Hi, I’m Amy Radmall. I’m 32, I’m married & I have a 2 year old, Charlie, and I am a post natal depression survivor.
I first got involved with the PANDAS foundation when I was on the tail end of my PND journey. Whilst on maternity leave, Jeremy Kyle was a staple part of my day followed by This Morning.
One day they were talking about pre and post natal illnesses, depression, psychosis, and talking about the PANDAS foundation, and what people could do to help. Recognising a lot of my symptoms in the TV interview, I had an overwhelming urge to help others going through this experience.
But lets go back to the start….
I had an amazing pregnancy, no sickness, no illness, couldn’t have gone better. So I planned the ‘perfect birth’, waterbirth, nice music, relaxing lights… so you can imagine my horror when, at 38 weeks pregnant, I was diagnosed with severe pre eclampsia. My blood pressure the night I was admitted to hospital was 220/190. If it hadn’t been picked up when it was, there could have been severe consequences for myself, and my baby.
Long story short, I was rushed in for an emergency C Section, not the relaxing birth I had hoped for. Pumped full of drugs, my only memory of the experience is feeling incredibly itchy as the spinal wore off.
Following a number of other issues post birth, my mood went further & further downwards, prompting emergency calls to the health visitor, doctor & family. I couldn’t trust myself around Charlie & didn’t feel any bond with the child that had grown inside me.
Going onto medication was to be my saviour. Still medicated now, same doseage, almost 2 years on. Still have down days, but not as regularly. The bond I now have with Charlie is great, he lights up my life (even when he is naughty…) and it’s a pleasure being with him.
The tagline for PANDAS is ‘its ok not to be ok’. It was when I started to research the charity that I started to talk about it. I hold awareness days on my facebook page, I’m now an ambassador co-ordinator for PANDAS, I interview the men & women that support us, the helpline volunteers and I’m also a speaker myself. Not a week goes by when I don’t get an email, text, or facebook message off someone who wants to talk, or who didn’t realise they were poorly.
I want to help raise awareness. One in four women are sufferers. The same for men. One in four. That’s how common it is. I want to make depression in any form as normal as fish & chips, as normal as a free bar at the conference, and as normal as eating chocolate at Easter. Its ok to have depression. Its ok not to be ok
www.pandasfoundation.org.uk
With support groups on facebook, helplines, local support & local speakers. Get involved! Could you help 1 in 4?
PS as a footnote, I’m now expecting my second child on Christmas Day. Presents don’t get any better than that !
Monthly Archives: July 2015
From Birth to Breakdown in A Matter of Days – by Gem Step
So this post has been 18 months in the making and I’ve realised it will never be quite right. How can I ever put into words what me and me family went through? How can I ever describe the sheer torture of mental illness combined with being a new Mummy? How can I ever be brave enough to write down those dark, insomnia fueled thoughts?
Long story short – I had a baby, went loopy, was admitted to a Mother & Baby Unit psychiatric ward, accidentally discharged myself, went loopier, was rescued and fixed in the community, learned to function, got better, became a pretty good Mummy actually.
Did all this happen for a reason? Absolutely. Was it worth it? Totally. Would I change what happened if I could (like if I had a porthole/tardis)? Surprisingly – no.
My pregnancy went well after those 10 weeks spanning the 1st and 2nd trimester where I felt sick unless I was eating. There were comedic moments where the seat of the loo had a wobbly hinge and would clonk me on the head while barfing – retch – ouch – retch.
From week 16 onwards I suppose I bloomed and my midwife appointments would be over in 5 minutes. We went to local antenatal classes and met 8 other couples with whom we would become firm friends.
MG decided she was quiet cosy in my tummy and so at 2 weeks overdue I was induced. Option 1 fell out and option 2 kicked things off. Gas and air was fun and I found myself even funnier than normal. My midwife was called Berlin and I renamed her Bingo. Midwife 2 had been on the induction ward and so I told everyone that me and her went way back. Midwife 2 – Sara, was beautiful and stuck to my birthplan as much as was possible. Her calm smiles throughout the interventions and lack of MG crying upon appearance kept me calm.
All was good, MG was here safe and well, I had no pain, we got moved up to the post labour ward. The next 24 hours were horrible to say the least. Little MG wouldn’t feed by breast or bottle. Mr B had to go home and I had no idea what to do with a brand new baby. A “feeding specialist” midwife came round every 2-3 hours to shove MG’s head onto my breasts to no avail. To me, MG didn’t look well and her eyes looked really sad. Eventually a new midwife listened to me and called a pediatrician. This lovely man became my hero. He took MG down to SCBU (neo natal) and ran tests including a lumbar-puncture to rule out meningitis.
MG had a high infection score and was cleared of the dreaded M word. She was fed through a tube and was given anti-biotics every 12 hours. I suppose I went into auto-pilot and having a room in SCBU (having been rudely booted off post-labour ward as I no longer had my baby with me) so we could stay with MG allowed us to get into a routine which included me sitting in a brown room hooked up to a breast pump. We felt likes frauds with our well-looking baby in SCBU among a lot of premmie babbas.
MG was feeding on formula while I still attempted to feed her myself and we took her home on day 7. Again, a certain amount of auto-pilot and receiving lots of post got me though the next week or so. Once Mr B went back to work and MG still wasn’t breast feeding as I basically had no milk, that’s when I began to unravel.
The following 2-4 weeks are pretty hazy for me and this is a possible saving grace. I developed total and utter insomnia. MG did sleep. I didn’t. I obsessed over the fact I couldn’t breastfeed and thought I was literally killing my baby by her not getting breast milk. I was so anxious that I couldn’t settle MG and she would cry for what felt like hours. The anxiety over took my body and mind. Stress coursed through my limbs and I felt I just had to run (which I did more than once with MG in her pram). It didn’t make me feel better.
I would pace the bedroom floor at night and moan, while Mr B did all MG’s care. During the day I would leave all the curtains drawn and count the minutes till Mr B came home.
I spent a lot of time on the phone to Mr B, my Mam, friends, GPs, the Samaritans, and eventually the local mental health crisis team. What saddens me about this time is that I called a PND charity (knowing full well I had PND) and was told they could only help me if I had a diagnosis. I had been so brave as to call them and they fobbed me off the phone. More sadness when the first GP I saw simply asked if I was being to hard on myself and told me to take away the questionnaire and bring it back completed in a week.
The next GP who I saw at MG’s 6 week check only quickly looked over my clean, content and well dressed baby and then spent a good half hour or so with me. She gave me drugs and a routine to help me cope with being a full time Mum.
Anti-depressants typically take weeks to kick in. My mental health plummeted before they could work and in crept suicidal thoughts of jumping off the road onto the A road below. Suicidal thoughts come from nowhere and infest your mind. For me there was no logic among these thoughts. I was in mental and physical torture which no matter what I did or who I spoke to things weren’t getting any better. Death truly seemed the only option. The point at which these torturous intrusive thoughts turned to MG, I literally shut down.
I couldn’t look at or hold MG and there was now no point in my existence. I called the crisis team and begged the man who visited to send me to hospital. He wouldn’t. I am grateful he decided that for me. Had I been in hospital without MG I’m not sure I would have ever recovered. I was visited by different crisis team pairs a few times a day, checking I was still breathing if not living.
I was given drugs which Mr B was told to hide. I stopped eating, drinking, showering, going to the toilet. I lay in bed. Still.
Then came my CPN. She was a firm but nice Irish woman my age. She had me assessed by a psychiatrist within days. The point at which he, my CPN and her trainee came back down our path 20 minutes after leaving I knew I was busted. I had lied about my dark thoughts and he had sussed me out. As much as I didn’t care about what happened to me or MG, I hadn’t dared tell him of my visions of how I could die and take MG with me. There. I said it.
They, and my awesome GP got the funding for me and MG to be admitted to Winchester MBU. Although a trek down the M3, I would be treated in this specialist psychiatric ward where Mums take their babies with them.
On arrival (late as JLS had a gig in town – random thing Mr B reminds me of) the child care practitioner took MG while I was settled in my on-suite room with cheese and crackers the nurse had kept back from dinner for me. I was admitted 2 days before Fathers Day and for ruining Mr B’s first Fathers Day I will never forgive myself. At 6 weeks old, MG was living on a psych ward while her Mummy was given a concoction of pills to help her sleep and calm her poorly brain. I hope MG understands when she is older that we spent her early days there because I rescued myself for her. We stuck together because there is a plan for us and we will change the world.
A Letter To The Ghost of PND – by Leigh Watters (PND Nerves)
I still feel you. You’re like the Elephant in the room. The black dog in the corner. A cloud hanging over me. Quite frankly a bad smell.
I gave you almost of 2 years of my life. You stole the early days of my eldest son’s life from me. You made me question my ability as a mother, made me push my husband away at what should have been one of the happiest times our lives. You pushed me to the limits of my sanity and had the potential to cost me my marriage and my baby.
We’d struggled you know, TTC for a number of years, had the tests, sought the help and finally after months of fighting for hospital referrals, weeks of tests (some of them invasive), and after what felt like forever we got our BFP! We were overjoyed! I wasn’t great at being pregnant. The sickness lasted much longer than I’d anticipated and I lost 2 stone in the first trimester. By the middle of the 2nd trimester I had developed SPD and come DD I was finding it difficult to walk.
Eventually after 40 weeks and 3 days I delivered a healthy, beautiful little boy and almost immediately there you were. It was like you were the Grim Reaper lurking in the corner of the delivery room just waiting to kill off our joy before we’d ever really had time to feel it. Granted it is well documented that I chose not to admit you were there until 6 months later, but nonetheless there you were.
Minute by minute, hour after hour, every day, week after long week. Sucking the life out of me. Making it impossible for me to love my boy, crushing the soul out of me, stopping me from taking any pleasure in anything. You did those things, not me. You turned me into a monster I never dreamed it was possible could exist.
But I beat you. It took medication and a lot of talking. Talking to family, friends, my work colleagues and a counsellor; but bit by bit I banished you. I drove you further and further back until one day I couldn’t feel you any more.
I found me again, I loved my boy, I loved my husband and we talked about the possibility of making my beautiful little boy a big brother. I was nervous. I still am. What if you came charging back into our lives and stole me away from another baby? It was a difficult decision. It took us months to weigh up the pros of having another baby to complete our family against the cons of you and the possibility of me not being able to beat you a second time.
You know what though? I have. I think I will always be a bit nervous about you lurking. I spent a few months of my youngest’s life worrying that every bad mood was a sign of you taking over. Every cross word an indication that I was slipping down the rabbit hole again. Then I realised that if I worried about it too much I could worry you back to life in a horror story like self-fulfilling prophecy.
So I refuse! I refuse to let you come any further into our lives. Lurk there in the corner if you like but the corner is as far as you’ll get. My happiness is not yours to take. My enjoyment of motherhood is not yours to spoil. My marriage is not yours to chip away at the foundation of.
It’s my life. You made me a ghost once but it won’t happen again. I don’t believe in ghost stories anymore.
Signed PND Nerves..
The Fear – by Rhiannon Adams (Poynton PANDAS)
fear fɪə/
noun: fear; plural noun: fears
1.an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.
synonyms: terror, fright, fearfulness, horror, alarm, panic, agitation, trepidation, dread, consternation, dismay, distress.
When I got poorly the first and the second time, the thing that drove my illness and fed my illness was fear. My fear would come in the evening and build up to a crescendo of distress by the time it was bed time. Bed time was the thing I dreaded the most. The next morning was my second biggest fear.
In both cases there wasn’t really any perceivable threat. There was no bear to fight off during the night and my house wasn’t under attack. It just felt scary. Well perhaps not scary but there was a definite overwhelming feeling of dread and foreboding.
The first time round I was poorly and stressed from work. This had led to a feeling of being caught on a hamster wheel where the only possible solution I could find at the time was to go faster. Surely my distress with the constant deadlines and demands of meeting multiple clients’ needs would be to multitask more? To do more. Doing more and going faster would get me to that end goal and the world would be a better place. Right? Wrong….
The second time I was poorly the symptoms were identical. The way I reacted to my symptoms was the same too. This time though the clients – a dynamic duo born on a hot sweaty day, were even more demanding than the last lot! These guys didn’t know the meaning of clocking off and played me like a fiddle! With each feed taking an hour plus and winding and burping another 20 mins, by the time I had put one down the clock was ticking. I had an hour and a half before twin 1 needed more milk and I hadn’t even started on twin 2 yet. The demands of a busy advertising agency had nothing on these. These clients were the toughest yet and their little cries had a hotline to my heart.
Fear: an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain or harm
This fear or THE FEAR as I now call it is remarkably clever. It sneaks in when you’re at your most vulnerable. For me it never escalated above agitation, insomnia and the odd panic attack. I’m well aware that for some dealing with anxiety, THE FEAR is terrifying. THE FEAR for some is constant, unwielding and very very frightening. Intrusive thoughts, psychosis, paranoia coupled with a foreceful desire for it to end. I know in some ways I got off lightly but it didn’t feel like that to me at the time.
THE FEAR unfortunately still lives on in me. It’s not always there but can tiptoe up to me and touch tackle me from time to time. It’s made a return for a couple of weeks again . It’s decided to take up residence in my mind for a short while. I know why it’s come back. It’s because I took my eye of the ball a bit. I forgot that in order to fight THE FEAR I needed to be fully armed and in cohoots with its arch-enemy Calmness and Confidence. Hey where did you guys go? Oh yes…. you ebbed away when I started doing too much again. I got cocky didn’t I and started to juggle too many balls again. Let me slap my wrists.
I need to ensure that I prioritise me as much as I can in a busy household where others’ needs seem far more pressing than my own. Cancel those unnecessary engagements, throw away that to-do list, baton down the hatches and let’s concentrate on me and my needs for a bit. It’s a matter of survival you see. THE FEAR according to a very clever counsellor can be combatted, in my case, by not going into battle with it. By sitting with it and acknowledging it and by being very very kind to myself. Wish me luck. See you on the other side.
……………
If you need help with dealing with anxiety. please contact:
Poynton PANDAS (pre and postnatal depression and support)
email: psppoynton@aol.co.uk
www.facebook.com/PoyntonPANDAS
Free drop-in group every Monday during term-time
St George’s Church Hall, Poynton
10.45-12.15
Imagine Getting Sick – Amy Dear
It’s been a super long time since my last post – life got in the way a bit, and we are moving 260-ish miles next week so prepare for even more sporadic posts! But here is one for you, about PANDAS Foundation. I guest-blogged for them a little while ago, but I had some thoughts to share so you’re going to have to suffer them. But here’s an adorable picture to get you through it.
Imagine that you’ve just had a baby.
You’ve suffered through pregnancy, through labour, and now they’re here – you’ve done it. You’re a parent.
Now imagine you get sick. You don’t know what it is, you don’t know what caused it. You’re worried about bothering a doctor, but this really hurts. You’re tired and miserable and sometimes the pain gets so bad you don’t want to be here any more. You hurt too much to leave the house, or hold your baby. You try and mention it to people, just in passing, and they tell you it’s nothing. That the pain will go away, or that everyone feels like that, or even that you’re overreacting.
Imagine reading up online about what might be wrong with you, and seeing words like ‘dangerous’, or ‘crazy’. Imagine worrying you will make your baby sick, or the people you love. Imagine crying every night because you hurt so badly and you’re too scared to ask for help.
This is the reality of post-natal depression. If it were a disease, then as a nation we would campaign for a cure. But because of the stigma of mental illness, it’s hidden. It’s a secret. And it needs to stop being that way.
PANDAS Foundation works to support everyone dealing with the effects of pre- and post-natal mental illness. It’s not just depression – it’s anxiety, OCD, trauma, PTSD. Everyone deserves help for their illness, and being pregnant, or a new mum, or a new father – that’s difficult enough without being ill as well.
It’s OK to ask for help. It’s OK not to be OK.
Is It Possible To Enjoy The “Good” Days When You Have Post Natal Depression? Why We Should Be Grabbing These Days By The Balls! – by Olivia Siegl
You have Post Natal Depression, you are going through hell and despite your chosen methods of treatment the light at the end of this bloody tunnel is nowhere to be seen. Then all of a sudden, you wake up and for reasons unbeknown to your exhausted self, the darkness and panic that have been your alarm call for the last several months is different. It’s still there but not as acute and isn’t draped in all its heart sinking finery.
You tentatively get out of bed and as you take each ritual step into the nursery you realise that your steps are a little lighter and the quick sand you feel yourself walking through most days is now more like a muddy puddle. Your head feels dare you say it “clearer” and the morning routine not as daunting.
With your levels of agitation decreased and the ability to smile without reminding yourself, you nervously announce to yourself that “today IS going to be a good day”.
Having a “good” day and by good I mean a better day compared to the majority of shit ones you have been surviving through of late, can be a double edged sword with your sense of relief for the respite only matched by the fear that it is a cruel trick and could be spitefully snatched away from you with the trigger of a negative emotion. This in itself can result in you only half enjoying the experience as whilst enjoying the first day in what feels like a lifetime you also spend it watching your back for you unwanted visitor to return.
One of the many things I have been forced to learn through my 18 month battle with the Mother f***** that is our unwanted house guest, is to try to re-educate my brain into relaxing into these days and actually let myself enjoy them (yes easier said than done with the bloody panic levels you can suffer during PND and the road runner of thoughts speeding like a lunatic through your overactive brain). Before all this PND shit I was actually a fun person to be around and annoyingly optimistic about things. Therefore, the irony of trying to “let” myself enjoy these days is not lost on me or should I imagine the millions of other fellow sufferers experiencing the same thing.
However, why the hell should we not enjoy these days? After all the heart breaking moments, frustration fuelled rows with our partner and the levels of hatred and unadulterated shame we have felt about ourselves we bloody deserve whatever feelings of joy we can get our hands on(no matter how small or overwhelming they may be). You DESERVE to feel happy, you DESERVE a break from the monotony of sadness, you DESERVE to acknowledge that your old self is still alive and kicking no matter how far buried under the rubble of PND it may be. You are STILL there and you will one day be making your full return to take down PND and take back your life.
Ladies, grab this good day by the balls and hold onto the little sucker like your lie-ins post baby depend on it. We don’t know what has brought this day about, we don’t know the magic formula that has made it arrive or if this good day will turn into a good few days, however it HAS arrived. It is proof that despite previous thoughts, the glimmer of light at the end of this bloody exhausting and downright unfair tunnel does exist. Go ahead and let yourself make the most of the day, say hello to your old self and reassure them that you will be reunited again soon.
Do you want to join the No Bullshit Mum Revolution fighting to make Post Natal Depression a discussion point not to be ashamed of? Want to discuss how you are feeling about being a mum, warts and all, NO JUDGEMENT? Come join the No Bullshit Mum Revolution and pop into The Confessional to chat to other likeminded and straight talking mums, follow us on Twitter @thebabybible and on the closed Facebook Group by sending your email address to Olivia@the-baby-bible.com All mums welcome!
Interview with Leigh Watters: author of When Dreams Become a Waking Nightmare: Living with PND after Infertility
Hi Leigh! From my volunteer work with you, it’s quite shocking to read your blog. To me you’re this strong, inspiring woman, it’s hard to imagine that you have ever struggled with anything, but your piece highlights something which makes many women feel so vulnerable so thank you so much for writing it.
In an ideal world, how do you wish your initial appointment with the GP regarding infertility had gone?
I would’ve appreciated having someone listen to our concerns and offer reassurance as well as an overview of the possible options/typical outcomes. We felt like we weren’t being taken seriously and that our personal feelings didn’t matter at all simply because we didn’t fit nicely into the little checklist of ages when infertility could strike.
Looking back, what makes you think you may have been suffering from AND (Ante-Natal Depression)?
From around the middle of my second trimester nothing made me happy. I felt detached, grumpy and like everything was too much trouble. I despised being pregnant because it wasn’t the beautiful, glowing experience that everyone told me it should/would be and I was frustrated with myself that I was “doing it wrong”. I was convinced that I had this contained internally, but I’ve been told by a few close friends since I started blogging that I was unbearable to be around. One of my best friends once told me that if I ever got pregnant again she was going to buy herself a crash helmet!!
I can’t imagine how you felt to have tried so hard to get pregnant and then suffer from PND, is there much support out there for people who have had fertility problems and postnatal depression?
I’m sure there are areas where the support is great, but I think that like a large facet of peri-natal mental illness support a postcode lottery applies. In our experience there is a lack of joined up thinking (i.e no inter-departmental working). We were offered counselling via Assisted Conception, but it wasn’t flagged to the community midwives or health visiting team that I would be a risk; despite there being evidence to suggest that families where infertility has been a concern are proportionally higher risk of developing subsequent mental health illness. So I was treated in the normal way until I had my breakdown at clinic.
You say that you’ve come to terms with having little control over your birthing process, do you think something could have been done at the time to improve your birthing experience?
I think I had a very traditional (old school) midwife in delivery who took control as I was officially labouring via medical intervention. Rather than discussing options I was given instructions. I felt disconnected from the whole experience and was afraid to challenge what was happening. I was belittled at a crucial point of delivery and made to feel as though I wasn’t coping as well as other women. I think a little more understanding/compassion surrounding me and my situation rather than “this is an induction” would’ve works wonders.
What impact do you think not being able to breastfeed had on you and your relationship with your son?
In the short-term it was massive. I felt like I had failed him. breastfeeding should be the most natural thing in the world but it’s hard work and I think that part gets glossed over at ante-natal appointments. He couldn’t latch, I couldn’t express and he was hungry. He could scream for hours on end and when I asked for help it took more than 24 hours to arrive by which time we’d started formula as we didn’t know what else to do. I was treated with scorn by the midwife who came because I’d “given up”. In the long term it has made no difference, but it has been a long road to having that level of acceptance.
Has your experience changed the way you are with friends and their new babies?
I think so. I tend to focus now on how mum is rather than the baby, looking out for those tell-tale signs that no-one recognised in me. I wouldn’t ever want to scare anyone, but I would find it difficult to forgive myself if someone I knew slipped through the cracks of the system and couldn’t access support if they needed it.
Why do you blog about PND?
When I was receiving talking therapy during my illness, I was encouraged to keep a mood journal so that during low points I could refer to hard evidence that I was capable of good days. The blog became an extension of that shortly after the birth of my second child as I was nervous about the possibility to developing PND again. (Hence being @pndnerves). Over time I realised that my talking about my experiences had the potential to give hope to others in a similar situation and it grew from there.
Lastly, what do you look forward to doing at the end of a rotten day?
TV on the couch in my pjs with a large block of chocolate.
Thanks so much Leigh for taking time out to talk to me and for sharing your story with us!
#ItsOKNotToBeOK
When Dreams Become a Waking Nightmare: Living with PND after Infertility – by Leigh Watters
The minutes ticked by like hours, one……………two……………..three. I turned the little white stick over in my hand and there it was; the tiny blue cross which signaled the end of our wait. Everything we’d ever wanted was coming our way at long last – only 9 little months to hang on and our dreams of becoming parents would finally be realised.
It hadn’t been easy. It had taken longer than we’d expected and we’d had to hurdle obstacles that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. The reality of infertility was drastically different to how I had imagined it might be, or perhaps that was because we hadn’t given much thought to the possibility.
My husband and I were young, active and healthy individuals. A baby was going to complete our dream. There was no reason why it wouldn’t “just happen”. Except that it didn’t just happen. The first weeks rapidly turned into months and then years. Every month my period appeared a little more of me gave up hope of it ever happening. He kept positive with those stereotypical “bloke” jokes about having an excuse for more practice and we masked how we were feeling for another 4 weeks.
Eventually, after around 18 months we decided that it would be a good idea to ask our GP for advice. This was where we met hurdle number one. Our GP didn’t feel that I was old enough to warrant further investigation. In fact his exact words were “you’re 27, we don’t worry until women are 35. So there’s plenty of time”. Not helpful in the slightest!!
I appreciate that guidelines exist and investigations of the nature we would require are expensive and so GPs must be sure that they are referring people responsibly. However, the blatant lack of empathy for our individual situation was hurtful and we were left feeling like we shouldn’t have asked. My husband is a few years older than me and we’d always hoped that we would have two children by the time he was 40 so that he felt young enough to tear around the park with them playing football. If we waited until I was 35 like the GP suggested just to begin investigations it was possible he would be 41 before we were even allowed to find out if the was a problem.
With this in mind, a couple of months later, we saw a different GP and explained how the first appointment had gone along with our long term hopes/plans, to give her a bigger picture view. This GP was very supportive and arranged for some initial blood and semen tests to be completed in order for her to make an informed decision regarding a referral.
A referral to our local Assisted Conception Unit soon followed and we were faced with a long road of questions, more tests (some of which were invasive) and then more questions. The romance of having a baby to complete your family is soon lost. You find yourselves at the mercy of a schedule of baby-dancing dictated by the results of a trans-vaginal examination. I’m sure anyone who’s ever had one will agree that it’s not all that easy to “get in the mood” after one of those!
The questions were also harder than we’d expected. Again I appreciate the necessity but the safeguarding checks which are in place to ensure that help is given to responsible adults are soul destroying:
“Have you or your spouse ever been charged with an offence relating to the care of children?”
“Has any child in your care ever been the subject of a care order?”
The list felt never ending and we began to feel like we would soon be told that they had decided we weren’t suitable candidates. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case and we accessed the necessary investigations. Eventually, we were diagnosed with unexplained infertility after the Consulting Gynaecologist determined that the Endometriosis which I was discovered to suffer from was not severe enough to explain the difficulties. In his experience, he has encountered much more severe cases where the parents had been able to conceive naturally.
At this point, as we began to look at treatment options, that the possibility of counselling was suggested. The ACU has a resident talking therapist and all patients are welcome to contact them. This information was passed to us with the qualifying statement – “but we usually find that it’s more appropriate for couples entering invasive treatment plans and you aren’t quite there yet”. This made us feel like the professionals didn’t think we needed counselling so we pushed on without it.
Looking back, I’m fairly certain that this decision started me on the road to developing my eventual Post-Natal Depression, as I never faced my demons or guilt about our infertility. Deep down I felt that it was my fault, as my husband’s tests were all clear and despite the CG’s assurances that it wasn’t anything to worry about, the fact that we knew I had Endometriosis was in my head confirmation of my suspicion that I was the one who “couldn’t have children”.
This may sound a little melodramatic to my now calm, rational mind. However, it was exactly, how I felt at the time.
In reality, we are a very lucky couple. We required only hormonal treatment to stimulate ovulation and 2 cycles of Clomid, plus that regimented baby-dancing routine enabled us to get that big blue cross I mentioned at the beginning, rather than some of the more invasive and debilitating treatments which some couples require.
This brings me back to the pregnancy. Hideous nausea until around week 25 resulted in my losing 2 stone in weight, overlapping with Pelvic Girdle Pain (SPD) from week 22 which made it difficult to walk great distances or for prolonged periods. My hair was thick and voluminous, but it’s fair to say that I did not exude that mythical “pregnant lady glow”. I’ve had work colleagues tell me since that I was miserable and difficult to work with from around week 25 and that they were all a bit relieved when my maternity leave started at week 30. This leads me to now believe that I quite likely was suffering with Ante-Natal Depression, but at the time I had no idea, as this was my first pregnancy and I had no idea that how I was feeling wasn’t normal.
At 40+1 my hind waters broke but labour didn’t progress well and so early in the morning of 40+3 I was induced. It was a long day, and I’ve subsequently come to terms with the fact that I had little control of my birthing process. I was confined to a bed whilst HCPs ticked boxes and checked monitors. I was informed that as a first-timer being induced that they have to offer me an Epidural but the MW recommends against it but with little or no explanation. We opted to try without the Epidural and by early afternoon I’d had pethidine and was using Gas & Air. Eventually, the MW noticed that I appeared to be pushing but I was so tired that I no idea really what was happening. The “carrot” offered to motivate the active stage was “if you can get this baby out by 5.30pm you can have tea when the trolley comes around” – it was 5.00pm!!
I ended up with one foot on the hip of my MW and the other on my husband’s as they helped me to deliver. My son was handed to my husband and the two of them were pushed into a corner whilst I was treated for a number of tears.
He was finally here!!
I should have been elated, but I was exhausted, drugged and in pain. 3 MWs poked and prodded at my breasts as they tried to encourage my boy to feed but with no success. They finally decided he was a bit sleepy and they’d try again in a little while. Through the night, I was scolded for not hearing my baby cry and a specialist lactation assistant sat with me for 3 hours trying to find a good feeding position. (We never found one).
Through it all I told myself that everything would be fine once I got home. I was very wrong. Things didn’t improve. My boy still couldn’t feed and I fell into despair that I was unable to nourish him. Once again I lay the blame on myself. My breasts couldn’t do what they were supposed to. I began over analyzing everything I did, whilst mostly not doing anything. I could go through the motions of the day, changing nappies, preparing feeds, even going for a walk. But I did it all in a thick black fog.
I was convinced that I was a terrible mother. With that came regret. I regretted having my son and I wished I hadn’t wasted the NHS’s time and money by having him. I was unable to love him or see what a beautiful baby he was. I should have been over the moon that I finally had my much wanted baby. I should have been grateful for the medical age that I lived in had enabled him to be born.
I hated every single second.
The problem with this was that we had been fairly open about our difficulties conceiving and so rhetorical questions like “you must be so happy?!” became even more loaded and that then adds to the guilt & resentment. I began to believe that the ACU screening questions should’ve winnowed me out as a suitable candidate for treatment, that there were much more deserving couples out there who would give anything to be in my position.
Everyone expected that I’d be ecstatic and relieved that my years of waiting were over, I didn’t want to be a Mum; I didn’t want the responsibility.
Of course none of these thoughts were true. I was suffering from Post-Natal Depression and the illness was convincing me of all these horrid things. It took me a long time to admit it or even realise it. I think I’d been depressed for so long that I’d forgotten what being me and enjoying life felt like. I was finally diagnosed when my son was 6 months old. Bearing in mind that with hindsight I now believe I had AND as well, I had quite likely been ill for a year before seeking help.
That’s a long time. It’s time I’ll never get back. I have no idea if my memories of my son’s early months are memories or things people have told me or pictures & videos that they’ve shown me.
I’ve read some revolting articles over time where people who don’t understand these conditions say things like “people with PND shouldn’t have children” or “if you didn’t want kids why did you have them?”. To those people I say, I DID want children. My eldest son’s birth should’ve been one of the happiest times of my life. We fought damned hard to get the help we needed to have him. Then just as my dream was becoming a reality, PND robbed me of the pleasure that we had earned and deserved.
I blog about my experience of living the PND and my recovery at www.pndnerves.wordpress.com or you can find me on Facebook and Twitter. I am also a proud peri-natal mental advocate, supporter of #pndhour and volunteer for PANDAS helping run their Twitter account (@pandas_uk)
“Questions for Richard” – by Donna Swift (PANDAS Volunteer)
I recently read an excellent blog from one of our volunteers. I was inspired to write some questions for my husband about my postnatal depression and recovery. I asked my husband to answer as honestly as possible and i haven’t changed a single word he has typed.
Describe postnatal depression to me in just 5 words.
Frightening insight in mental awareness.
Did you notice a change in me before my diagnosis ? Was I different with Millie?
Yes, you were short tempered with both children, & had what I’d say was an ignorance to your surroundings.
How did you feel when i was diagnosed?
Relieved I started my treatment of antidepressants and therapy but suffered a massive relapse 6 weeks later. In your words explain what i was like that day? Instantly I could see in your temperament that the anxiety was back, also anything I said made no difference to what thoughts you had running through your mind, I have learnt you need to hear the words of reassurance off someone in medical authority before you believe things would improve.
what was your biggest concern?
That you would not accept help.
Do you think i received enough professional support after my relapse? if not what could have been done better?
I think there was enough support. But and it’s a big But, there are too many mixed messages, I know everyone has a different aspect & outlook, but there needs to be more communication between professionals before speaking to the patient.
Do you think i received enough support from family? If not how could they have helped more?
No you & as a family we didn’t receive enough family support, & I think that would have played a big role in giving you a more balanced outlook & acceptance to what happens to a lot of women , but I also think that a lack of family support from the birth of Millie also added to the outcome of the depression.
What were the additional stresses put on you whilst i recovered?
I’d say None, more commitment yes,looking after the children more meant it made me appreciate being a father & Husband more, if it had not happened I would have walked out of the door to work everyday & not realized how fickle life is.
Did you ever just want to walk away?
No, Not in our situation as we had tried so hard to get to where we were. You were my rock and I remember just clinging to you.
What advice would you give to other men reading this struggling to deal with their partners Postnatal depression? or feeling lost, not knowing what to do?
Be there,but be firm, don’t give in to what you know is real, a lot said by yourself was an exaggeration of what you thought that myself & others thought of you, & also how you couldn’t cope, while In reality even with postnatal depression you managed with everyday ups & downs.
Did you ever think i would get better ?
I didn’t look that far in to it, reading in to postnatal depression everyone is different, if the help & support is there then everyone can see there is a future, which I came to realise was a reality you struggled with.
I still have bad days. How do you think i get through them? (apart from tablets and chocolate)
Knowing that there’s another Day around the corner,that will be different again, better or worse, but it’s another day for improvement & learning about yourself, & also that a smile or a cry off the little one that relies on you should make you proud.
Do you think anything positive has come out of our journey with postnatal illness? It’s hard to say it’s a positive when, without postnatal depression life just carries on , but I do think we both take everyday with a little more appreciation. is there anything else you want to add that you think may be helpful to people reading this?
Talk, talk & talk some more, to your partner,& to people that are in the profession of postnatal depression, don’t be afraid to speak the truth no matter how deep you may think it is there has been someone else there before & they have come out the other end by being honest & truthful, pent up thoughts are no good to anybody, so let someone know , anyone,
What Have I Done Wrong? – Caring for a partner suffering from depression: written from a male perspective
The first time I saw C go through a severe bout of depression, I couldn’t understand what had happened. I hadn’t been there when she had started suffering from postnatal depression – we met when her daughter was 18 months, and we hadn’t been going out for very long – so, although we’d talked about her experience & her recovery, I didn’t really know what to expect.
We were lying in bed talking, when (unknown to me) we stumbled across a topic that was a major trigger for her at the time.
I wouldn’t say that she got upset; it was more like the world had suddenly become too much for. She turned away from me, and that was that. Nothing I said would bring her out of it. She went back home the next day, and we barely spoke for the next two.
I felt awful. It was obvious that I’d said something to upset her, but I really couldn’t work out what had caused this dramatic change.
Since we’ve been together, it’s happened a number of times – this black cloud swooping in & enveloping her. Sometimes there’ll be a more obvious trigger. Sometimes, it almost seems to be a reaction to positivity – like the depression kicks back at her and says “no, you don’t deserve this happiness; have a bit of pain“. I can’t really tell you how she feels when it happens; but these are some of the things that still go through my head:
What have I done wrong?
I still remember that gut-wrenching feeling when C rolled away from me on that first occasion, her faced screwed up to shield her from me. That sinking “oh crap, I’ve screwed up big time here” moment. Trying to laugh it off, explain, apologise. If I’m honest, I thought that might have been the end of us. That I’d obviously offended her so badly that she couldn’t even look at me.
Over time, it’s become easier to spot the difference. Recently, C was staying at her parents for a couple of days, and was going through a low spell. She’d seemed to be more positive that day, so when she asked if I wanted to come down for the evening, I was honest: “I’d love to, but honestly, I’ve got to be in work early in the morning, & it would be a bit much to do a 2 hour commute from your parents”. I was expecting a sad face “but I miss you” kind of response. What I got was “Oh fuck off“. It was a bit of a shock, but in a way, it suddenly made it easier to see that it wasn’t C who sent the reply, it was the depression.
I suppose, in part, it took a while to understand that this is an illness. I mean – I knew, of course – she’d always been open about her illness, coping strategies etc, but when actually faced with it, it took time to fully get beyond the idea that these might be “normal” bad moods; that she was just really pissed off with me about something, that I’d done something wrong.
Why is she ignoring me?
For me, this has been the hardest bit to deal with. When C has a severe low, she seems to shut down. It’s like a self-preservation mechanism against the world. I’ve described it as being as though she’s had the soul sucked out of her – she’ll sit there staring at me, almost comatose.
At first, I would try to be helpful:
“Is there anything that I can get for you?”
“I don’t know”
“Do you want a cup of tea?”
“I don’t know”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t know”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“I don’t know”
So I’d sit quietly. Awkwardly. Maybe perched on the edge of the bed. Not knowing what to say.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Umm… What do you want me to talk about?”
“I don’t know”
And so it would continue.
When we do start talking, it’s like the depression is sitting on her shoulder, making her say things to push me away. “I don’t think you’re interested in me anymore”. “I think you just know the right thing to say. I don’t think you mean any of it”. That last one’s a cracker – there’s literally no way to argue against it. If I say the wrong thing, the depression would be all over it – “how could he say that? What a bastard!”. If I say the right thing, it’s saying to her “well, of course he would say that, wouldn’t he…”
Sometimes, the things she says can be pretty hurtful; I’ve had to tell myself not to take it personally, that it’s really not her who’s coming up with these things.
On later occasions, I’ve tried to ignore the depression. Carry on as though everything’s normal. C had said that this helped her to an extent, so that she was focusing less on the depressive thoughts, and could be distracted by everyday things. But it’s really hard trying to have a one sided conversation; especially when the recipient is looking at you as if to say “I literally couldn’t care less about what you’re saying right now. Just shut the hell up”. I know, of course, that she doesn’t mean it – it’s the depression that’s saying that. But it’s not exactly conducive to a free flowing chat…
That’s the thing about living with someone who has depression. If they had a broken leg, they could tell you exactly what assistance they need; they could be on the phone helping to make arrangements with family & friends.
With the depression, we can’t do that. Primarily because at that point, I don’t think C knows either. She doesn’t know whether she wants me to cuddle her or to leave her alone. She doesn’t know what she wants to eat. I don’t know if she will be able to get up in the morning to do deal with the school run. At her worst, she can’t seem to cope with having the conversation, with forming the words required in order to communicate her needs.
Who should I tell? Who can I tell?
It’s difficult to know where to turn. There is still a taboo about discussing mental illness – talking to someone else about it feels like a huge breach of confidence. Even people who I know are aware of C’s illness, like her mum, feel off limits. I can’t bring myself to phone someone & say “C’s really low at the moment; maybe it would be good if you could give her a call”¸ so I try to deal with it myself. But actually, that’s quite a burden. Because I can’t talk to C about it – well, not when it’s happening, at least. I don’t mean that to sound like “yeah, she’s feeling crap, but what about me?”, but just like with parenting, it’d be great to be able to phone someone sometimes and say “what should I do? How should I deal with this?”.
Again, with a broken leg, it’d be easy. There’d probably be a post on Facebook, accompanied by a picture of the offending leg; very soon offers of help would come flooding in. Not so with mental illness; it still feels like it needs to be kept hidden out of sight, mentioned awkwardly if at all.
That’s where PANDAS Dads has been a real lifeline. Being able to message in & talk to someone who understands the situation & the kind of thing that we’re going through is a real help. Also being able to ask one of the volunteers to contact C & check in with her is really good – knowing that even if she can’t talk to me about how she feels, she’s at least talking to someone who understands.
How can I fix it?
This is constantly on my mind when C is going through a depressive episode. I can see that she’s suffering, and I want to make it better. And, of course, I want it ideally to be a quick fix; something that I can do now that will flick the switch and make the depression go away. Not knowing what to do can be incredibly frustrating. Again, it’s taken some time to realise that in the same way that it’s not my fault that it’s happening, it’s also not within my power to fix it.
What I can do is try to be there; make sure that C knows that if she wants to talk about it, that she can; that if she doesn’t want to face doing something because of it, that she doesn’t need to. Lord knows I don’t always get it right; but I think I’m getting better at not getting it wrong…
I don’t know how long the depression will be with us, like an unwelcome houseguest. I can’t say that it’ll always be easy to deal with, that I won’t sometimes get frustrated with it. I know that sometimes C will say something hurtful, and I’ll forget that it’s the depression talking, and I’ll get pissed off with her about it. But I know that as long as we keep talking about it, and with the support of organisations like PANDAS, we will be able to get through it.
PANDAS Guest Blog 