Adulting is hard!

When I was young all I wanted was to get married and have eight kids. As I got older I thought about money, space, and everything else. I amended the amount to four. I would have four kids. That number seemed reasonable to me and I wanted to get started as soon as possible. Most of the jobs I have had revolved around my love of children. By 24 I was teaching First Grade, but getting pretty impatient. I went on the occasional date, but nothing was good enough for a repeat. My family would continuously tell me I was too picky. I signed up for classes to get licensed to foster. I would be a mother - husband or not! It was a process... classes, home inspection, fire inspection, interviews, and more. It took close to a year, but I was ready for a child. A couple months later, I got a call and my foster daughter moved in that night. There were ups and downs, but I was her mother. Her parents had signed away there rights, I was going to be able to adopt her! That would not come to be because around this time her grandmother stopped traveling for work and decided she wanted to adopt her. She stayed with me for ten months and then as quick as she came, she was gone. I had lost my first child. 

I "finally" met Ryan when I was 27 in 2012. We dated and married when I was 29. I had found the father of my children. Surely things would be easier now.  We decided to wait a little while before starting our family, but we would start soon. While on a summer trip to Nebraska in 2015 we found out we were pregnant. We both cried as we looked at the pregnancy test in disbelief. Our joy would be short-lived. We miscarried just before six weeks. I had lost my second child.  

(Recap for my readers) In October, we found out that we were expecting again. This was Philip, our rainbow baby. I was sick the entire pregnancy, throwing up at least once a day. After he was born, I experienced Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. A week long stay in a mental facility, medications, and therapy. In time, I worked through my Postpartum issues. Life was not getting any easier, but I finally had a child of my own. When Philip was about a year we decided it was time to work on child number two. 

In September, we were blessed with another pregnancy. At seven weeks, we heard the heartbeat.  The chance of miscarriage is two percent after a heartbeat is heard. Unfortunately, I am in that two percent. I didn't know it, but my baby's heart stopped about a week later. At my next appointment, I cried as I learned the truth. My body hadn't realized, but my baby had died. I had to have a D&C, surgical removal. I was put to sleep and it was gone. I had lost my third child. 

My simple dream seems so far from a possible reality. I know we can try again, foster, or even adopt. I have lost three children at this point and I don't know that I can do it again. Every time it is like a piece of me dies and is broken. I recover and move on, but those pieces are always missing. I am physically recovered, but emotionally it is a process. Life moves on and people continue living. It seems many people that I know are expecting right now. It hurts that my baby died and I can't help, but be a little jealous. Jealousy is one of those feelings that doesn't feel good. I am sure that I will get to a point where I am happy for these people again, but in all honesty, I am not there yet.  

I wish that I knew about all these things as I was growing up and dreaming of the future. I'm not saying that I think people should be walking around killing little girls' dreams.  I do think people should be more honest about their experiences. Miscarriages, Postpartum Depression, and grief should not be secrets to be swept under the rug. I have talked to many people who have shared some or all of these experiences with me. There is comfort to be found in sharing with others even years later. I had no idea how common these things were until I started experiencing them - miscarriage (1 in 4) / Postpartum Depression (1 in 9). I think every girl should know the truth about what might happen to them. It may not have changed anything, but I wish I knew. 

Necklace for my February and
May angel babies 

All this is not to say I am ungrateful for what I have. I am blessed to have Ryan and Philip. I have air in my lungs, a wonderful extended family, beautiful home, and more than I need. These are the things I reflected on during Thanksgiving despite the loss in my heart. Moving forward, I don't know what the future holds. Will the girl that I once was have her dreams come true? Are there any more children in my future? 

Luckily, these are my thoughts today... and thankfully, no decisions have to be made today.  

Where have I been?

I have been missing from a lot of my regular places for the last four weeks. A canceled vacation, missed celebrations/family events, no church, and all the other things I love about my weeks. Ryan and I found out we were expecting at the end of September. A few weeks later Hyperemesis Gravardium became my reality again. This is the fancy name for extreme morning sickness. What it means for me is constant nausea, vomiting, and dehydration. Nothing I haven't experienced before, I was just hoping this time would be different. Second pregnancy and the flexibility to rest at home more. Unfortunately, I would be seeing more of my toilet bowl than anybody wants to. Each day was a decision if I kept down enough fluids or we needed to go to the ER. This was a sheer guess and we stayed out of the ER, even though we likely should have gone in. 

I have had a lot of guilt over the last few weeks. The sickness has taken over and it has taken a lot to do my typical day to day. Philip has gotten to watch a lot more Sesame Street than I would like, but it was all I could do to make it through. Ryan had a business trip and my parents offered that I could stay with them while he was gone. They could help me with Philip and would be there if we needed to head to the ER.  

On Tuesday, I had my regularly scheduled ob appointment. The second ultrasound and appointment for this baby. Almost twelve weeks - the coveted second trimester in sight. My dad would drive me just in case I needed to throw-up on the way. I would text Ryan the latest picture of our baby after the appointment. The ultrasound technician started looking at the baby and almost immediately the look on her face changed.  She marked a few things on the screen and then said she needed to go get the doctor. As I laid there alone I began to cry - this couldn't be good. They came back in and told me that there was no heartbeat and the size of the baby was just over eight weeks.  My uterus was still growing and my body still thought it was pregnant. The doctor recommended that I have it removed surgically. The risks of carrying it any longer were too high.   

Yesterday I had the surgery to remove the baby. I didn't know what to expect, but I was put under general anesthesia.  The recovery process physically is going really well. Emotionally things are going to take a while longer. I will hold my blessings tight and be thankful for all I have, which now includes two angel babies in Heaven waiting for me. I'm sure there are a lot of details that I left out, but these are the words I can get out and share with you right now.  

What is normal?

I recently sat in my psychiatrist office waiting for my last appointment. I had worked myself off of my three medications for Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. Almost exactly a year after being prescribed them for the first time and I was done! I looked around the room and once again was struck by how "normal" everybody looked. Am I "normal"? Have I ever been "normal"?

As I reflected on my progress I looked at the "normal" lady sitting beside me in the waiting room. She was filling out her initial paperwork. I remember feeling so many things when I was filling out my paperwork. I felt broken, hopeless, and definitely didn't feel "normal". I was overwhelmed by the number of pages and the endless questions. There were questions about every symptom imaginable for every different mental illness. What if I answered incorrectly? I had already been diagnosed, but what if they disagreed because of an answer I gave? Could things get any worse? I was still needing a lot of help and couldn't foresee ever getting better. 

I now feel empowered and strong. I stepped myself down from the medications. It was a slow process, but I did it. My last three visits to the psychiatrist included telling him that I was no longer taking one of my medications. He always seemed surprised. I think he would have been fine with me staying on medication indefinitely. I don't know if I am "normal", but this is a great place to be.   

Ryan and I have been trying for baby number two for three months... no success yet. I mentioned it to the psychiatrist. What is the process to get back in? Do I need to stay "active"? He said that it is very likely that I will have the same issues creep up again. Thankfully my "normal" is an optimist and I have enough optimism for the both of us. He would leave me in the system with appointments as needed. I was somewhat expecting the psychiatrist to say he still needed to see me every six months, so I felt good about this.   

I know that I may be headed to the psychiatrist and medication again in the future, but that is ok. It doesn't have to be a death sentence because there is hope in the darkness. I will pick up the pieces and start again. There is support and help out there if you know where to look. I have a therapist and psychiatrist if I need them. This is the "normal" of ups and downs that life brings our way. 

Until then, I have a beautiful 14 month old and I am blessed everyday. When he laughs, smiles, or even those early mornings when we snuggle in the recliner while catching a few more zzzs. The school year is ramping back up, which brings us back to busy days. We have ESL, volunteering, Bible studies, and library time. This is our "normal" and I will enjoy every minute!

Life is more fun with crafts!

I have been inspired for a while by all the fun bottle cap creations on Pinterest. I had an idea to take my boring patio table and add some flare. Ryan likes an evening beer or two, so we had quite a few bottle caps. I organized what I had by color. I had black, red, blue, and silver. It seemed liked a lot, but I didn't have enough to cover the table.  I bought an additional 1500 from an Etsy shop. That should do the trick!   

 My new bottle caps arrived and it was time to start! Once I added the new caps the design phase began. I laid the caps out and continued to play. I decided on a wheel meets sunburst design. I had to make some changes as I went because of cap colors. (That is why the end product is slightly different.) I would need some more red, silver, and gold to finish. Time to drink up, Ryan. 😃 We left for our Colorado trip at this point, so he had time. 


 All the bottle caps were in position, time to get gluing. I bought tile adhesive from the local home improvement store. I vastly underestimated how much I would need. I bought my first quart thinking that I would have some left over. I did not, that quart got a quarter of the bottle caps attached. I ended up buying two more gallons to get the job done. I realized about this time that I must have lost my mind a little bit to pursue this project in the summer. I went outside in hour bursts until I couldn't take the heat/sweat.  

 All the caps were glued down. Now came the most intimidating part, the grout. I took a tiling class eight years ago, but had never used what I learned. I again headed to the home improvement store. I decided on a bag of gray sanded grout that just needed water to mix. 

 I mixed the grout and began spreading it on the table. I had the thought that I may be messing up hours of hot outside work. What would I do if this doesn't work? Luckily, I wasn't going to have to figure that out because it was working. I scraped off the excess as I applied the grout. I let it dry for about ten minutes and took a wet sponge to clean the bottle caps. Some got scratched by the sand, but I liked how it looked. I sprayed two coats of clear gloss to the top and I was finished! 

Colorado Trip: What If

After camping, we headed to Greeley for the rest of our vacation. I was still sore, but I was doing ok. I kept having that nagging "what if" as I would move and hurt. Philip had no idea what had happened, but he could have grown up without me. Things could definitely have been much worse.  I had to grin and bare the pain... I was alive! Of course the word had spread and even family that wasn't there was informed of my "adventurous spirit". Everyone was concerned if I was ok, but I was just embarrassed. I was good and determined to enjoy the rest of my vacation! 

I was excited to take Philip to Ryan's dad's dairy for the third time. He had done well his second time there a few months before. I was especially excited because Philip loves animals and is more interested in them everyday. He loved it! He wanted to see everything and had no fear to reach out and touch the cows, even the big ones.  

My Little Bug turned one a couple days later. How is that possible? He was just born? Where did the year go? We celebrated with a small party, pizza, and cake.  Philip was a fan of the pizza and his very own chocolate cake. He destroyed it, got it everywhere, and needed a bath afterwards. He was showered with gifts and love by his Colorado family. 

I had grown more sore, especially in my upper body, and it took a lot to get out of bed in the morning. More than that though was the amount of love that I was feeling. I was overwhelmed by love of my life, my husband, and my son. I am so blessed! God protected me and blesses me richly every single day. Why does this matter? Well, I felt like I had gotten a second chance.  With that my thoughts started to change. Ryan and I had taken foster classes, but is that the right direction? We started to seriously talk about our options.  Should we try for another baby? 


These thoughts left me conflicted. Am I crazy to even be thinking about this? What if I have complications again? What if I need a C-Section? What if I have Postpartum Depression and/or Anxiety? I just finished taking my Postpartum medications. Do I want to start them again? I could go on and on with negative what if's, but what if we should try again? What if now is the time? What if I am prepared for these possibilities? 

I don't know what the future has in store, but there are definitely more options than there were a couple of months ago. I'm just happy to be here and I am ready to see what God has in store for my family!! There is a God and it's not me... He has a plan for my life. 

Colorado Trip: Mountain Madness

Where to begin...

It has been a little while since my last post.  It has been busy around here! We have had a vacation, a wedding, a birthday, family visiting from England, and lots of summer fun. Let me start with our vacation in early June.  

Ryan, Philip, and I traveled to Colorado to enjoy Ryan's mom's wedding. We rented an RV and made our way to Sylvan Lake. It was a beautiful area - mountains, nature, and of course the lake! Our first day there we enjoyed hiking, campfires, and spending time with family. Ryan even took Philip on a four-wheeler ride with his brothers who were on mini bikes.  There was a dirt road that went up the mountain side to a gorgeous view. By the end of the day, I was one of a few that hadn't made it up to see the view.  

The next day was the wedding. The lake was a beautiful backdrop for the ceremony on a beautiful day.  Ryan's mom couldn't have gotten better weather, even if she had hand picked it. Ryan officiated the intimate ceremony. There was not a dry eye around as vows were shared and the happy couple became husband and wife.  I was also able to be the photographer and was thrilled to lend my services. (Deanne: Your photo book is finished and heading your way soon!)

After a barbecue lunch, we were free to enjoy the area again like the day before. I was excited for the afternoon. The plan was to go on the four-wheeler to see the view with Ryan.  Then my five year old nephew was going to teach me how to fish. He had a hard time believing I had never tried, but he was willing to teach me the basics. 

Ryan's brothers were going to watch Philip. I changed out of my wedding outfit and I was ready to go! Ryan was going to ride a mini bike, while I was on the four wheeler. I got a quick tutorial - start up, brake, gas.  It was easy, I was all set! A quick selfie and then we were off. Just beside the campsite, there was a stop sign.  I stopped and the engine died. Ryan told me how to avoid that and drove off up the mountain road that led to the view. 

I followed behind, nervous, but feeling confident. I had only gone about two hundred feet before things started to go wrong. I was having trouble staying straight on the bumpy, curvy mountain road. I veered to the left and tried to correct by veering right.  I must have over corrected because that is when the front wheels left the road.  I was now driving off the road, heading down the mountain.  I screamed, but there was nothing I could do.  

I closed my eyes and thought it was my time to go. I
was falling down a mountain. Who survives something like that? I came off the four-wheeler and 
felt  myself do a couple head over feet tumbles before skidding to a stop on my back.  I didn't move and my eyes were still closed. Am I ok? Did I break any bones? I heard people at the base of the mountain shouting that a girl just drove off. Would they help me? What should I do? 

I heard foot steps and Ryan's voice.  He had heard my scream and was coming to find me. He was at my side asking me if I could move. Did I have any broken bones? I started trying to move. Things seemed ok. I couldn't believe what I had done, but I could move! My sister-in-law was there to help now too. They both helped me climb through the dirt back up to the road. 

A park ranger had arrived to interview me for an accident report.  I was sore and very dirty, but felt ok.  They recommended that I go to the doctor, but I was more embarrassed than anything. I had a few scrapes, but nothing major. The four wheeler definitely had more injuries than me. It had continued down the mountain until stopped by a barbed wire fence. The park ranger had me wave to my worried family, who had gathered down below, before having me sign that I was declining medical treatment.  

We made our way back down.  I needed to clean up and take a few minutes. I had a small scrape on my chin, a couple on each arm, and that was it! I could write plenty about how things could have gone worse.  The four wheeler could have hit me, I could have hit a tree, there could have been broken bones, or worse. One of the wedding guests was a nurse. She told me what I should watch out for and that I would probably wake up sore the next morning. Each day I was more sore and about a week later, I had some rib pain that wasn't fun.  

It was a crazy, embarrassing, scary event, but I survived relatively unharmed! I didn't get to see the view, but I was just happy to be alive... more time to enjoy the daily blessings in life with my family, friends, and these two loves!


(My new father-in-law took me in his truck to see the view before we left the campsite.")


Stay tuned for Colorado Trip: part two in the next couple of days.  
  

Choose Joy

As I continued to get better, I couldn't help to think "why". Why me? What had I done wrong? Could I have prevented all this? I found quickly that these thoughts couldn't do me any good. They could only lead me back to my anxiety and spiraling thoughts.  

Before I got pregnant, I defined myself by joy.  This joy stemmed from my faith. There have been times that I have felt a warmth inside me. Some people may disagree, but I felt like it was God within me. I have believed that God is in control of my life since I was fifteen years old. I was always glass half-full. During these hard times, my glass felt empty or smashed on the floor. I couldn't believe that God would lead me down this path for nothing.  What did He want? What should I do? 

I knew that I needed to use these trials to God's glory. When I feel like I can't, I need to refocus and realize that He can.  What was He trying to show me? What does He want me to do? Through Him I can help others who are struggling by showing them it is okay to speak up. Through Him I can educate people and provide resources. Through Him I can help others who have not struggled see that it is very common. Through Him I can help my family and friends understand what happened to me.  


Some people say that Joy stands for Jesus, others, yourself. I agree with this completely. I could have wallowed in self pity, but I had to focus on Jesus and others by choosing joy. If I put Jesus and others first then I will have joy. The joy I had become accustomed to would return. Every time that I have shared my story there has been joy. A joy from compassion, understanding, and honesty.  As I have spoken to people that have asked questions or needed help, I have felt joy.  Joy to tell them it will be okay and that there is help out there.  I could have used this kind of help when I was at my worst.  God has slowly returned the joy I used to feel back to me.  In fact recently, for the first time in a long while, I began to feel like myself again. I was back to glass half full and feeling the joy within me shining.    

What is next for me? How can I share Joy? How can I focus on Jesus and others? I will continue to speak out about mental health and Postpartum Depression.  This may include starting a support group, providing resources, and talking to people who are sent to me by friends and family.  I can also imagine one day working for an organization that offers support. Of course just because God is with me and I have joy does not mean I will never face struggles again.  They will come and my strength will come from Him.    

Ryan and I have also decided to help others by pursuing fostering. We have taken two classes so far and done a lot of paperwork. We will continue to work towards being licensed. It is hard to be reminded how great the need is in Bexar County. Children are being abused, neglected, and killed. I have shared joy with many children in my life. My students, Sunday school children, my foster daughter, nieces and nephews, and now Philip. We don't know what will happen when we are licensed, but we are going to find out. Hopefully there will be more children and adults with whom we can share His joy. We might foster, adopt, or have more biological children. I'm excited to see what the future holds! Until then I am enjoying my 11 month old who overflows with joy - constantly laughing, smiling, bouncing, and just yesterday started clapping.  

Love and Motherhood

Today I sit here and think of my foster daughter. She turned ten on Saturday. She was in my life for a year and I haven't seen her for almost six. That's the funny thing about love and motherhood, it doesn't have to be biological and it can happen in a short time. I will always think of her as my daughter.  She was a part of my everyday and my number one job was to take care of her. The foster agency asked me if I wanted to adopt her because her parents couldn't handle the responsibility for their own reasons. I hadn't thought about adoption, I wanted to, but it wouldn't come to be. The grandmother that didn't have time for her when she went into the system now wanted to adopt her.  She would be transitioning out of my home. About a month later she was gone. Her grandmother was not happy that her granddaughter had been in the system and called me mom.  As if it was my fault, she wanted nothing to do with me and I have not heard from them in more than five years. How is my foster daughter? Is she doing well? How could I love her and not the son I gave birth to? 

As I continued therapy, I continued to learn what things might have contributed to my fears and depression. I hadn't thought about it, but I had lost my foster daughter and miscarried my first pregnancy. Having a child, up to this point, had ended in tears and heartache. I was terrified that it would happen again. These things paired with the c-section and blood pressure complications could have caused these struggles.  There is no way to know for sure and I don't dwell on the "why". I might have ended up with Postpartum Depression even if everything was easy and I didn't have this history.  

Each time I had therapy I felt stronger. I was learning and I was growing.  Soon I was down to going once a week and then every other week. We continued to explore techniques that I could use at home.  My therapist suggested that I write letters to Philip about the things I was looking forward to.  I wrote about his first vacation, Halloween, Christmas, and visiting the pool.  I started to look forward to things instead of dreading them.  I don't know when it happened, but one day as I held Philip in my arms, I felt love.  It hit me like a flood. I looked at him and thought he was the best thing I had ever done.  He wasn't just the cute baby that I was caring for.  He was my baby! It took me longer than I thought it would, but it came! I love my son! Life is not hopeless! I am strong!

I am not saying life is perfect, because frankly whose is? I enjoy being at home with Philip and watching him grow and learn. We have traveled to many places this year and I have enjoyed every minute. Even with all my struggles, this has been one of the funnest years of my life.  We have been to Oklahoma City, Nebraska (twice), Colorado (twice), Chicago, and England! 


At this point, I feel better, but my day is still shaped by Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. It comes back to the pills. I am hard on myself and want to be done with them.  I also feel like others are judging me and my handful of pills in the morning and again at night. I stopped taking my anxiety medication for two weeks and started having problems at night again.  I hadn't tied myself to my bed for a while, but I couldn't quiet it. I needed the medication, I still couldn't do it alone.  I went back on the medication for a few more weeks and decided to try stepping down again.  I am now off my anxiety medication and my sleeping pill.  I'm sure it will be a while before I am off medication completely, but I am working on it!

Until next time...

Moving on... one day at a time

So I had everything I needed - a psychiatrist, therapist, and pills. I didn't feel better, but I was ready to take life day by day.  How long would it take for me to feel better?

Ryan's mom arrived a couple weeks after I got out of treatment.  She helped me with my process to feel normal again.  It sounds bad, but when she first arrived she took care of Philip. I was free to go to appointments and do things around the house. I felt relieved to have her taking care of him.  It was still too hard for me to handle.  I could cook and clean and distract myself from the truth... I was a horrible mother.  

In the beginning, I had therapy two times a week. I had never been to therapy before.  I had to sit there and tell a stranger all about my problems. I was lucky, the woman I had chosen due to my driving preferences was a great fit for me. I was comfortable talking to her and sharing the horrible thoughts I was having. It was hard to say some things out loud. Every session it got a little easier. It felt freeing to put everything out there.  I started to tell Ryan and his mom more and more too.  

We talked about my upcoming psychiatry appointment.  I was still tying myself to my bed at night.  The room crashed in on me daily.  I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen. Would this ever stop? Can I be a good mother? Will I love my son? This is where my sleeping pill was useful. I couldn't stay up all night drowning, I was knocked out in about thirty minutes. My therapist said that I might ask the psychiatrist about medication for anxiety. 

The day came for my first psychiatrist appointment. As I waited, I was again struck by how "normal" everybody looked.  There were children, men, and women.  All ages and races were represented in the chairs around the room.  Each one had their own struggles that they needed help to handle. Mental health does not look a certain way.  I don't look "broken" and neither did any of the other people. When it was my turn, I sat down with another person to tell them what was going on. She increased the dosage on one of my medications and added one for the anxiety.  

You shouldn't drink much alcohol while on any medication.  That was okay, I hadn't had any since before Philip was born.  The psychiatrist made a point to mention that with my new anxiety medication that I shouldn't drink at all.  It was six weeks after my c-section.  I was starting to get my body back and wasn't having pain very often.  I have never been a big drinker, but I was disappointed to hear this.  Ryan's mom was going to watch Philip while we went on our first date night since Philip's birth.  

As I progressed with medication, I continued to feel better. Each day I was trying to do more with Philip.  I would feed him his bottle, let him fall asleep on me, and just spend time holding him. It wasn't easy, but I needed to do it.  I was starting to feel less hopeless. I wanted to get better... I needed to get better.  Ryan's mom left and I continued to get better. I was taking care of Philip during the day, by myself, with no babysitters.    

I would calm myself with adult coloring books and thought stopping. When thought stopping, I would picture a stop sign and then think positive thoughts.  I was not "healed", but I was getting better. I felt stronger! I would take life day by day; I could handle one day at a time.    







  

Coming home

Before I start this post, I would like to say a huge thank you.  
I am thankful for the positive response that I have gotten for this blog. I am thankful for the support of family, friends, and readers.  I am especially thankful for Ryan and his support while I got better.  A lot of people have said that they had no idea, or to the extent, I was struggling. It was easier to say that I was ok.  I figured it wasn't a lie because I didn't say I was good, but I had definitely been better.  If you are struggling, it can get better!  Thank you for helping me on my journey!

Coming home...

I got the all clear to leave treatment.  I had received needed psychiatric treatment. The doctors kept saying that if you had a heart attack that you would seek treatment.  The things I had been going through were like a mental heart attack. Will we tell anyone I had been in treatment? Should I be ashamed? Will people think I am crazy? 

I felt ready, but scared at the same time.  I was armed with a safety plan, prescriptions for a month, and an appointment for half day outpatient treatment.  The real world was coming back fast. Is this all I needed? Was I "cured"? I had a handful of pills to take, but was it enough.  

Ryan was glad to have me home, but we had to figure out where to go from there. Trust needed to be built up again and I couldn't go from zero to a hundred.  The treatment center said to come back if needed, but I didn't want to leave my family again. Everybody is telling me that I look and seem better.  Were they right? Or was it just wishful thinking?

My parents and sister could help me adjust. One of them would watch Philip in the morning while I went to treatment and Ryan went to work. My dad came to pick me up from treatment at noon and then they would babysit me and Philip. I was back to supervised parenting, but half day this time. In the afternoons I was armed with a list of psychiatrists and therapists.  I would need both to continue getting better.  The only problem is that I was having trouble getting appointments. I found a therapist, but couldn't find a psychiatrist.  I called plenty - not accepting new patients, didn't take my insurance, or just didn't answer.  Would I find myself with no help again? What if my prescriptions run out? Will I have to go back to treatment? 


I was making it day to day, but I needed a lot of help. I was still having thoughts of hurting Philip and forcing myself to hold him more.  I was on a sleeping pill, so I was getting enough sleep.  This made me feel really guilty because Ryan was doing the night feedings. I was also still scared that I might act out one of these awful thoughts while I slept. I was fighting the sleeping pill.  The room was spinning and the thoughts were crushing me again.  I had to do something. Should I go back to treatment? I decided that I would feel better if I couldn't get up.  I needed something to keep me in bed, but what? I thought about hand cuffs, but I don't have any.  What do I have? Ribbon! I know it sounds crazy, but I would tie myself to my bed.  I knotted the ribbon to the bed post and made a loop around my foot.  I would have restricted movement while I slept, but that is what I wanted. I couldn't hurt anybody at night.  We were safe again!

I finished outpatient and would go back to full day "babysitting".  Ryan dropped us off at six o'clock in the morning and picked us up after work. Finally after many phone calls, I had scheduled appointments. I would be starting therapy the following week and had a psychiatrist appointment in a few weeks. Philip continued to grow, but this wasn't working.  Ryan's mom would be coming in two weeks to help us.  I would be able to stay at home, but will still be supervised.  I was starting to think about what we would do after she left.  I could pay my sister to be a live in nanny.  I could put Philip in daycare and substitute teach. Why can't I do this? Will I ever be the mother I dreamed I could be? 

During treatment, I heard the phrase fake it until you make it.  That is what I needed to do.  I would make sure Philip is well cared for and hopefully one day I would feel something.  I felt like a horrible mother.  People say that you don't know your capacity for love until you hold your child in your arms.  Why couldn't I feel it? What was I doing wrong?