. G is fever-free but utterly full of snot. And now little M is running a low-grade fever.

Did I say Dammit! already?

Showin' my ass

When I was still teaching, I worked with an awesome math teacher, S. Now she and I couldn't have been more different. She was a tall, solid, crazy funny Black woman who wouldn't take shit off anybody and had the ability to get her students wound up and still be able to calm them down with very little problem. I was....well....me. But I learned so much about interacting with students in an urban school setting from working with her.

I recall a conversation she relayed to me once in which she told a student that this student was, "Showin' her ass." That is, showing her worst possible side.

And just this morning, when a friend emailed me to ask whether I'm really as miserable as I seem, I realized that my blog is all about me showing my ass.

Because I am not totally miserable or always miserable. I spend probably 90% of my days not being miserable. But that 10% is what I write about, and that 10% has the ability to bring me way down. That 10% has the ability to unsettle whatever anxieties I've worked to ease over the course of the day.

My incision seems to be healing up alright, although I am going to withhold judgment until I see the nurse practitioner tomorrow. I have been getting out with the boys.....we even went to playgroup yesterday. I am getting fairly consistent 3-hour windows of sleep at night (so in bed at 11 pm, up and nursing at 2 am, back down to sleep at 3 am, and then up again around 6:30 am). I have been able to keep up with laundry and even changed the sheets on the kids' beds yesterday.

But inevitably there are the suck-ass times. Like when M wants to nurse and N and G are belly-aching for food and D is in a late meeting at work (that was last night). Or when my nips are especially sensitive, and my toes are curling from the discomfort of Mr. Barracuda clamping down. Or when M doesn't want to go back to sleep after his 2 am nursing.

And I write mostly about the suck-ass times. I don't need to vent about when things are running smoothly. Plus, I am nothing if not a fan of hyperbole, so my venting is usually ramped up purely for the sake of my own penchant for exaggeration.

Deja FUCKIN Vu

My neighbor, H, who has been a stay-at-home mom for 18 years was the one who said to me that being a SAHM is like living the movie Groundhog Day. I agreed wholeheartedly with her when she said this, and I especially appreciate her remark now that I went back and re-read my posts after having G in the fall of 2007.

Nips hurt like holy hell then too.

Did I mention my nips hurt like hell?

How long did my nips hurt?

It makes me feel tremendously better to read these posts because it gives me hope that my nipples will not, in fact, fall off my body. It gives me hope that both my skin and my psyche will adjust and toughen up.

However, reading these posts also makes me remember the following:

1. I am a wuss.

2. I am a whiner.

3. I clearly have synapse problems because I can't remember shit.

Yeah....I'm not lovin' it

I love my new son. I am thankful beyond belief that he is healthy. I wouldn't trade him for the world.

BUT,

I am not lovin' this newborn thang.

Today I saw a lady I know from N's preschool who has a 3-month-old in addition to having 2 older children (the oldest being the same age as N). I made the comment, in my curmugdeonly way, that I forgot how hard it is having a newborn, and she said, "Oh, but don't you love it?" And by the look on her face, I got the distinct impression she really does love it.

I wish I could say I love it too. But I'd be lying.

I don't hate it....and I am trying not to wish away this time because it is usually not my way to wish things away (other than this damned incision infection), but I cannot help but think it will be nice to get to a routine when I am not being sucked on 45 trillion times a day. And not being woken every 3 hours at night.

At 3 weeks out, I am at the point where I'm feeling better than I did 2.5 weeks ago but my breasts still ache upon letdown, my nipples are all raw and sensitive, and I'm just tired.

For a long time I have referred to the newborn stage as the wormy period because newborns are just wormy---they wiggle and squirm and don't do anything of any interest. Every day I have been taking pics of M, and every pic is the same: him laying there with a look of utter disinterest on his face. He cries, he nurses, he sleeps, he poops. I don't bother with the camcorder because after watching many long minutes of N as a newborn on video, I decided it simply wasn't good filmmaking to show a newborn "doing his or her thing." Ken Burns would, I'm sure, agree.

Beyond the boring factor is the clothing. The 2-piece outfits I see for babies ages birth to 6 months are so stupid because all they do is ride up the front and back. This happens when one has no upper body control. Hence the reason I keep my babies in 1 piece sleepers for most of their first year. A potato sack would work just as well but would be more itchy.

For me, I'm just surviving until 1. my nips toughen up and 2. M decides to grace me with a real smile. And while those first smiles are nice, it is hard to make that initial warm fuzzy feeling last until the babies are 6 months old and can sit by themselves. At that point, life starts to get more fun.....they start trying to crawl and eventually trying to walk. Up until then, I feel like I'm just packing around a slightly more interesting worm who occasionally smiles.

Now I've only been a parent for 5.5 years, but thus far, my favorite age period is from 14 months (when they start walking) until about 3.5 years. Their language is exploding, they start developing a sense of self and a sense of humor, they are so easily entertained and distracted. Everything is deliciously new to them. The stages on either side of this "favorite stage" have their advantages, but I don't relish them the way I do that middle stage (where G currently is now).

I feel a little guilty writing this because I worry that I will seem ungrateful for my beautiful boy. But it's not that. It's that I'm sore and tired and, like most other people, I just have my favorite stages, and the newborn period ain't it.

And the diagnosis is....

An infected c-section incision. To add some excitement to my already thrilling life.

I was able to see the nurse practitioner, and she gave me a script for Keflex, which she said should knock it out. But she wants to see me again on Friday to keep tabs on it.

It occurred to me last night in the shower that an infection could be the culprit, given the discoloration of the skin, and while that sounded a heck of a lot better than a hernia, my anxious brain ran into the woods thinking things like, "What if it's a drug-resistant strain that requires lancing the wound and intravenous medication?"

But I do feel tremendously better knowing what it is and being able to do something about it. Now if only the H1N1 vaccine would make its way to me via the local health department I might be able to really calm down. Of course, the threat of SIDS will be on my radar for another 3-5 months, but I can manage that one alright....or at least I managed it twice before.

And, today at least, nursing went more smoothly. I think (knock wood) M is getting the idea that

1. he doesn't need to smack the shit out of my breasts with his hands to get them to work

and

2. he needs to open his mouth wide if he wants to suckle.

Sweet relief.

And back again....

If there is one good thing about having recently had a baby, aside from having a beautiful baby, it is getting back in touch with "crazy" Carrie.

As anyone knows who has read my blog since Oct 7th, every post has been a wild mood swing. One day I feel good, like I'll do fine getting through this adjustment period. And then the next 3 posts are about how miserable everything is and how worried I am about all sorts of things about which I can do absolutely nothing.

This is what Carrie was like all the time prior to being medicated. Except I didn't have a blog, so only a couple people, like D and my mom, knew the full extent of my moods, my thoughts and anxieties. And they definitely thought there was something wrong with me.

It is a good thing to remember what anxiety feels like, if for no other reason than it reaffirms my empathy with others who suffer from it. There are some who might think I can "snap" myself out of it. This never worked and still doesn't. I can't pray my way out of it---tried that too, many, many times. Never tried drinking or doing drugs out of it because I don't believe in self-medicating.

Lord knows, I certainly wanted out of it. Wanted to escape my brain with all of its worst-case scenarios. Still do.

I know that even if I do have a hernia, it is likely mild and may not require surgery, or if it does, I can put it off until M is older and not breastfeeding every 15 seconds. I know that if my kids get the flu, I will be dragging their butts to the doctor for medicine asap, and in all likelihood, avoid any severe illness as a result. I know that I will eventually get used to this life change.

But just knowing this doesn't mean my brain really, truly believes it. It's like the anxious part of my brain is the world's biggest doubting Thomas, so no matter what I tell it, what statistics I throw at it, what reasonable argument I make, it doesn't believe it. It doesn't listen. It insists on going about its merry way, turning every possible scenario into those involving disease, death and pain.

Everyone has seen the cartoons of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, and anyone who suffers from anxiety (and has received some sort of therapy to help them cope with it) knows these figures all too well. Because that devil is doubt/fear/anxiety, and it is far more fierce, cunning and ruthless than the angel who tries to show you logic, reason, fact.

Right now, in these times of change, some days the angel gets the upper hand, but while it wins some skirmishes, the devil is currently winning the war.

When I get down, I really get down

And I don't mean in a funky, do the "hand jive" way. I mean when a low mood strikes, it takes me straight to Hades.

From the get-go, today was a pisser. G has a stuffy nose, so spent all morning whining and saying, "Nose tuffy," and wanting me to wipe it even though there was nothing to wipe. It was just all in his sinus cavity. D felt badly due to congestion although he did manage to attend Daddy & Doughnut Day with N at her school. My congestion was better, although my black psyche more than made up for any nasal improvements.

I remain riddled with anxiety over all the things I mentioned here the other day---the sore breasts from nursing (feeling like I am never gonna feel better), the incisional bulge that I'm gonna see the doctor about next week so I can stop worrying about what it is and just know what it is (and whether it will require another surgery), the shared cold amongst our family (and whether M will succumb).

I did get out alone to get my allergy shot and swing by Wal-Mart to get the kids' vitamins, but this was not a good idea. Despite being solo, I was still completely wiped out upon returning home. And tiredness coupled with anxiety are so not good bedfellows.

Coping with change, coping with discomfort, are things for which I do not have sufficient skills. I am floundering today, and that makes me feel hopeless and helpless. I am not above a toddler tantrum at the moment.

Week 2 postpartum odds & ends

• Today was my first day driving since delivering on the 7th. I took M to the doctor for a weight check (7 lb, 13 oz on Oct 12th, and 8 lb, 5.2 oz today) and to cauterize his belly button (which was gross and oozy). And then I got really crazy and took the kids to the new Target (with the help of my momma), which completely wore my ass out. I am amazed at women who get back in the saddle quickly after delivering....of course, having a c-section is an altogether different ballgame than delivering vaginally.

• I'm still anxious over any and all health-related issues. N was sick over the weekend and is still coughing (and starting with some nasal stuffiness). G started today with congestion and a bit of a runny nose. In the shower last night, I noticed a tiny, hard, slightly bulgy spot near my incision which I worry is a hernia (because despite being told not to lift anything above 10 lbs for 6 weeks, I do have to care for a toddler during the daytime, which means lift him into his crib). And then there is still no damned H1N1 vaccine anywhere NEAR my home. This fall and winter are gonna be the psychological death of me.

• I really need a haircut, but that ain't gonna happen for awhile. Probably sometime around the time I venture out to Target again. Or the mall again.

I don't think I can do this

I keep telling myself that most people in the civilized world (and uncivilized world, for that matter) have their children 2 or so years apart.

I, however, was never, ever, ever the type of person who wanted my children spaced any less than 3 years apart.

While I can see the potential benefits of closer spacing, I am not that good of a multi-tasker. I cannot handle the notion of caring for two very young children even when I am at my best, let alone recovering from a c-section.

Hence the reason I am DREADING hubby's return to work on Monday. I think all day today has been one long stewfest, a worrypalooza anticipating just how shitty the next few months of my life (or longer) will be.

And this is a first because usually I am biting at the bit for hubby to get the fuck away from me and go back to his office. But this time, I just want to cry everytime I think about him driving away to the sanity and quiet of his job. For 8+ hours. While I am alone at home. With two young kids for most of the day. And then a 3rd one for an hour and a half. With sore breasts.

I know that what a person tells himself/herself has a deep impact on his/her ability to cope, but I cannot fathom that I even will be able to cope. My self-talk has been hedgy, along the lines of, "I don't know how I'm gonna do this." And that is what I would consider my "positive" self-talk at the moment.

My mother and MIL will be coming in clips next week to essentially babysit me.....so I don't start to become depressed because this, too, is my M.O. following childbirth. Especially if I am unable to get out. And all things considered---the surgery, all the cooties going around---I am beyond hesitant to get out even though I know I desperately will need to.

It appears I won't be needing to work on my acceptance speech for Super Mom of the Year.

Wuss Mom of the Year.....

I'm a fuckin shoe-in.

Postpartum health anxiety

My modus operandi after having a baby is to brood over potentially life-threatening health issues. My OCD goes into hyper-drive.

After N's birth, I convinced myself I had breast cancer when, in fact, I had eczema of the nipple which cleared itself once I stopped nursing and got my anxiety under control. If anxiety can feel like a heart attack, you know it can do all sorts of other psychosomatic damage, including to one's mammaries.

After G's birth, I didn't freak too much about anything in particular, at least that I can recall. I do have a pre-cancerous patch on my arm that always, always starts to worry me following the birth of a child, so I'm sure I stewed a bit over it. I'm stewing over it at this moment as I write this.

Now with the birth of M and the H1N1 epidemic in full-swing, I am terrified that all three of my children will come down with it and at least one will die. Probably not M because he is getting all those good breastfeeding antibodies and white-blood cells. One of the other two. A thought that obviously makes my mind and heart seize up in paralysis.

Irrational? Perhaps, but that is how anxiety rolls......

There was a time I thought thinking like this was, dare I say it.....normal.......

I can tell myself that statistically, the pediatric deaths, given the widespread nature of this strain of flu, are miniscule. But that doesn't negate the fear.

So what to do?

At this juncture, nothing besides washing hands alot, and staying at home a lot (which I would do anyway given my surgery). And keep taking my Lexapro. And talking myself down from the ledge of panic. And call a therapist if things get too scary in my head. And get the frackin vaccine as soon as possible (because for me and my OCD, the benefits of a shot far outweigh any risks associated).

I forgot all this shit......

I forgot how it is possible to be so tired you really feel like you might die, literally die, from exhaustion.

I forgot how much breastfeeding can hurt (when you've got uber-sensitive skin and a newborn who is learning what to do).

I forgot how much mommy guilt one feels in the early days post-partum, especially when the 2-year-old clings to you after your being gone for 3 days in the hospital.

I forgot just how often hormones can make a postpartum mom want to cry, for no apparent reason.

I forgot what it's like to do tag-team eating.

I forgot how big of an adjustment it is bringing a new little person into a family.

We are in survival-mode. Damage-control.

Those things being said, I am so, so thankful to be home with my family, to have such good friends bringing us meals, to know that M is pooping like gangbusters and has gained 2 ounces since Saturday, to have a breastpump at the ready to ease my aching milk-laden breasts.

Highlights:

G has been telling me, "Put it back," whenever I've got my breast exposed to nurse M. Once I cover it with my bra, he is fine. Apparently, he isn't terribly enlightened about breastfeeding and considers it indecent.

Tonight, G sat next to me while I was nursing M, leaned his head on M, and said, "I love you." Melt my heart cute!!!

N asked me six questions, all related to M, most of which I cannot recall, although #3 was, "Do you think he will like me?"

So even in the throes of chaos, there is wonder and joy and delight.

But mostly chaos.

First 48 hours......

And I can't seem to remember that this new boy's name is not G. I keep saying, "Wanna nurse, G?" and "Is G asleep?" (to D when he's holding him). Poor M....hand-me-down clothing and toys, a bedroom to share with his brother, and he won't even have his own identity because his mother is simply unable to recall his legal name.

Despite this, I am completely in love. M has a big round face and looks like a chipmunk. The hospital photographer came around this morning and got some extremely cute pics of him (which should be on the our365 website in a couple days).

He is a great little nurser. I guess with him being my 3rd and having all purpose nipple ointment from the get-go, I am finding nursing to be quite pleasant. There is something so wonderful about nursing a newborn. This sounds totally dorky, but there is something very empowering for me to breastfeed, to provide my baby with all his nutritional needs.

I had a little bout of sadness this morning, after talking to G on the phone. He has been handling my absence very well, but will talk to himself and say, "Mommy be back." I wonder how he'll react once I am back at home. N, I know, will be thrilled to see both me and M.

So I am going to enjoy the remainder of today. Relaxing and healing and taking occasional walks on the maternity floor.

Before I am officially inducted into the role of 3 times a mom.

What you forget

When I first started this blog, I named it "Mood-Disordered Mama" because I was knee-deep in adjustment issues. I had dealt with a breakdown when N was 9 months old--the constant crying, the anxiety that kept me from eating, the panic attacks that woke me all hours of the night, the intrusive thoughts that haunted me throughout my waking. I felt like I would never, ever feel "normal" again, although normal for me had been none too happy, really.

I felt like I would never feel like life wasn't a struggle.

But over time, as with any change, I did adjust. I got used to being on medication and the idea of being on medication. My symptoms eased. I learned a great deal about myself and my negative thinking through therapy. I think I became a better person...or at least a more knowledgeable person.

Life gets busy, and you do feel "normal" again, even if it is a new kind of normal. You forget how badly you felt. But then you have moments or episodes when you remember again, when you feel maybe just twinges of the sadness, the anxiety, the panic. It doesn't do you in; it doesn't take control of your entire life as it had.

But it does make you feel that maybe you don't have as great a handle on yourself as you like to think you do. It makes you remember that your issues are ingrained, set in stone, that your medication eases them, masks them, makes them bearable but under no circumstances does it make them go away forever. You are in remission; you are not cured.

I have a terrible memory, and I have read that folks with OCD do have memory issues, which is why they obsess and are compulsive. Their brains don't remember that they already locked their car and therefore don't need to relock it over and over or worry about whether they locked it. They don't remember that they did turn off the oven and therefore don't need to turn the car around 3 times to recheck it.

For me, my memory problems also make me forget that I struggle with my moods and have my entire life. Being down, being the pessimist, being the curmudgeon are what feels "normal," even though I know that this is unhealthy and really, truly abnormal thinking and feeling. But when I feel it again, after forgetting, it almost feels like falling into a soft, warm bed, the bed I grew up in, the bed that enveloped me my entire life.

Even the most dysfunctional of us feel like what we know, have known our entire lives, feels safe and secure, even if it is the worst thing for us.

My demons

Well, as much as I hate to admit it, my demons are rearing their heads again. I had hoped my medication would prevent any weirdness, but I think the stress of a new baby coupled with breastfeeding difficulties and lack of sleep are taking their toll.

I have my psychiatrist appointment in 3 weeks but realized I need more immediate help so I'm starting back into therapy this coming week.

D has been instructed that his role is a cheerleader, reminding me that I'll get through this and things will get better, yada-yada-yada. He and my mom are both concerned because I am obsessing about breastfeeding and getting back into the mindset of "everything for the benefit of my kids even if it is to the detriment of myself."

I am really struggling with nursing, and I'm not sure if it is because G has the jaws of death munching on my breast tissue or because my skin is so ultra sensitive (or a combo of these). I see a lactation consultant at my ob practice on Tuesday a.m. for help. Regardless, the pain I feel triggers unhealthy, negative thinking.

I want to nurse for 6 months (preferably more, but I'll feel like a champ if I can go that long), but I fear that I will continue to feel such extreme pain and will want to give G formula and then feel like the world's worst mom for giving up breastfeeding. In my head formula equals poison, which I realize is TOTALLY irrational, but that is my mind for ya.

So I am stuck right now in a cycle of pain, fear of wanting to quit nursing, guilt over possibly stopping nursing before 6 months, and sadness over the whole thing (the pain, the fear and the guilt). And the worst thing is that I do recognize that if I did decide to give up nursing it would be after doing everything in my power to salvage it and would only be done because I simply couldn't stand the pain anymore. But that doesn't make a difference to the rest of my head (the nutso part that is much stronger right now that the reasonable part). The only thing that matters to the nutso part is that I would have quit (and thereby let my son down).

None of these thoughts are healthy but that is what my mind does to me. I have felt myself slipping back into depression and hopelessness. I should have known some kinda shit would hit the fan because I coped really well with having a c-section. I am clearly not coping well with nursing or mothering 2 children. I am in a constant state of guilt right now, over what I have done, what I have failed to do, and what I may either do wrong or fail to do in the future. I thought I had worked through a lot of this stuff after N's birth, but I clearly have some more emotional and mental housekeeping to do.