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So Much More

by | Oct 1, 2010 | Abandonment, Anger, Autism, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loneliness, Loss, Parent Loss | 3 comments

When you are in pain, part of you wants to shut yourself off from the world in your own discord, but there is another part of you that wants to take that pain and hand it to others – the gift of misery.  In doing that, you hope that someone will see and understand what you feel; that may never happen, but it’s a chance we all want to take.

I lost my dad on July 1st of this year. The loss of a parent is devastating, full of sadness, guilt, reparations, and so on.  But it is so much more…and this is my story.

My mother and father were married when I was six years old.  My biological father was 5-years gone (out for milk? gone for bread? Nope. Just a loser leaving his wife and kids, it seems).  So, my step-dad (and, moving forward, this will be the only occurrence in which you will see this word, because it is woefully incorrect) became my Dad.  And we were instant soul-mates.  My mother and my sister were always so close and so tight; when my mom and dad married, it felt like I had someone of my own.

Growing up, it was ever apparent that we had common interests and personalities.  Out of seven kids, I was the baby and the proclaimed “weirdo” of the bunch.  I took (take) so much heat for being “different” and “sensitive,” but my dad was always there, wanting to know about my life and wanting to know about the things that made me happy.  My teenage years weren’t angsty – they were filled with friends, activities, and a parent who was there for every stupid teen-aged emotion I went through.

My adult years were tougher. I was in an unhappy marriage for many years and my first child was diagnosed with autism.  I can’t begin to tell you what a blessing having my dad as my companion through all of this was.  I didn’t have a husband that wanted to go to doctor appointments with me and my son (he could’ve given three shits less), but I had a Dad who wanted to be there.  He wanted to learn with me.  He wanted to help.  He gave me time, love, understanding and peace.

And he was ALWAYS there.

And, now?  I’m 35.  At an age where I should be helping him in return for everything he gave to me, he’s gone.  And I mean GONE.  I can’t take comfort that he is “looking down on me” or “always with me” because I don’t FEEL it and I sure as fuck don’t SEE it.  I feel angry.  I feel alone.  I have to accept the fact that the best friend that I (and my two children) ever had is never to be seen or heard from on this Earth again.

I have to look at my mom.  My mother, who after so many years, is alone.  I should be there for her, and GOD KNOWS I do try, but all that really does is make the absence of such sunshine that much more pronounced.

Two weeks after we buried my dad, I remarried.  Two weeks after that, I was off to Europe for the trip of a lifetime.  I have a beautiful family and a lovely home – but the emptiness I feel sometimes overshadows everything.  How do you get through it?  How does every memory that gets jogged at random times during the day not absolutely break your heart?

I miss my dad so much more than I can ever adequately describe.

The Little Pills Again

by | Sep 28, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Coping With Depression, Depression, Loneliness, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Health, Stress | 7 comments

Depression often lies to us, tricking us into going off our much-needed medications.

This is her story:

I wanted to see how I could be without the Prozac. So did my therapist. I had been on it for about 7 years – the same 20 mg dosage the whole time. My therapist openly disapproved of the medication. So I self-weaned off. I felt great for the first few weeks. Then the depression set in. It was mild at first. Just moodiness and more yelling. Then it would lift and life would be great. The cycles went like that for a while. Then there was The Week From Hell.

I ignored my husband completely. I did the bare-bones necessities to get through the day. I did not want to see friends or family. I didn’t want to do anything. I cried all the time, about nothing. I was never like this before. I wanted to eat salmon (which I am severally allergic to) so my throat would close and I would die. Nothing brought me joy. Nothing.

I didn’t talk about this with anyone. When I mentioned suicide to my therapist, he didn’t even blink or comment. This threw me into a greater depression. You know you are doomed when even your therapist doesn’t care.

My husband cried and said he wanted me to talk to him. I told him it didn’t help to talk. I needed medication. So I made an appointment with a psychiatrist (my previous Prozac came from my OB/GYN as medication to handle PMS). It took weeks to get in.

Even though I had been battling depression for years, this was the first time I ever saw a psychiatrist. She was very nice and knowledgeable. She went through all the background questions. When she asked about family history, I laughed and asked how much time we had. She nodded in understanding.

Her diagnosis was that I had mild depression that could go into a severe depressive state if I didn’t medicate myself. She said that since the Prozac did work for me without any side effects that she was putting me back on it, going from 10 mg up to 30 mg gradually.

Today I am at the 20 mg dosage. I feel pretty good. However, my darkest swings are 1-2 weeks before my period, which is still a while away. I am worried that the Prozac won’t be enough anymore. The psychiatrist said there are other similar medications I could take if Prozac didn’t do the job.

I am also worried that I am putting my trust too much into a pill. Why can’t I just be happy? I look at the people around me who smile and laugh and have it all, and want to be like them. But I am just not a happy person. Never have been, and probably never will be.

So I say, Hello Prozac my old friend…. I’ve come to take you again.

Miscarried

by | Sep 23, 2010 | Baby Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage, Pregnancy | 2 comments

I wrote the following Monday, July 12, 2010 just hours before I had a D&C procedure.

I can’t sleep. Too much on my mind. I write this with a lump in my throat.

The day before my son Lucas’ first birthday, got a positive pregnancy test. We had only been “trying” for two weeks! Can you say fertile? Stranger things have happened.

Learning I was pregnant for the first time was one of the most exciting days of my life. Not only is it a major milestone on the path of adulthood, it is one of the most joyous experiences you will ever have. I will never forget the day I found out I was pregnant with Lucas. I cried tears of happiness, excitement, and fear.

Learning I was pregnant a second time was a little more shocking for me. I had just gotten back to my pre-pregnancy weight and into my favorite jeans. The hair around my face was starting to grow back and I was FINALLY starting to get the hang of this “mommy thing.” The tears this time came from pure disbelief. I was excited but also troubled by how our perfect little family of three was going to change. I was mostly concerned with how this new addition would affect Lucas and how I might handle two under two. Doing the quick calculations, Lucas and his sibling would be almost 21 months apart.

I thought I was nine weeks along at my first OB/GYN visit when an ultrasound revealed that I was only measuring at six weeks. We were told we could have our dates off.

I’m pretty good (obsessive) with dates and knew deep down inside that something was terribly wrong.

My doctor ordered blood work to check my hCG (the pregnancy hormone) levels and more ultrasounds a week later. Unfortunately, my hCG levels dropped and we learned last Thursday that there had been no growth to the embryo since week six. I had a terrific pregnancy with my son, so why would I think anything would or could go wrong with this one? I certainly felt pregnant.

But, in the end, my gut was right. There was something wrong and this pregnancy wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, we’ll never know exactly what went wrong. Why did this happen to us? What went wrong? Did I do something different this time around? Will it happen again?

I know that miscarriage is far more common than we like to think and often times there are no answers. I’ll have to accept that. Eventually.

All I know right now is that this hurts. I’m sad and because I don’t want to wait around for my body to have a natural miscarriage, I have a D & C (a procedure to scrape and collect the tissue from inside the uterus) scheduled for this afternoon.

Please keep those of us who have been through this terrible ordeal in your thoughts. Thank you.

You’re Pregnant – Until You Aren’t

by | Sep 20, 2010 | Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Livng Through A Miscarriage, Loss, Miscarriage | 5 comments

I am pregnant.

But I don’t know for how long.  I peed on a stick in the office.  The nurse and doctor watched the line appear…and then disappear.  My doctor said he had never seen anything like that happen. He looked at the nurse and then at me and then at the test. He was shocked.

So he said “You’re definitely pregnant right now…but I don’t know for how long.”

I am on partial bed-rest which means that I am to do no heavy lifting. I’m on Zofran for nausea. He will test my HCG hormone levels in a few days and see if it is higher.  If it is lower, he will give me a prescription for pain pills and we will wait for my body to miscarry.

I am literally sitting here, willing my baby to stay inside me.  Telling it to hang on long enough to get a good grip. Hang in there little guy, just hang on. I am bleeding and cramping but I have been told that is because up until two days ago I was on birth control pills.

It doesn’t FEEL like a miscarriage, yet.

So I’ll sit here on my couch and try to grow a baby. I will try to keep my child alive. And I will hope and pray that when they call tomorrow, my numbers will go up.

The bleeding will stop.

The cramping will stop.

I will have three people there to meet my husband when he comes home from his deployment.

We will be a family of three. We will be.

********************

When I wrote this, I was pregnant.  Two days later, I was not.  I saw the ultrasound, it was there! And now it is not. I still have a baby bump…and nothing inside.  My heart is broken, my body is broken, and my husband is 6,700 miles away.  The logical side of me says to that we should wait to have a baby. We should wait until he can be here to hold my hair back when I am sick, when he can rub my back and feet and feel our child moving inside me. But the other side…the other side says GET PREGNANT AS SOON AS HE GETS BACK!!  Twelve month deployment be damned!

I am so torn. And heartbroken. And yet VERY strong.  I have to be strong for my little boy. He needs his mother.

A Light At The End Of The Tunnel

by | Sep 15, 2010 | Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Depression, Depressive Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Health | 4 comments

Sometimes, the act of talking to someone and taking action is all we need to find hope.

This is her story of hope:

I went to see my doctor yesterday for major depressive disorder. He sat and listened. He took my problems seriously. He even asked me if I thought I should be hospitalized. He talked about what a loss my children would have if I was gone and how they would blame themselves. It made me stop and pause. I listened.

He added another SSRI to the two medicines I currently take.

I have hope now.

Hope that I will make it through this. Hope that the new medicine will help me cope with all the craziness in my life. And it feels good to have hope. It is something to hold on to.

I met with my counselor as well. She wants to see me more regularly to help me through this. It feels good to have someone want to help me fight through this fog of depression – to help me find the light. She helped me see that all this anxiety is in my head and when the anxiety and the depression get together, it’s not as bad as I make it out to be. I take other people’s actions too personally. My kids aren’t trying to escape me; they just want to spend some time with their dad. Even though it hurts me, it’s not personal.

That gives me hope that someday I will be able to differentiate between what is reality and what I am imagining or reading into the situation.

I don’t know if my marriage will make it, but I have a feeling that no matter what, I will be able to make it through to the other side. I will be okay. No matter what, I have my kids and I have my goals.

We all will be able to make it to the light and live to see another day.