I'm Doing It!!!!

Since my last post, I've managed to not do any birthday party planning. It's amazing how far I've come on this PTSD journey. I can now right about what my problem / trigger is, and I can work out a plan to cope with it. I never thought things could get this good.

I'm doing it AGAIN!

Three years ago, give or take a couple of days, I reached the halfway point in my pregnancy. At that time, I went in for the "big" ultrasound. That test kicked off the complications I would experience through the remainder of my pregnancy.

Since then, as soon as Christmas is over, I start obsessing about my daughter's birthday party. What should the theme be? Where should it be held? Who should we invite? What kind of cake? What kind of gift? The baloons, tableware, and gift bags are scrutinzed and accepted or rejected.

It didn't click the other day when I searched for Dora the Explorer party invitations for over an hour. It didn't click when I started investigating venues. However, today my sister-in-law posted on facebook about her baby's "big" ultrasound. The light bulb went off, and I realized I'm trying to once again take back control over my pregnancy. Since my pregnancy is over, the next best thing is the birthday party.

I'm going to try to control it a little bit better this year than last year. I'm going to try not to get too caught up in the details.

Here we go again, but I see improvement

I was triggered yesterday. I have to admit that I was struggling a bit before I set foot in the door. Once I left work, and started to drive out there, I found myself having some intrusive thoughts about running into my former OB. My concern with every new doctor is which section of the clinic they work out of, I'm terrified that I may bump into my former doctor on my way to an appointment with a new doctor. Anyhow, I saw the only doctor at my clinic that does the essure procedure. (Thank God, it was a woman.) We were discussing my candidacy for the procedure, and she went back through my hospital notes in great detail. That was a sure-fire way to make me feel like a freak of nature. Then suggested having another child by c-section - since no one would blame me for making that decision after my difficult first delivery. When I turned that suggestion down, she suggested I bring my ipod along to "relax' me during the actual procedure. She had no way of knowing that my husband and nurses used my ipod as a distraction for me in the first couple of hours out of surgery, so I wouldn't ask a lot of questions about what had happened. (I had a brief flashback in the appointment over this one.) And, followed all of that up with a quick exam to analyze my anatomy for the procedure.

By the time I left, I was really struggling. I was shaking, edgy, anxious, and having intrusive thoughts. I was planning to take the rest of the afternoon off, but I made the decision to go back to work instead. Within a half hour of getting back to work, the worst of the intrusive thoughts had gone away, and the shaking had subsided. I was still a bit edgy, and anxious, but those symptoms take me longer to deal with than the others.

Overall I was better in a couple of hours because I've learned to read my body and symptoms. I've learned how to deal with them - acknowledging them, and switching them up. And, finally I've learned to cut myself a little slack when it happens. I still find an occasional new trigger, but the disease itself is becoming manageable in a way I never believed that it could be managed.

By the way, I also managed to advocate for myself during this whole encounter. I was upfront with her about my PTSD diagnosis, and I made her aware of my need for a great deal of communication to cope with medical procedures. I also made her aware that my daughter's birth caused the PTSD, so she was really trying to be sensitive of my needs. She didn't quite make it, but she definitely tried.

Giving Birth Online

Dear Radio Station Host-

I know that it's "news" that someone in our community chose to broadcast their child's birth live on the internet. I can understand choosing to play the end of this event on the radio once to encourage conversation. However, I do not understand choosing to replay it over, and over, and over again. Just because you found the experience of giving birth to be the best moment of your life doesn't mean that every other mother or father feels the same way about their children's birth.

The sound of a newborn's cry can be amazing, but it can also be terrifying when it doesn't happen. Just stab the knife into every mom or dad whose baby was rushed to the NICU by replaying those sounds over and over again. What about the mom who gives birth to a stillborn child. That's a knife in the heart to those moms as well because they didn't and will never hear the sound of that baby crying in those moments. What about moms who have complications after the baby is born. The sounds of a baby's cry can shove them back into the delivery room where people are flooding the room trying to save mom's life.

I know society chooses to portray giving birth as joyful, fulfilling, amazing and miraculous, but that isn't every woman's experience. I work as a moderator on a forum for moms who are struggling with birth trauma. They've had experiences that leave them with mental health issues like PPD, PTSD, and other postpartum mood disorders. Everyday with their new child is a challenge. Listening to your broadcast replaying those moments can cause a mom with PTSD to have nightmares, flashbacks, and other anxiety issues. I know because I suffered from them yesterday and last night.

Women who don't have the great birth experience often feel isolated. They're not allowed to talk about their child's birth because society doesn't accept these experiences as valid. When a woman tried to talk about it, she gets shut down. She's told not to share her experiences with other women who are pregnant. Trust me, talking about hemorrhaging at a baby shower will get a woman verbally shot down in less than 30 seconds. The last thing they need are more reminders that "they did something wrong" or "they failed".

Please consider that not everyone experiences things the same way before you decide to replay a soundtrack of a very emotional experience over the air.

Concerned Listener

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put Humpty together again.

I caught the last 20 minutes of Trauma last night. One character told the other that he needed to go get help. The other character responded, "what if once I let it all out I can't get it all put back in?"

That's the way I feel now about my PTSD. In the early days, I talked about my trauma. It gushed out of me on a daily basis. It was like I had to find a place for it to go that wasn't inside me, so I talked, and talked, and talked some more. I had friends tell me to let it go, and still I talked. I had people tell me it didn't matter what had happened to me, and still I talked. I thought that by talking, I could get it all out.

Now, I know that there's more to it than that. Talking about it was like opening the vent on a pressure cooker. It allowed me to open the appliance safely. However, now I worry that I might let something out that I don't want to have to put back inside me.

PTSD became the filter that my thoughts were processed through. PTSD became the glasses that I saw the world through. PTSD became my dirty little secret. It became my binky.

So, now I have to find away to allow myself to break enough that I can re-assemble myself into the person I want to be. I guess I'm ready to take that fall.

Facing Forward instead of Looking Back

My daughter was in her rear-facing carseat for a long time. Most kids turn around at a year, but she was so small that she didn't hit the minimum weight requirement for an additional 7 months after that milestone. We looked forward to the day that she'd be facing forward, that she could see out the car window, and that we could hand her things from the front seat. The day she turned around was a celebratory day! She was finally a big girl.

PTSD is the same way. You have to find ways to look forward instead of backward. We have to fight to live in the present, and not the past. It's hard to accomplish this, and once in a while we all fall off the wagon, but you have to get up and try again.

The month of September was hard, very, very, very, very hard. I was finding myself starting to slide back down that slippery slope of looking backwards. So, I've started trying to re-focus myself on the present and the future. I've made plans to take my daughter to the pumpkin patch this weekend. I'm trying to make plans for Halloween. I'm looking at November, and trying to see what I can line up, and I've made plans for a weekend getaway just before Christmas.

The past is gone. I cannot re-live it. I cannot change it. I must find a way to move forward into my future.

33 weeks of memories

I had an email from my sister-in-law yesterday. She’s pregnant for the third time. In my head I know this is a good thing. They want this baby. They’ll do their best for this baby. However, it’s making me anxious, edgy, and upset. I chickened out of calling her yesterday. I sent a brief Congratulations e-mail. I didn’t put it together until this morning, but her baby is due on the same day Peanut was due.

That’s what has me freaked out. They have the same due date. Each week I’ll be thinking about my disintegrating pregnancy and birth. There’s no reason to suspect that her pregnancy will go the same way that mine did. It’s incredibly rare for that to happen, but for the next 33 weeks I’ll have that reminder of ickiness.

I have to find away to break my association between those dates. It’s not my pregnancy. It’s not my birth. It’s not me. But it hurts. I’d love to have another child, but I know that neither my husband nor I can face another pregnancy. We’ve decided to have the big V performed this year. I know this is the best decision we can make. But I’m still sad that I will only have one child, one pregnancy, one birth.

Thirty three weeks of memories…