32 Flavors of PPD and Then Some

With apologies to Ani DiFranco.

I started this post when it was sunny and warm out. It’s now pouring down rain and St. Pete and his buddies are playing Wii Bowling upstairs. Fitting for what I am going to talk about … depression.

This is not my first date with postpartum depression. I was first diagnosed after I had given birth to Emma. I was a young single mother living in a state where I had no family other than my sister; who brought me there with promises of a cool job and apartments with multiple pools. Emma’s biological father wanted nothing to do with her or me from the beginning of the pregnancy, and so I knew for 9 months that I was on my own.

Shortly after Emma’s birth I quit my job. I wasn’t making much at my “cool job” and when you’ve got a baby to take care of it doesn’t m atter how cool other people think your job is - it’s not going to cut it when you have to pay the daycare center. The cool job was with one of those international radio networks with a name that consists of the first three letters of the alphabet.  One of the perks of the cool job was 4 tickets to Disney World/Land every year at Christmastime. Not to mention the hundreds of cds I collected from the program directors.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I quit my job. Moved from Dallas back up to Minnesota where I had a safety net of sorts. I was treading water, barely. There was panic and the feeling that I was eternally messing Emma’s life up. It took me many months to get into a doctor to talk about what was going on. I needed to get my shit together not only for me but for Emma. At that stage it was more for Emma than for myself, so in a way that little kiddo saved me.

Sappy.

When Ethan was born and died I immediately went on anti-depressants. We knew it was a risk that I would experience PPD again but more than anything I needed those pills to keep me from burying myself next to my baby. The pain was still there, a pain I can’t describe to anyone but to say it constantly felt like there was an elephant standing on my chest and I couldn’t breathe. Even with anti-depressants I still spent the majority of a year in my bedroom, afraid to leave.

With Abby came … nothing. I knew what to look for and my OB/GYN kept asking me if I was feeling all right. I was elated and handling things very well. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. Not to say that there were rainbows bursting out of my ass, but things were good.

I thought I had dodged the bullet once again when the triplets were born. I spent two weeks in the hospital with them after they were born. I only left when James came down on the weekends and forced me to leave the hospital. My entire life focused on getting them well enough to get out of the hospital and I really didn’t pay much attention to myself.

Once we got home I knew I was in for it. It was now up to James and myself to take care of these three little beings all on our own. Although James is a huge help, I take care of all 5 of the children the majority of the time. People would ask me how I do it and I confessed that I really didn’t know. Soon enough I would see that I wasn’t coping as well as I would’ve hoped.

PDD can come in many forms. This time around was much different from the first time with Emma. I was suddenly a very angry person. I would shout at James for no reason. I would lose my temper with Emma and Abby for trivial things. I would never lose it with the babies, but every one else around me would feel my wrath.

Whenever we go out in public we are stopped dozens of times so people can see the babies. The majority of the people who stop us are older women while the men tend to stay far away and give James looks of pity. It amazes me how much people think they can get away with when it comes to questions. One woman had the balls to ask me how I got to be so lucky to have triplets when most people just get twins. They way she worded it made it sound as if I was not worthy of having three healthy babies. Others ask if triplets run in our family but most know we used fertility treatments. All of them bring up Jon and Kate plus 8.

I went to our family doctor and was promptly put on some medication to help the anxiety and anger issues. There was a small part of me worried that I might go off on one of those old ladies who stop us when we’re trying to get groceries. A bigger part of me wanted to keep my marriage together.

I’ve suffered through all of the side effects and seem to be coming out ok on the other side. I am still not where I’d like to be mentally and, on Monday, will ask my doctor to increase the doseage. I am hoping that this will take away even more of the feelings of being completely overwhelmed by everything.

Since I’ve been through it before I know it will pass. I know things will settle down and I know my mental state of mind will get a little less crazy. Come on, crazy runs in my family.

I am finally wrapping this up after watching the debate between Obama and McCain. There was loads of “pfft!”s and bad jokes about McCain’s age made between James and I. James made me proud tonight and came out as a Democrat to one of his friends. I have yet to hear if his friend admitted who he was voting for. I wonder how many people in the military end up voting for a Democrat. Where are those sorts of polls