(Post Partum Depression)
It all started after the birth of my first born son, who is now 9 years old.
Right after his arrival I began feeling strange as well as an intense fear, but I pushed it away because this wasn't normal, or so it said in all the magazines I'd read.
I was supposed to feel happy and elated and don't forget: "on a pink cloud".
After six months I broke down, lost all control over myself and became very fearful of death.
For nights I lay screaming of fear; I didn't want to die. What a mean trick it was; why do any of us ever have to die?
All day these thoughts occupied my mind.
My son, Bas, proved to be one of those babies who cry a lot, due to diverse problems, which didn't help matters any either.
I kept this up for about three months and ended up at the RIAGG, which wasn't such a success since they dug up the past saying it must be due to the fact that I hadn't had a good childhood, blaming my mother, etcetera.
Well, my parents are darlings and these are things that happened to me, and not done to me by my parents!
I wasn't able to cope at home anymore and had myself voluntarily admitted to the psychiatric ward of a hospital.
Once there I totally lost it. I didn't have to be brave there. I'd finally found understanding instead of ignorance and disbelief.
I cried rivers from shere fright and of sorrow. I was constantly having negative thoughts and could think only about people dying at some time. It was horrible.
I missed my husband and my son terribly, being allowed to see them only at set times, which wasn't often.
I felt very lonely there, regardless of the visits made by my family. I don't have many friends left anymore.
That's another thing; many friends dropped me like a hot potatoe and my in-laws thought I was just trying to get attention, as if anyone would want to be in such a place for the fun of it!
It was then that I got to know who my real friends were. People who I never expected to hear from came to visit and sent me cards.
After ten weeks of hard work and medication, I pleaded to be released and go home. Life there, I guarantee you, is no picnic.
De psychologist who worked there then got me back on the right track. I had to learn a whole new way of thinking and coping with things, which was extremely difficult.
After my eldest son, I gave birth to two more children and things went wrong again after my second child, Simon, was born. It lasted nine months this time with all the same symptoms and fear of dying.
When I undexpectedly got pregnant with my youngest child, Anna-Jar, it was as if I'd received a blow with a hammer.
This couldn't be true, I thought, and panic engulfed me because I was terrified I'd go through the same ordeal again.
I received great support from a gynaecologist and we agreed that I'd be given Duphaston directly after having given birth to my third child.
There were no complications during that pregnancy and even giving birth was a celebration.
I'd felt no fear and dutifully took my Duphaston medication.
Then I became very ill due to an infection of the womb. The midwife daren't let me stay home because she was afraid she'd find me dead in my bed the next day. I was scared stiff and convinced I was going to die, but after tons of antibiotics and rest in the hospital, all went well....
Until I had a setback half a year later. During those six months I'd been very occupied with my baby who cried both day and nights.
I was a wreck for about two months until I got hired help at home. Someone trained to help in situations like these. Help which enabled me to recouperate in my own environment, work on myself and regain my strength. I really loved that someone helped me AND that I had someone to talk to about all those things that worried and nagged at me.
Meanwhile I also lost both of my grandmothers within a six month period of eachother.
I didn't handle that very well, which resulted in another relapse last November.
They were difficult times indeed, but I know now why I keep getting these episodes. I find it hard to talk about things that are bothering me and keep it all to myself, so that it crops up inside of me. Especially about the death of both of my grandmothers.
The positive side of this is that no matter how deep I've sunk, I've always been able to climb back out again and I know I will again this time too.
What troubles me is that I still experience having negative thoughts which are very persistant and I can't quite seem to get a grip on them. Yet I believe that, that which I have taught myself can also be untaught. And I'm working on it, but ofcourse I cannot do it alone. My rock (my husband), my parents and my sister help me.
I can only own up to the fact that I have truly been blessed by having a wonderful husband who stood by me through everything.
Since then I've gone in search of spiritual guidance, which has proven to be of enormous solace to me.
I can face life again, I know that I can...that I am strong enough to accomplish this again!
The message I want to get across to you is NOT to give in to those depressing feelings, no matter how hard it may seem. Be firm with yourself and undertake something outside the home daily even if it terrifies you, especially on those days when this seems impossible to you, but you HAVE TO. Don't wait for someone to find and save you...you have to save yourself by wanting it, asking for and accepting help!!!
Vera
P.S.
Dusphaston is hormonal medication. It did help me after my third child was born, but I stopped taking it too early, which wasn't very smart ofcourse.
When asked, all former doctors denied that what I had been suffering from all this time was Post Partum Depression.
It wasn't until a full 7 years later, that my last gynaecologist confirmed that it was indeed PPD.
After Duphaston I also used Prozac, which did help, but isn't a miracle cure, merely a helping hand in controlling the panic and anxiety symptoms.
