Postpartum Depression

I have never dealt with depression before. I do know grief well. I have had anxiety as long as I have memories. My family is accustomed to mental health in many ways. Histories of addiction, bipolar, schizophrenia, and more. Though two experiences are as unique as each brain. Which is controlling all of these intense conditions. I can list these by name but I can never understand it for another. Just as I could not understand postpartum depression without experience. And my experience of it lacks what comes with postpartum.

A baby. 

I naively believed a baby was the vital part to this specific diagnosis. 

The first time I heard the doctor say it to me, he went on to talk and prescribe treatment. I heard his voice get hollow and far away as I focused on that one word. How can I be postpartum? That word describes the transition from pregnancy to birth. The definition being "the emergence of a baby from the body of its mother; the start of life as a physically separate being." 

The start of life.

Our postpartum was the start of death.

It is a usually brought on by adjusting to motherhood. The fatigue and stress causing a phycological reaction. Mine is magnified, accompanied by loss and all its ever growing grief. Like my Csection recovery, I am told it will be harder because I lack the moments of joy a baby brings, between the lows of depression. 

I am suffering all the sacrifices mothers make in the act of creating life. But only death remains around me. The journey of child loss is a war I fight in my brain and heart. They fight each other. They fight me.

I have spent 7 weeks writing of this world. It began with bleeding out, and I continue to bleed out words. And yet I have barely begun to tap the surface of it all. Postpartum depression seems to be yet another topic the world would rather hide. We praise mothers for their humerus honesty, but shy away from brutal truth. 3 million women are diagnosed with this disease each year. It finds ways to manifest itself whether you acknowledge it or not. It is another layer to discover and work through. 

This post was meant to go on longer but I feel in a fog of confusion trying to pull together the theories of living with this. Although it has been 7 weeks, it still feels like yesterday. And alas my xanax is kicking in, slowly allowing my brain to turn off. A necessity in treatment for my depression. With sleep comes relief. It means another day is both behind and ahead of us. It is also a reminder that I have survived all of these days, 53 days of being postpartum, of grieving, of depression, of anxiety, 

53 days I have conquered and survived it all. This is life after loss. This is postpartum depression, without a baby. This is stillbirth.  

with love, lissa

Humanity

Humanity by definition is "Human Kind."

How odd then that so many humans lack kindness. Through this struggle I call life right now, people have been taken aback when I respond to certain things with kindness. Assuming because I am so broken and empty that I have nothing left to give. However in this new community of bereaved parents, I have discovered that the kindest people are the ones who life has treated unkindly. We know the experience so well, that we strive to put into the world what was taken from us. 

It is why I felt so strongly about our blood drive. It is why most of us have hashtags in our children's honor, that mark the goodness that has come in spite of tragedy. We work hard on trying to adjust the balance that we ourselves cannot find. I see so many passion projects spring out of child loss: comfort boxes, free stillbirth photography, donated park benches, tree's publicly planted in remembrance. Free libraries filled with books dedicated to lost children, somewhere in Minnisota sits a book that starts with "in honor of Anna." 

I had two vastly different days back to back. Someone who saw me yesterday would not think it was possible how I behaved today. It was dependent on how people treated me, but also, and maybe more importantly, how I treated them in return. 

Yesterday I woke up to a message, it does not matter the content, it was just unexpected and started my day in a way I wasn't prepared for. From there we were late leaving the house and it reminded me that, - I knew I was going to be late a lot this summer, I was supposed to be adjusting to life with three kids, one being a newborn. - The thought hit me hard because I am notoriously early, and I had thought about it continually through the pregnancy that it was going to irritate me that life would change without my control. Now here we are, I am still late everywhere we go, but it is because there is no newborn in our lives. 

There is construction in our neighborhood, and it causes traffic. It has been that way for weeks, and I keep forgetting. So it made us even later. While sitting there I wrote the kids camp and explained we would be very late today. Someone behind me laid on the horn because I hadn't continued to inch forward. It was not even a car length difference, we continued to sit in that lane another 8 min unmoving. The noise startled me, I threw up my hand meaning, "sorry" I felt guilty for having been texting, not paying attention. (Even though we weren't moving?) He must have thought I was angry at his honking so in response to my sorry wave, he wildly threw his hands around the car, and I could tell he was yelling at me. The straw fell, and I broke down crying. 

I cried the rest of the way to camp. I actually followed him most of the way and I laughed (while crying, its an art I posses,) when he pulled in front starring me down as he passed me, his license plate referred to God, and I thought, I am literally your neighbor.....did you miss the "Love thy neighbor" passage? I cried the whole way home with an empty car. Climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep. I made sure I set an alarm, otherwise I would have slept the entire day away. I picked up the kids and was invited inside because I looked like A WRECK. I was a wreck! 

It was an out of body experience, in that I knew I wanted to talk with this friend, find comfort she was trying to give me. But I could not make my mouth speak. Even though I was screaming in my head to do just that. I just stood there, continuing to cry. I cried ALL day. It was one of the worst days in the past 7 weeks since we lost Anna. 

Today I woke up to a message from the same interaction as the previous day. Which had stemmed the whole spiral of emotions. They continued the same tone, but I responded instead with more strength and ultimately ending with kindness. Thanking them and telling them something positive in a negative experience. I am not even sure it was read in that way, or taken in hostility. It doesn't matter. I owned my own feelings and followed through on them. 

I drove and let every single car into my backed up traffic lane, that had been ignored while waiting to get in. No honking today, waves of gratitude instead. We made it to drop off only 5 minutes late this time. Having not grocery shopped this week, I had run out of our standard lunchables, and had to run to target to get them for their camp day. While there, I ran into a woman wearing scrubs, and more particularly, they were marked with the logo of my OBGYN's practice. I had read an article a day before about how people say they couldn't be nurses because they don't like needles, blood and vomit. It went on to say those things are the easy part of their job. Its when they have to deliver a child silently that has turned blue already, when they have to tell a pregnant patient there is no heartbeat, THOSE are the hard part about being a nurse. 

I cannot thank my nurses because I don't remember who was there that day. I will never know. But here was one, and from the same practice. I stepped way outside my comfort zone and stopped her, I said "I would really like to give you a hug and thank you for being a nurse." I was crying and she asked if I was ok. "No" I simply responded, "Something happened 7 weeks ago, and you were all so kind to me, I just wanted you to know that as a patient, I appreciate you, even more when you cannot change the outcome. I know those days hurt you guys too." She hugged me again, thanked me and we both smiled as I walked away. 

I chatted with a stranger I met through baby loss for the next hour. I paced a book store in search of a book she recommended as we chatted. Her situation differs from mine. And while I know a whole new world of stillbirth, I didn't know her journey. And it was wonderfully eye opening to talk to someone on that level of learning to understand each other. We are both sorry for each other, even though we are deeply wounded ourselves. I enjoyed our conversation, and there is not much I genuinely enjoy anymore. 

I returned to pick up, and was once again invited inside. This time I could not turn off my mouth. 5 minutes turned into 3 hours. We covered every topic I had been letting weigh my heart down. I told her about both days and how differently I had been affected by them. We laughed, we cried, I told her things I haven't told anyone else. Friends seem to be better therapists than professionals these days. 

Once I got home, my neighbor texted me and invited me over to dinner. Normally I would quietly decline, my picky eaters are often embarrassing to bring to other homes that actually eat food. We have become close after I made a random post last summer and she responded, you guessed it, with kindness. To my surprise my kids tried NEW food and LOVED it, ate their entire meals. They had a great time playing with her kids, and we had a great time empathizing with each other. Love thy neighbor as thyself, maybe she needs to trade license plates with my other neighbor? 

We walked home with the sunsetting, the kids played in the backyard for awhile. And as I sat on the swing watching them and decompressing from my day, I noticed I was smiling. Naturally. Those come so few and far between these days. 

The main difference between these two days was how I chose to handle situations. I chose kindness, even at the cost of myself in some situations. And because of that choice, it was returned unto me.  Even though others may not treat you with kindness, it is always in our power to return it to them. And Maybe if we all started to do this more often, we could change the world, one kindness at a time. We could raise Human Kind back to a humanity to be proud of. 

with love, lissa

I am so much more than a word

I do not have a name. Did you know that? There is a term for spouses that have lost one another, widow, widower. There is a name for a child who has lost a parent, orphan. But there is no name for me. A parent who has lost a child. 

They didn't have a name for me when I lost a sibling too. Instead I always feel like the sad story a friend of a friend tells you. And you think to yourself, gosh that poor girl, again? How does she do it. I do it because I did not get a choice. No one ever does when life comes to your door.

You tell me I am strong because you have seen me conquer my past. You see my feed with happy memories in the face of grief. The biggest smile on my face as I held a child attached to a million machines. Smiles mirroring the little boy who is not my own but lived on and off with me. Smiles as I held my still baby in my arms, because there will never be another photo of us together. Smiles in the face of grief.

 You think you couldn't do it yourself. I thought I couldn't either. In fact, while grieving my sister, one year ago, I wrote the words, "I don't think I could do this with a child." Thinking my mother the strongest person I knew. 

Now here we are. I know her grief. I know the loss of the future. I know nothing and everything about grief. I am angry that the ways I processed Kimmy's grief are not working this time. I found comfort in food and socializing then, now I cannot eat, and I don't want to see anyone. I had 3 children in my home, as my nephew came to stay with us. I lived for making his days happy, and in return his joy brought me smiles. I was living through grief with what looked like dignity. But it was dingy in the corners. I was crying when no one was looking. But I was slowly healing. I was once again going to have 3 children in my house, this time all my own. 

14 months I was working and healing. 14 months of hard days were becoming worth it. I was incredibly sad that Kimmy wasn't sharing in this healing of the arrival of her first niece. Something we had talked about for our whole lives, a little girl. Somehow there hadn't been a boy in our family for 27 years. Then the two of us brought in 3 in a row. And now after waiting patiently, here she was. But I couldn't share it with someone I desperately wanted to. I cried the morning of the baby shower, because my sister wouldn't be there. I was so sad to not have her with me on the happiest days. 

I am even more sad to not have her with me on the hard days. I miss the texts and phone calls she would have made, to bring me out of this darkness. She was always the brightest sunshine in the room. But stars shine too bright and burn out before their time. So here I sit missing two of the most special relationships in my life. A sister, and a daughter. It took me 14 months to start feeling healing with Kimmy's grief. It came with great tolls. It's only been 7 weeks with Anna. I guess we'll start again. 

I do not know who I am anymore. I have no name to define me. I am just the sad story girl. But I am also the girl who has survived everything else in my path. I am still the sad story you tell your friends about. But I am also the survivor you tell your friends about. I am the strength that other's draw from on hard days. In return, they hold me up on my dark ones too. I am a grieving mother, and I am still a mother. I am so much more than this one word that doesn't exist.

I do not have a name, I do not need one. I will be a story now and forever. Of healing and life after loss, life after stillbirth. My name is not important. Only a reminder that someone else has survived the unthinkable. That someone else can too. 

with love, lissa.