By Teresa Fleischmann, Guest Blogger
The five year plan. That was our goal. Five years of marital
bliss, complete with traveling, fun date excursions, late night movie theater
outings and fancy dinners. Once we got all of the “fun” out of our systems, we
would settle down and start our family. We quickly learned, as many have, that
God’s plan was very different than our own.
When I was 15 years old, I found out that I had polycystic
ovarian syndrome (PCOS). The doctor explained to me that because of my
irregular menstrual cycle, and hormone imbalances, I would likely have a
difficult time conceiving. At 15 it fell on deaf ears, but when my husband and
I began trying to get pregnant, we were prepared for a lengthy process. We were completely shocked and obviously ecstatic
when we conceived our first baby just 3 months later. I was overjoyed! I
remember finding ways to tell random strangers about my pregnancy. I felt
different, and wondered if other people could tell I was pregnant. I avoided caffeine, deli meats, perfectly
pasteurized feta cheese, and treated the salad bar at Jason’s Deli like the
black plague. We excitedly shared the news with our parents, but withheld the
information from our siblings and friends wanting to wait until we cleared the
“danger zone” of the 1st trimester.
One and a half weeks into our new found status of “soon to
be parents” we experienced what too many parents have endured, a miscarriage. I
was devastated. I felt inadequate as a woman, as a wife. My husband, Derek, and
I handled the news very differently. He quietly, keeping himself busy in the
garage, while I cried and got angry, not understanding why it happened, almost
wishing I had just never gotten pregnant in the first place. After a couple of weeks of awkwardness,
feeling like society told us we must grieve silently, we came to a mutual
agreement. As soon as possible, we would try to get pregnant again.
As the months blew past, with one negative test after
another, we decided to seek medical intervention. We were already aware of my
PCOS, but were dealt another difficult blow when testing revealed male factor
infertility. We sought the help of a reproductive endocrinologist, and after 2
years of infertility, which included Clomid, Femara, injectables and 5
unsuccessful intrauterine inseminations (IUIs), we decided we would take a
break before one last pregnancy attempt with in vitro fertilization (IVF). The
break was much needed. Sex on a schedule had become daunting, and my poor
husband had a far too dramatic experience one day when he was stuck in traffic
while attempting to deliver his precious, time sensitive, “specimen” to the lab.
If you are local, and you recall seeing a fired up redheaded man frantically
weaving in and out of traffic, shaking his fists in the air, trust me, you had
NO CLUE why he was behaving so erratically! Looking back now, there were so
many comical moments during that period of our lives. Well, at least they are
comical years later.
This is where our story takes an incredible, miraculous
turn. The morning that our IVF deposit was due, I found out that I was
pregnant. Naturally. No drugs, no medical procedures, no scheduled intercourse.
If my math is correct, it was a couple of drinks and some 4th of
July “fireworks”. This time we decided to shout it from the roof tops. We told
everyone. We laughed; we jumped for joy; we cried tears of excitement and also
relief! It seemed unreal, and to be honest, I was cautiously excited.
The first half of my pregnancy went well. I somehow avoided
morning sickness, and as a larger framed woman, I really enjoyed the freedom to
wear horizontal stripes! Toward my 3
rd
trimester I developed preeclampsia, and at 30 weeks I was put on bed rest. The
day of my 37 week appointment I went to the doctor and my blood pressure was
150/105. I was already taking 2000mg of blood pressure medication per day, so
my OB decided it was time to have a baby. A few short hours later I was at the
hospital being induced.
The birth plan that I had prepared was completely thrown out
the window when I experienced complications during delivery. I had shoulder
dystocia (which lead to an episiotomy and an insane 3 minutes of continuous
pushing while a nurse palpated my abdomen) and placenta accreta (which caused hemorrhaging
and the manual removal of the placenta by my doctor, which had also broken into
numerous pieces.) My baby was born unresponsive, but by the grace of God,
regained consciousness 19 seconds after delivery. He was born a hefty 8lbs 1oz,
which was quite large for a baby born 3 weeks early! We named him Ian James
(after his grandfathers) and our room was quickly flooded with family members
who were head over heels for this adorable little boy.
It wasn’t until later that evening, when our visitors had
left and we moved into our recovery room, that we really had a chance to
process what had happened. My doctor came and sat with us for a while, and
explained both the shoulder dystocia and the placenta accreta. He joked that he
was “getting too old for this” and in 20 years of practice he had experienced
both complications on several occasions, but never together. We discussed how
incredible it was that both Ian and I were completely healthy, and how 50 or
100 years ago we possibly would have both died, or at a minimum, I would have
lost my uterus. I felt so incredibly blessed to be holding a healthy, happy
little baby!
Our time in the hospital was enjoyable, and we had a
constant stream of visitors. I was tired and sore, but also on cloud nine. We
were discharged later than expected due to some complications from the
circumcision, but we were so glad to return to our own home and our own bed. Our
first night at home was hard. Ian slept so well that we had to wake him to feed
him and I did not sleep at all.
Nursing was much more difficult than I expected and quickly
became a chore. Ian was not gaining weight and scheduled feedings were not
going well. I was committed to breastfeeding and had read all the books. Nursing
sessions were taking more than an hour and it stressed me out that I didn’t
know how much milk he was getting. I started getting irritable and couldn’t
sleep. I was in a constant panic that he wasn’t getting enough food, and after
four straight nights without a single minute of sleep I called my doctor’s
office and told them I needed help. They prescribed me an anti-depressant, and
the first night I took it I finally got a few hours of rest. The next day I
felt like a rockstar, and even invited a friend over to chat and hold the baby.
Unfortunately that only lasted for one day, and by that evening I was back to severe
mood swings and insomnia. I was so upset with myself. I prayed and prayed for
this baby, why was it so hard? Why did I have this feeling like I wasn’t good
enough? Like I couldn’t take care of him?
Exactly one week after Ian was born I had my first suicidal
ideation. It hit me like a smack to the face. I was nursing him in his room and
out of nowhere I thought “Just do it, kill yourself. Derek can find a new wife
and they can raise Ian together. It will be better for everyone that way.”
Sadly, I also had thoughts of exactly how I would carry out the action. As
quickly as the thought entered my head it also passed. I set Ian down in his
crib and went and found my husband in the bathroom. I explained what had
happened and told him he needed to take me to the hospital. We went to the ER,
but decided, with the help of the my OB, a psychiatrist and the ER doctor that
I would go home and attempt to take some sleeping pills to see if that helped.
Lack of sleep can cause people to have crazy thoughts. That evening was a
little better and I did feel refreshed. As the next day came, the mood swings
returned, and so did the insomnia. One week later, I had another suicidal
ideation, and after consulting my doctor, chose to be voluntarily admitted into
the behavioral health unit of the hospital. I spent 5 days there, and was only
able to visit with my baby for 2 hours each evening, in a supervised room. I
began taking mood stabilizers, and was forced to discontinue nursing. I was
devastated. To this day my heart is heavy thinking about the 5 days of his life
that I missed. I still occasionally feel shame that I had to spend time in the
hospital, but I remind myself that I am a better Mommy because of it. As a
matter of fact, the alternative was leaving my child motherless.
After changing psychiatrists three times, regular counseling
sessions, and coming off of mood stabilizers and back onto an antidepressant,
my mood finally leveled off. My mother was able to go home (she lived with us
for 3 months to help me care for Ian) and we were able to settle into our new
life as a family of three. By the time Ian was 6 months old I had returned to
my “normal” self. My final diagnosis was severe postpartum depression,
borderline postpartum psychosis. I won the honor of being one of 2 patients
with this diagnosis in the history of my OB’s career.
So, now that I have pulled you down into the dredges with
me, let me offer up some hope. Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I
have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you, not to harm you, plans
to give you a hope and a future.” This has become my life verse. As I finish up
this post, my now crazy 2 year old son Ian is napping in his room, and so is my
adorable 9 month old daughter Cora. I was blessed with a second child (rather
quickly after the first) and by the grace of God, I experienced an excellent
pregnancy, a complication-free delivery, and most notably, I have not struggled
with any depression! I am exclusively nursing Miss Cora, and am thoroughly
enjoying being a mother of two. Post
partum depression is
not a life sentence! It is also nothing to be ashamed of. If you are struggling
with depression, please, please, please, tell someone, and get the help you
need.
I may not ever in my lifetime know why I endured miscarriage,
infertility and postpartum depression, but I do know that “God causes all
things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called
according to His purpose”. I also know that God specifically chose Ian and Cora
as my children, and me as their Mother! Motherhood is not always glamorous, and
at times is frustrating and just plain hard. But I promise this, IT IS WORTH
IT! It is worth the pain of labor, the risk of complications, and even the
deep, dark, misery of depression. This is proven to me daily in every smile,
every coo, every giggle from my kids, and even in those shiny silver badges of
honor on my belly!!
