Postpartum Depression and PTSD: Here I Thought I Was Fine…

Posted on
Categories Emotion, Health, Mental Health, Mommy Issues, NICUTags , , , , , 13 Comments

This post has been a long time coming, but I have to admit — I’ve been avoiding it like the plague. I started writing this post one year ago and I find that this is still a difficult subject for me to wrap my head around.

Postpartum Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - one mother's story.
In college, I read a story called The Yellow Wallpaper  by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. In the story, a woman is taken to a hideaway by her husband and imprisoned there after the birth of their child. During her stay, she slowly goes insane, hearing voices and seeing faces behind the yellow wallpaper. This story is about much more than a woman and a decorating decision gone awry. This is a story about postpartum depression and the fears and stigma surrounding it, much of which still exist today.

Going into my pregnancy, I feared PPD. I have a family history of mental illnesses, and I have some personal experiences to draw from, as well. I was monitored by the high-risk team that cared for me and Jane and Emma throughout my pregnancy, and they watched me like a hawk when I went into the hospital to deliver. I was given a checklist, visited by social workers, and deemed fit to leave with no threat of severe depression after 4 short days.

What they didn’t tell me then was that PPD can strike at any time in the first postpartum year, and, furthermore, that I was also at HIGH risk for post-traumatic stress disorder due to my premature twins’ six week stay in the NICU, something that I didn’t think about until a friend in a similar position posted about the condition on her Facebook page after we had taken our babes home from the hospital.

In my first year home with Jane and Emma, I felt the effects of these two afflictions full force. My husband brought my attention to some of my actions (my anger, specifically), and subsequently I’ve been forced to take a good hard look in the mirror, and to do some serious research. Here is what I have found and how I relate.

Emma

Postpartum Depression

Something that I didn’t think of was that there were multiple ways that PPD could manifest itself. Symptoms range from depression to anxiety and anger. I experienced mostly the anxiety and anger.

Our society definitely does NOT do enough PPD care before/after the babies are born. Even BabyCenter, a site that I’ve always frequented for all things baby-related, downplays postpartum depression. It seems to file it into this “postpartum care” category, and talks a lot about body image and how to balance your life and your sleep deprivation with caring for a new little one. Why the stigma? Why does postpartum care have only to do with “What workouts can I do now that the baby is here?” or “Feeling good about your postpartum body”?

The fact of the matter is, there is so much more to it. While all of that is good to consider, it’s just as important to look at and be very aware of the ugly side.

As a new mom, I never got to mourn my old life. Everything changed VERY suddenly, and, for me, as a mom of multiples, it changed 8 full weeks before it was SUPPOSED to. Attention switched from me to my babies (and rightfully so, but I wasn’t told that I would be a footnote to my children’s lives, and I was not prepared for that), and I (perhaps somewhat irrationally) felt like no one cared about ME or how I was doing.  There was also no longer a “me-and-Hershey”. We were both NEEDED by our babies, and our need for each other no longer mattered. Those early feelings of no longer mattering and the severe feeling of isolation were what most likely sent me into my initial depression.

I spent a lot of time feeling anxious about EVERYTHING. I broke out in hives from head to toe, and was having heart palpitations. I thought maybe I was just anxious about work (if you have been following this Chris Christie fiasco, and not that I’m a teacher in NJ, you understand), but I really couldn’t pinpoint the anxiety. I’ve always been a little bit high-strung, but never downright ANXIOUS.

On top of that, it seemed like every little thing set me off. If things didn’t go as I envisioned them, I would totally lose my marbles.

And I still, to this day, am always nervous about how people are caring for Jane and Emma. I selfishly feel as though no one will care for them as well or as fully as I do, and (while that may be true since I AM their Mama, after all) being with the girls 24/7 took a MAJOR toll on me that I was not prepared for.  I mean, how does one prepare for these things when they decide to start a family, especially when having multiples was never an idea in one’s mind!?!  I don’t know about you, but I was focused on the perfect bedding and the most beautiful and safest cribs, not how I would cope with my own feelings…

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

This is a term that many people relate with war veterans.  And while I would never trivialize the plight of our veterans, after having been through having two children stay in the neonatal intensive care unit at the hospital for 6 weeks, at the end I felt like I had been through a war.

The Mayo Clinic defines PTSD as “a mental health condition that’s triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it.”  Let me tell you something – experiencing having your children in the NICU, not knowing what tomorrow may bring, is both terrifying AND extremely traumatic.

Mayo further goes on to delineate possible symptoms, such as flashbacks, nightmares, severe anxiety, and “uncontrollable thoughts about the event.”  Check.  Check. Check. Double check.

I remember after I went home from the hospital, without my children who I had carried around inside of my body and worried about for 32 weeks, I used to go into the girls’ nursery and just sit in my glider and cry. I would cry for the absence of my babies.  Cry for the fact that I was home and they were not.  Cry for the unknown.

jane and emma NICU

I would never know what I was walking into when we went to visit the girls.  Once Hershey went back to work, I was making 2-3 trips A DAY to the hospital to the neonatal intensive care unit, most of the time on my own. And you cannot be blind to the other babies and parents in the NICU. I hurt for the other parents who were going through the same thing. I ached for those who were going through worse. I cried for the babies whose parents could not spend as much time visiting them as I did visiting Jane and Emma due to extenuating circumstances. I got to know the other babies. I said hello to them when I got to the hospital if their parents weren’t there, so that they would know that they were not alone.

And the day that I brought Emma home, I bawled leaving the hospital. I was so happy to be bringing home my baby girl, but leaving Jane there for 2 days was excruciating. She was in good hands, and I was grateful to have a couple of days to get settled and get into a routine with ONE baby before having TWO brand new babies at home, but I would have done anything – ANYTHING – to be bringing them both home together.

Once we got the girls home, they were on apnea monitors for about 4 months.  I’ll never forget the terrifying moments when those monitors went off and we would have to jump out of bed in the middle of the night to watch carefully to make sure that our babies would start breathing again.

tiny family pic

Imagine standing there, knowing that your child is not breathing or that her heart is not beating, just waiting for her to “self-correct” before having to try a revival technique.  If that’s not traumatic for a new parent, I don’t know what is.

And to this day, I still struggle with PTSD. Every night before I go to bed, I sneak into Jane and Emma’s rooms and wait to hear their little breaths. And if I don’t hear them, I shake them and make them move.  hat sounds ridiculous, but it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I spent so many months fretting over their survival. From the moment I went into labor, all I could think was They’re too little. They’re not ready.

And sometimes, I still feel that way. Every sniffle, every cough, every puke stain sends my mind into a downward spiral, and I am wondering when I will be able to look at the symptoms of their colds and be able to say, “Ok, we’ve seen this before, it’s no big deal.”

Three-fie

Wherever you are at in your postpartum life, you need to know that you are not alone. Those feelings that you are feeling are NORMAL, and we are all with you. And if you are like many MoMs, you may have given birth way before your babes were fully cooked, and you have faced the terrifying world of the NICU. And Those Feelings are also totally normal.  It’s ok to be sad.  It’s ok to be a little bit selfish once in a while.  What you are going through is a tremendous life-altering experience, but it’s worthwhile, and those babies of yours need you!  Acknowledge the feelings so that you can monitor them.  Be aware of the feelings so that you can put yourself in check when you need to.  Postpartum care is so much more than just being on a “roller coaster of hormones”.

Whatever you do, don’t ignore those feelings that you’re having because the sooner you accept them and address them, the sooner you can get back to being a ROCK STAR Mama.

And if you know someone who is about to have a child (or CHILDREN), or has recently had one, check in with them.  Remember to ask them how THEY are feeling, and if there is anything that you can get FOR THEM.  My husband’s aunt gave me a gift certificate to get my nails done for Christmas this year, and it was the best gift that I could have gotten, because it meant me, a book, and a quiet manicurist making me look beautiful after a year and a half of being puked on and not even being able to blow dry my hair in the morning…and that, to me, is PRICELESS.

How have you dealt with PPD?  PTSD? I would LOVE to hear from you!

This is my personal story and observation.  I am not saying that every person will experience the same aspects of each disorder (I hate calling them that!), but my hope is that this post will enlighten someone, or maybe help someone understand what they are going through.

Jessica is Mama of twin baby girls, Jane and Emma, Wife to Hershey, Teacher at her alma mater, poet, realist, kitty-lover, friend. She decided to blog because during her pregnancy, she could never find anything having to do with twins or multiples. She didn’t come across any advice for registries for multiples, or pregnancy, or life after delivery.  Jessica felt extremely alone, and spent most of her pregnancy in a funk. Today, she is the happiest she’s ever been. She continues to improve her craft (teaching) through various professional development outlets, and learns something new about being a mother every day. Jessica is in love with her girls, with being a mama, with her husband, and with life.  She is the one people go to when they want the truth. Jessica writes all about life with a husband and twins at Leading the Double Life.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

Maintaining the Silliness Quota

Posted on
Categories From the Mouths of Multiples, Going out, Medical, Parenting Twins, RelationshipsTags 2 Comments

Today, my daughter M and I went to her very own doctor, the one she doesn’t share with her sister. M’s twin sister, J, did not join us, instead staying at school with their 3rd grade class. This is quite the rare occurrence, since I usually try to schedule appointments outside school hours and therefore have both girls with me.

M was very silly at the appointment, needing more reminders than usual to focus on the doctors’ questions. I wondered what was going on, only to discover this was yet another sister thing.

M: I was super extra goofy for you at the doctor.
J: What?
M: You weren’t there, so I did your sillies for you.
J: WHAT!?
M: You weren’t there, so I had my own sillies and then I was extra silly to make up for you.
J: Yeah, I got that, and I repeat: “WHAT!?” That makes no sense.

At least she agrees with me.

M missed her sister. The appointment ran late enough that M risked missing lunch at school, so I took her to a restaurant for a meal. When I asked for a table for two, M let me know that it sounded wrong. She went through every combination of meal partners she could think of, pointing out that we always needed at least 3 seats.

By the time we were done eating, though, she was enjoying herself.

“I like this quality time with you, Mommy,” she confessed, “just the two of us.”

Now I need to find some Mommy-and-me outing time for J. She would be okay with M going on a playdate without her to make it work, “as long as it’s not with [one of their 3 best friends] S. We’re a trio.”

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

Minor Illness: Better Unconsolidated

Posted on
Categories Medical, Parenting, Parenting Twins, School-AgeLeave a comment

“Mommy! It’s weird enough staying home on a Monday school day, but staying home without M is even weirder!” my daughter J told me while munching on dry rice cereal this morning.

We didn’t have the weekend we’d hoped for. I went to the gym Saturday morning, as planned. We spent part of the morning cleaning the house, then stopped by a store for a birthday present before getting on the road to a friend’s birthday party. About a mile from the house, I heard a sound from the back seat. I looked in the rearview mirror, and poor little M was vomiting. When she could finally catch her breath, she began to cry. “I wanna go home. Mommy, take me home.”

I was stuck at a red light in a turn lane, helpless to comfort her. As soon as I could, I turned the car around and headed home. I talked to her the entire very long mile home and she just took turns throwing up and crying. I opened J’s window for her when she began to gag. Thankfully, her breakfast stayed down.

As we pulled into our driveway, I told J that I needed her to fend for herself while I tended to her sister. I unlocked the door and let J in, then returned to the car to lift my sobbing, retching, vomit-covered M straight into the bathtub. By this time she was apologizing for the mess in the car, which I told her not to worry about. I got the shower set to a comfortable temperature, helped take off M’s clothes, then left her in the warm water to throw the soiled clothing in the washing machine. I washed the puke out of her hair and helped her wash her skin, which had her feeling much better. She asked to wear her pajamas, pathetically telling me she really didn’t want to go out again that day.

While she dressed herself, I pulled the nasty car seat out of the car. As I was pulling the cover off, I heard a wail from the girls’ room. M had thrown up again, this time on the carpet. I comforted her, dressed her, and tucked her under covers on the couch with a big bowl in her lap in case she felt nauseated again. The car seat cover went in the washing machine too, and I started it on the sanitary cycle. Then I took my carpet cleaner to the spot on the carpet.

M wanted me to hold her, which I did for a while, feeling her grow steadily warmer in my arms as she took breaks to throw up. I took her temperature, which was a miserable 102°F. Fortunately, she was able to keep a dose of ibuprofen down. By this time, J insisted that she was bored. I gave her a number of ideas for activities, but she wanted me to play with her. When M felt better, I hosed off the car seat and cleaned the car upholstery and carpet and then played a few rounds of Funglish with the girls.

(The things we moms do… comfort babies, clean up vomit, provide security and medical care. I would have never guessed this would become second nature and feel completely manageable. This stuff is easy after twinfancy!)

The next morning, M had her appetite back and was ready for cereal. The fever didn’t return, and by evening she was her normal goofy dancing self… but not before her sister began to complain of a headache, completely lose her appetite, and run her own fever.

Fortunately, J never threw up, but I elected to keep her home from school today. Daycare rules have been drilled into me for all time. No kids in school until they’ve been fever-free for 24 hours.

M tried to convince me to let her stay home, but was more than happy to go to school when she realized she wouldn’t have to go to after-school care. And that brings me back to the beginning of this post.

“Mom,” J told me, pondering the clock, “In a few minutes, M will be starting science.” An hour later, I got an update. “Now, M will be writing in her journal.”

I found it intriguing that J didn’t seem particularly concerned with what she was missing or what the class was doing. Her focus was on M’s activities. One of those twin things, I suppose.

When illnesses are minor like this, it’s so much easier to have one child be sick at a time.

Sadia (rhymes with Nadia) has been coordinating How Do You Do It? since late 2012. She is the divorced mother of 7-year-old monozygotic twins, M and J. She lives with them and their 3 cats in the Austin, TX suburbs and works full time as a business analyst. She retired her personal blog, Double the Fun, but now also blogs at Adoption.com and Multicultural Mothering.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

Giveaway: Nutrition and Fitness Books

Posted on
Categories Book Review Theme Week, Health, Solid FoodsTags 3 Comments

Enter the hdydi.com Parenting Book Giveaway Feb 11-13 2014 for a chance to win 'One Bite at a Time', '42 Days to Fit' and 'Wholesome Baby Food Guide'

Welcome to Day 2 of parenting book review week! Today’s giveaway is a package of books for keeping mommy fit and baby well-fed! This one’s for all parents with wee ones, regardless of whether they’re multiples, so tell your friends with singletons too.

You can win ebooks One Bite at a Time, Revised: Nourishing Recipes for Cancer Survivors and Their Friends and 42 Days to Fit as well as a hard copy of The Wholesome Baby Food Guide: Over 150 Easy, Delicious, and Healthy Recipes from Purees to Solids.

Win this package of fitness and food books for moms at hdydi.com

Just leave us a comment on any post from this week to enter the giveaway!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Don’t forget to let your mommy friends know!

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

When Mommy Is Sick

Posted on
Categories How Do The Moms Do It, It Gets Different, Medical, Single ParentingTags Leave a comment

When Mommy Is Sick, from hdydi.com. Sadia reflects on how different it is to be a sick single parent with big kids than infants.Remember how my little M came home from her Christmas vacation feverish and pathetic? I caught her virus and became equally feverish and pathetic.

It started with a cough and quickly blossomed into what I suspect is this year’s flu. When I realized I might be contagious, I elected to work from home rather than bringing my germs into the office. That afternoon, my cough worsened and I was certain I was about to be very ill. I begged off work to stock up on easy foods and medication.

Let me tell you that it’s far easier to be a sick single mother of 7-year-olds than of infants.

When Mommy Is Sick with Infants

The last time I was this sick, my daughters were babies. I had a blog, but wasn’t blogging with any regularity and I certainly wasn’t recording how hard those first few months were. I have vague memories of those days of fever and pain.

On the worst day, my fever around 103°F, I remember thinking there was no way I could carry the babies and their car seats to the car to take them to daycare, so I kept them home with me. I was so weak that I remember crawling into the nursery and feeding my babies, one at a time, holding the bottles through the slats of the cribs as I lay on the floor. I changed their diapers through the slats, too. I was too weak to lift them out of their cribs. They stayed in there all day.

My husband was in Iraq and I was too proud/worried to ask the neighbours for help. The only close friends I had nearby had babies younger than mine–we had 5 little ones born on the block within a 12 month period–or were elderly. I wasn’t going to risk passing on what I had to them. Our families were thousands of miles away.

I was well enough to take the babies back to daycare the next day. One of the teachers didn’t live too far from me. She told me to call her if I were ever in the same situation again. She would be happy to bring the babies into school for me. It hadn’t occurred to me to reach out to my daycare community. I’ve never made that mistake again. I also make sure that my friends and my daughters’ friends’ parents know that I’ll be there for them in a crisis.

When Mommy Is Sick with 7-Year-Olds

When I was at the store last week, I focused on picking up food that my kids could prepare themselves: a fresh gallon of milk for cereal, hummus and pita chips, pre-sliced apples and baby cut carrots, sandwich fixings. For myself, I picked up generic multi-symptom flu meds, bananas, chamomile tea, and the few frozen meals available with sane quantities of salt.

That night, I took my acetaminophen-laced meds before driving out to get my girls from after school care. I explained to them that mommy was very sick and that I needed them to be very grown up. It turned out that M had eaten dinner at the Y, but J had skipped it. I showed them their self-service options and told the girls to clean up after themselves.

I didn’t feel like my temperature was falling even an hour later. I came out from my room and asked the girls to prepare for bed, telling them I didn’t feel good. J asked if she could take my temperature. I asked her to open the box of thermometer probe covers, applied one to our thermometer–we still use the two the NICU sent home with us 7.5 years ago–and popped it in my mouth.

102°F. Great.

M and J had changed into their pajamas and brushed their teeth. I reminded them to put their dirty clothes in the laundry and sent them off to bed after J brought me a wet washcloth to try to cool my neck and forehead. I kissed them on the top of their heads instead of nose and cheek as I usually do.

J asked me how to set the alarm clock because she was going to check on me every two hours. I told her that I appreciated the thought, but needed her to get plenty of rest to maximize her chances of staying healthy. She wasn’t pleased.

I posted my fever on Facebook and asked for advice. Several friends recommended taking ibuprofen, but I discovered that the only bottle I had had expired. I figured I’d try to push through.

I dozed feverishly until 9:00. On the hour, my two sweet girls scuffed into my room, each in a bathrobe and slippers and holding her nightlight. They wanted to see how I was. Since they were up anyway, I asked them to load up in the car so Mommy could pick up medicine. They were unable to help me at the 24-hour drive through at CVS Pharmacy, so we had to all go inside to pick up a bottle of ibuprofen.

I ordered pizza delivered a couple of times during the week I was most unwell. The girls’ Girl Scout leader took them to their scout meeting and their teacher dropped them home. I loaded and ran the dishwasher as my daughters made their way through plates and cups, and I disinfected around the house as best I could to keep my virus to myself. I also cleaned the cat litter and took out the trash.

Otherwise, though, my daughters have been pretty self-sufficient. I’ve reserved my energy to spend with my girls, talking to them about their days, talking about the things they find interesting, picking up after them, especially dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and dirty floors. They’ve helped out by making their own meals, putting away clean dishes and clothes, and taking care of their own basic physical needs. I’ve dropped them at school and picked them up, run their baths, and checked their homework.

Poor M felt terribly guilty for having passed on her virus to me, so she needed extra affection to help her understand that I had chosen to risk getting sick because I loved her … just as she was doing in caring for me. J tired of working to get along with her sister and needed me to intervene a few times.

There’s been a lot more TV at our house than I’d usually allow, but given that eating a meal wore me out so much that I slept for two blocks of 8 hours the following day, I feel like we’ve been doing really well.

Ever wonder if it gets easier? It does!

How do you manage care for your children when you’re sick?

Sadia (rhymes with Nadia) has been coordinating How Do You Do It? since late 2012. She is the divorced mother of 7-year-old monozygotic twins, M and J. She lives with them and their 3 cats in the Austin, TX suburbs and works full time as a business analyst. She retired her personal blog, Double the Fun, when the girls entered elementary school and also blogs at Adoption.com and Multicultural Mothering.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

Stuck to Mommy

Posted on
Categories Guilt, Medical, Older Children, Relationships, Single ParentingTags , , , 1 Comment

My daughters returned home to me in Texas on Friday after a glorious 3 weeks enjoying the holidays with extended family in Washington and Oregon. Poor M caught the virus her father and grandmother suffered before her and came home with a fever. Things were looking a little worrying for twin sister J, but she’s managed to avoid the coughing, runny nose, fever and exhaustion.

Both girls insisted that they absolutely had to have Mommy snuggles all night Friday. Mommy could not sleep in her own bed. With M still feverish, I didn’t protest and took advantage of the opportunity to monitor her throughout the night. I just need to give up on keeping the girls in their room. If I’m giving in on their request that I sleep with them, I might as well do it a non-lofted bigger-than-twin bed. We are getting seriously squished as these girls of mine grow!

Saturday came and went, all the while M refusing to leave my side. If I sat, she sat next to me, thigh to thigh, arm to ribs, head to breast. If I stood, she hooked her hand in my pants waist and came with me. J wanted to be in the same room as me but she, usually the snugglier of my pair, wanted a typical amount of physical contact: the occasional hug, the odd moment tracing the lines on my palms, asking me to brush her hair a couple of times.

I thought that M might be needy because she didn’t feel well, or just because she’d missed me. After she let me release her for the period of her bath time, it occurred to me that at 7, she might know why she was so acting so needy.

“What’s up, M? Why such a snuggle bug?”
“I didn’t get enough snuggles while I was gone.”
“Oh? You know, you can always ask for snuggles. Grammy and Grampy and Daddy and Auntie love you as much as I do.”
“I know. I had four grownups for snuggles, but I snuggle you every day and them, it was more like every other day. And then I got sick and didn’t want to share my germs.”

I imagined my 7-year-old trying to emulate her grandmother and father in self-imposed isolation, protecting those around her from her germs, sacrificing the comfort of hugs to behave like a grownup. I was proud of her and yet it made it that much harder to know that my little girl had been sick without me there to care for her. A sick little girl needs her Mommy or at the very least her custodial parent. However you categorize it, M needed me.

As she fell asleep that Saturday night, one arm under me and one arm over me, breathing in my face and occasionally coughing, I was glad to know that my mature little girl thought me immune to her germs, able to give her all those missing snuggles while she still felt poorly. Usually, she gives a sleepytime squeeze before seeking personal space.

Sunday, and Monday too, she remained glued to me. By Monday, she allowed her sister in my lap, but only as long as I kept a hand on her head and a leg where she could rest hers. I had made a halfhearted effort to find childcare for the day, since school wouldn’t open until Tuesday, but the YMCA has been inconsistent in their full day care, M begged to stay home, and I wasn’t convinced J wasn’t still incubating the virus. I elected to work from home. Thank goodness that I have that option!
Snuggle bunnies from hdydi.com
This photo was taken with my iPad resting on my stomach. M is the farther child, but her legs are hooked over mine. She insisted that I type one-handed, allowing her sister next to me only as long as I kept a hand on her head.
How do your children seek comfort when they don’t feel well? Do they seek out one parent over the other?
Sadia (rhymes with Nadia) has been coordinating How Do You Do It? since late 2012. She is the divorced mother of 7-year-old monozygotic twins, M and J. She lives with them and their 3 cats in the Austin, TX suburbs and works full time as a business analyst. She retired her personal blog, Double the Fun, when the girls entered elementary school and also blogs at Adoption.com and Multicultural Mothering.
Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

(We Will Never Be) Full-Term

Posted on
Categories Infants, Medical, NICU, Parenting, PrematurityTags , , 3 Comments

My boys are almost two, and I’m 32 weeks pregnant with our third son. Over the weekend, I spent some time in L&D. Everything is fine, but to say I had flashbacks to NICU is an understatement. In order to lighten the mood in my own mind, I re-wrote the lyrics to “Royals” (originally by Lourde). So without further ado, here is:

(We Will Never Be) Full-Term

I’ve got fine hair upon my flesh
I cut my teeth on breathing tubes and a blue Soothie
And I’m not proud of my address
In the NICU wing, no nursery envy

And every nurse is like:
De-sat
Jaundice
That was a bad brady
Art line
PICC line
Puttin’ in an NG

Kangaroo care, we’re being snuggled in our dreams

But everybody’s like:
PDA
Caffeine
Bathing in pink basins
Surgeons
Breast pump
Unplanned extubation

We don’t care, medical terms are your affair

And we’ll never be full-term (full-term)
It don’t run in our blood
Mom’s uterus just ain’t for us, now the machines all beep and buzz
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me preemie
And someday I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe
Let me live that reality

My twin and I aren’t gonna code
You watch our hearts on the machine when we’re sleeping
And everyone who knows us knows
That we’ll be home soon, give the hospital your money

But every nurse is like:
De-sat
Jaundice
That was a bad brady
Art line
PICC line
Puttin’ in an NG

Kangaroo care, we’re being snuggled in our dreams
But everybody’s like:
PDA
Caffeine
Bathing in pink basins
Surgeons
Breast pump
Unplanned extubation

We don’t care, medical terms are your affair

And we’ll never be full-term (full-term)
It don’t run in our blood
Mom’s uterus just ain’t for us, now the machines all beep and buzz
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me preemie
And someday I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe
Let me live that reality

ooh ooh oh ooh
We’re smaller than you ever dreamed
And I’m in love with clothes sized “P”

ooh ooh oh ooh
Life is great in Intensive Care
We’re your full-time love affair

And we’ll never be full-term (full-term)
It don’t run in our blood
Mom’s uterus just ain’t for us, now the machines all beep and buzz
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me preemie
And someday I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe
Let me live that reality.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

When Mommy Throws a Tantrum

Posted on
Categories Behavior, Emotion, Feeling Overwhelmed, Mental Health, ParentingTags , 18 Comments

Last night, I lost it.

After over two years of holding it together, I went off the deep end. I screamed at my kids. I don’t mean that I just raised my voice to get their attention. No. I screamed a throat-tearing hair-raising scream, letting out all the frustration of getting dumped for another woman, parenting alone, managing the house alone, our cats seemingly trying to kill each other, cat feces on my rugs, post-divorce drama, extended family drama, and kids who just don’t listen. I lay down on the floor and invited my daughters to kick me while they sobbed and begged me to stop being a monster. I marched into their room, threw everything on the floor that didn’t belong there into one of two 20-gallon totes until both were filled beyond the brim, and put both totes in the garage.

I lost it.

tantrum

I’m Sorry

I’m ashamed of myself. I would love to pretend that last night never happened, but I believe in parenting transparently and admitting my mistakes. I believe in letting you who come here to HDYDI to know how we really do it know that we mess up too, sometimes in epic fashion.

Both my daughters called me to task. J told me that I was supposed to be a role model to her and her sister. M told me that she didn’t want a monster mommy. M told me that she didn’t want me to sleep in her room… something I’ve been wanting for over a year, but not this way. J told me she wasn’t sure she would ever trust me again.

I apologized. I acknowledged all the things I had done wrong, all the things I should have done. I told the girls that while I wanted their forgiveness, I knew I hadn’t earned it and I certainly didn’t expect it. We cried together.

I told the girls that I think I understood a tiny part of how they felt, because they had gotten a glimpse of what my childhood had been like. I never wanted to them to have experienced that, and I would never let them see it again. I thanked whatever vestiges of self-control had kept me from letting my daughters see the depths of ugliness my own mother unleashed on me regularly when I was their age.

Where Did This Come From?

I’d noticed that I was starting to have depressive symptoms over the last couple of weeks–eating poorly or not at all, sleeping as long as the kids and letting the house slide even more than usual, having horrific nightmares, getting in conflict at work where usually I could swallow perceived incompetence–but I hadn’t done anything about it. I hadn’t forced myself into a routine of healthy sleep and nutrition. I hadn’t pulled out my sunlamp. I could have done things to prevent last night from happening and I didn’t.

Fixing It

So, starting today, I am taking action. I am going to take my antidepressants first thing in the morning, instead of whenever I happen to remember. I am going to use my sunlamp daily. I’m not going to let myself sleep in on weekends, no matter how tempting it is. Who knows, perhaps the science behind light treatment for seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is bunk, but if it’s the placebo effect that gets my mind in the right place, so be it. One would think that living in sunny Texas would be enough to combat SAD, but there’s something about the length of the fall and winter days or the quality of the light that puts me in a semi-hibernating state and messes with my mind.

The Kids’ Role

I reminded my daughters of my “brain disease” of depression. J told me that she’d noticed me acting strangely for a couple of weeks but didn’t want to hurt my feelings by bringing it up. I told her I needed her help, that she needed to let me know when I wasn’t myself so that I could take steps to fix it.

The girls also admitted to being able to do more around the house to help me. They’ve actually been enjoying having an open space in the center of their room, even as they rescue some toys from the bins in the garage. I have had to remind both kids to pick clothes up off the floor, but each item has required only one reminder, not dozens, and I haven’t had them whine at me about it.

School

We talked about where their kicking has been coming from, J’s kicking me having been the final straw last night. We’ve never accepted violence in the home, so I wondered out loud where in the world they’d learned to throw out a leg when frustrated. It turns out that boys at school have been kicking them and other kids. When I told the girls I’d like to speak to their principal about that, J asked me to hold off so she could talk to the school counselor about it herself.

What’s Next?

The children seem to have forgiven me. I’m not pretending that last night didn’t happen, but J and M don’t seem to want to talk about it any more. I suppose all I can do know is show them how I recover from seemingly unforgivable offenses, that deeds are the way to redeem oneself, that the non-monster mommy they’re accustomed to is who they can rely on. And I can confess my shortcomings to the world, manage my depression, and hold myself accountable.

Have you ever let your kids see your own ugliness? How do you recover?

When the Dust Settles

 

Sadia (rhymes with Nadia) has been coordinating How Do You Do It? since late 2012. She is the divorced mother of 7-year-old monozygotic twins, M and J. She lives with them and their 3 cats in the Austin, TX suburbs and works full time as a business analyst. She retired her personal blog, Double the Fun, when the girls entered elementary school and also blogs at Adoption.com and Multicultural Mothering.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

The Search for a New Pediatrician

Posted on
Categories Anger, Different Gender, Fraternal, Frustration, Guilt, Medical, Mommy Issues, Parenting, Parenting Twins5 Comments

A few weeks ago, I went through a semi-traumatic experience at my pediatrician’s office, one that prompted me to start searching for a new pediatrician. (Please read this letter first to get the full back story.)

I was actually very torn whether to even bring it up with the doctor, much less take the drastic step of actually switching to a different one. I don’t know why exactly, because I’m usually a very proactive and assertive person, especially when it comes to anything dealing with my kids.

I may have felt some guilt for having put my daughter in that situation in the first place. What if I had stayed with her the entire time instead of going back out to the lobby to check on my son? What if I had my husband meet me at the doctor’s earlier so he was there for the temp/weight checks? These thoughts went back and forth in my head, resulting in me sort of blaming myself for letting it happen. Yet, I couldn’t shake the upset feeling, and therefore I wrote the letter.

It was a source of anxiety for many weeks. Some fear of confrontation perhaps, or maybe just a fear of the unknown. What if I did switch doctors and it wasn’t any better at the new place, or even, it was worse?!? This is where HYDYI helped me. From the comments I got on my post, I garnered enough moral support to feel justified in what I was thinking. (Thank you!)

I rewrote the end of the letter, to strongly emphasize that I feel the conduct of his staff has become unacceptable. I demanded that I would be willing to work only with the single competent nurse/medical assistant on future visits. Then I mailed it and waited in anticipation of what would happen next.

Well, a few days later my doctor called and left me a voicemail. In it he thanked me for writing the letter and bringing the issues to his attention. He wanted to call and speak with me the next day. I was trepidatious because though the reply was prompt and the message was polite and sincere, there was no apology in his voicemail. I just had a bad feeling that a conversation with him would not turn out well.

It did not turn out well, indeed. He called at lunchtime the next day, and the conversation began nicely… but I was getting the vibe that he didn’t even have a clue who I was until almost the end of the conversation when he remembered that I was the parent with the side by side double stroller that didn’t fit in his exam room doors. He explained that his twin patients usually ride in tandem strollers, and they’re accompanied by many relatives, which I felt was his way of faulting me for the horrible visit that I had. I was getting more and more upset as the conversation continued, and he was having some trouble keeping his cool as well it seemed.

But the last straw was when he absolutely refused to ever see my twins in a joint appointment. For the first time I’ve ever heard this in the almost-year of my twins’ lives, he explained that his policy is that separate patients have separate appointments. He will not see them back to back, nor can shots be given to one after the other. Appointments are made together, but in actuality, they’re not at the same time. His rationale is that he never wants to make a mistake with a twin and give the wrong vaccinations, so wants to take his time as well as give his staff time to make sure no mistakes take place.

I could kind of understand if the patients were identical and very difficult to tell apart, but my twins are not, and his policy really applies to all sibling appointments, which makes absolutely no sense to me. Plus, really, what parent would let one child get a double dose of vaccines while the other got none? And couldn’t you easily tell which baby got shots by which one is crying hysterically and has little band-aids on the legs already anyway?

So that was it. His insinuation that I should bring a cadre of people to my kids’ appointments to help out, and that I need to buy a new stroller to accommodate his facilities, brought me to the conclusion that I never want to see him or his staff again.

On Veterans’ Day when my preschooler and I had the day off, I made an appointment with a new pediatricians’ office to meet their patient liaison. I knew the second I walked into the office that the vibe was different there. We liked it so much that I changed them to my provider that very same day. Fingers crossed that our first actual doctor’s visit will be everything I’m expecting it to be.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone

The Straight Tuck Talk

Posted on
Categories Emotion, Health, Medical, Mommy Issues, Parenting, Perspective, PregnancyTags , , , , , , 6 Comments

Worth it 

Almost 7 years ago I gave birth to two beautiful, identical twin boys. It was not an easy pregnancy. I had gotten so big, so fast, that I developed horrible sciatic pain that lasted almost 8 months. My cute little chunkers continued to grow at such a rapid pace that at around 7 months they cracked apart the front of my rib cage when I sneezed…like a wishbone. If that wasn’t enough, the docs threw me on bed-rest for the last 6 weeks, much of it in the hospital. Of course, because the boys were growing so hearty and healthy,I continued to tell myself (and many people reminded me) that all the pain and suffering was worth it.

At 36 weeks they took me off bed-rest and told me to walk around. Unfortunately, because the twins were putting so much weight on my pelvis floor, it was almost impossible to move my legs without someone giving me a slight nudge from behind. I’m not kidding when I say that people would literally point and shout obscenities my direction when I walked by. (Like I couldn’t hear them!) The last measurement of my waistline before my delivery was 65 inches…the height of an adult person.

This picture was taken the night before the twins were born.

When they were born they were both healthy and almost 6 lbs each. It was truly the proudest achievement of my entire life. Immediately, the boys took to breastfeeding like champs; I quickly lost all my pregnancy weight, and then some. However, what they left me were two lifetime badges of honor – one called Twin Skin, and the other Diastasis Recti.

The Truth Set Me Free 

TWIN SKIN is the term commonly used for the (twin) postpartum skin that has been stretched passed its ability to re-conform to its original, pre-stretched elasticity. It has lost all its collagen, resulting in saggy, wrinkly, loose-feeling skin usually surrounding the belly button. Think of a balloon. Now blow up that balloon as big as you can without popping it. Let it all out quickly and take a look at what you’ve got. That’s the general idea of what I have been left with for the last 7 years. What’s worse, the more weight I lost the more skin I gained! Often it was so uncomfortable, that when I sat down, folds of skin were literally in my lap.

DIASTASIS RECTI is a vertical separation between the two abdominal muscles that cover the front surface of the belly. Think again of a balloon, but this time it’s one of those long children’s party balloons. Now imagine it is blown up, nestled between the bottom of your breastbone and your belly button. For many, the more you try to “work it” off in the gym, additional damage is done; strain on the muscle causes the size of the “balloon” to increase as well. And yes, I even tried following the Tupler Technique to a “t”, but found it to be useless. After 2-3 years of trying everything, I finally had to admit what several PT’s had been telling me all along: there is no non-surgical correction for muscle laxity this severe.

Nope, not pregnant.  This was me a few weeks ago.

I know that this is hard to hear, especially if you’re struggling with this condition. People get focused on their boot camp routine, and are hopeful that reaching their fitness goals will alleviate the problem. For some, the issue may not be as severe as my own. But for me, in order to feel truly good about myself, I needed to accept that surgery was my only option. And to be honest, this acceptance set me free. For several years, I felt strong,healthy, fit and able to keep up with my kids, as well as reach my personal fitness goals. I wasn’t fixated on changing anything about my stomach. Basically, I just ignored it’s existence; deep down I knew that one day it would be gone.

The Double Standard

Over the years, I tried to open up to other moms about how disconnected I felt from my battle scars. I’ve talked about how, over time, they have left me feeling less feminine, less like myself, and sometimes even less human (trust me, s**t got weird). Unfortunately, some folks felt the need to compare my feelings of distress I have about my twin pregnancy, and the travesty it has made of my body, to the amount of love I have for my children.

“But, you wouldn’t trade anything in the world for those kids, right?”

“The more you love your kids, every day, the more you will accept this as just a part of being a mom.”

F**k that. I’m sick of feeling ashamed of wanting to look human again. Or feel that, for some reason, I need to be a martyr for my children and wear some sort of “badge of honor” in the shape of flabby skin on an inflated tummy. Of course I accept that this is one prospect that can happen to some moms. That said, I don’t have to love it, and I certainly don’t have to feel like a bad mom for wanting to change it. Sure, my kids are worth every worry-line and sleepless night, every ruined blouse and scratched coffee table, every ache and pain and scream of every second of birthing my darlings. But I AM WORTH SOMETHING as well.

So screw the paradoxical notion that makes moms believe they have to trade being a proud mama for wanting to reconnect with their body. Once I started to listen to my heart without criticism, without judgement, and without fear, I allowed myself to be hopeful of the possibility of change. Thinking about the prospect of ‘wiping the slate clean’ gave me hope, and made me feel happy.

Also, this may blow your mind, but I’m not someone with low self-esteem. I feel good about who I am and even what I look like. I feel even better about what my body has been able to accomplish! I celebrate it! But in all honestly, I also felt I owed it the rehab/repair it deserved, from all the hardship it’s endured.

7 Years Later.

So what was I waiting for?? When the twins were 5, heading off to kindergarten, my husband and I finally decided to have another baby. The pregnancy had minimal complications…wretched back pain, an over-due delivery… but WAY easier than the twins. It did, however, make the diastasis recti worse. The twin skin? Oh, I was tucking it into my tube socks by then! (A slight exaggeration of course, but check out the size of me with only ONE baby in there!)

my singleton pregnancy, after twins

With our family complete, and once I was done breastfeeding my little dude around 14 months, it was definitely time to do something about this mess.

The first step, finding the right doc, was a piece of cake. My neighbor had experienced the same procedure earlier in the year and she loved her surgeon. At my first consult, I was also pleasantly surprised. I was expecting a car-salesman type white man, with slicked-back hair and big, super bright teeth. Instead, I was greeted by a tall, middle-aged woman with a gentle smile and very nurturing demeanor. She answered all my questions thoroughly (I had a list of THIRTY TWO), and I soon felt confident that I had easily found the best plastic surgeon in town. I was so excited! Then, two days later, her gal sent me my estimated total cost. WOWZA! Are you sure I can’t just do more sit ups??

So let me again remind you that this is only MY STORY. Abdominoplasty might not be for everyone, and I will be the first to admit that its f’n expensive. No, your insurance company won’t pay for it. Trust me, I tried everything. We wrung our hands for quite some time trying to figure out how to obtain the loans possible to pay for the procedure. In the end, I am so happy that we did. Even with my most recent bouts of recovery-induced pain, I have no buyer’s remorse.

I Did It! 

This was major surgery, and of course when the time came, I was terrified. I listened to meditations every night leading up to the big day. I tried to stay off the internet, where I was bound to find endless stories of botched jobs and regret. My husband continued to remind me of my courage and the strength in my family’s support of me. I continued to remind myself that I was finally at the end of a long journey that began 7 years ago.

I am now on day 5 of recovery from a 2-part procedure that fixed both problems: abdominal plication (the muscle repair) and abnominoplasty (the tummy tuck). Seeing as I’m not a doctor, and chances are neither are you, we’ll keep the explanation short and simple. 1) She cut my abdomen open, from hip to hip. 2) Pulled and stitched my muscles back together vertically, down the middle of my belly. 3) Cut off all the unsightly loose skin. 4) Pulled the skin tight. 5) Lastly, stitched me back up, from hip to hip.

STILL Worth It? 

So, while I’m currently in the “thick of” recovery, now might be a good time to ask… Would I do it again? Absolutely. That said, it’s not for the faint of heart. It is taxing on your wallet, your body, and also your relationships. Over the next several weeks I will be more dependent on others that I am usually comfortable with (as is the case for most mothers, I’m sure).

Recovery is difficult. These past 5 days have not been easy, but every day is 100% better than the one before. While my husband holds down the fort with all three boys at home, I’ve had the luxury of camping out on my mother’s recliner … a poor-(wo)man’s medi-spa if you will. I’ve been told I’ll be on pain meds for at least 2 weeks, and possibly up walking around slowly in the next day or two. The real kicker is the amount of time I will need to resist picking up anything heavier than 10 lbs… 8-10 WEEKS. That means my needy, fussy toddler and I will have to come up with an arrangement that works for the both of us. But I’m confident we’ll get through it.

I knew I wasn’t alone (check out the comments on this photo for example) yet I still think many women feel that they are. Because of this, I thought it was best to go public with my experience and possibly help another mama gain some perspective and a bit of hope. Whatever you decide to do with your torn up tummy, don’t forget to love YOU. Allow yourself the grace to feel good about whatever decisions you make that will ultimately help you become your best self.

My brood.  Worth it.

Share this...Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Pin on PinterestShare on StumbleUponShare on TumblrShare on RedditDigg thisShare on LinkedInEmail this to someone