“I didn’t want to scare you with all the medication,” Dr.- tells me at our third appointment. I sit on the doctor’s sofa beside my husband. He holds our baby. Annabelle is exploring the doctor’s office. I want to curl up in a ball; I feel as though I am going to jump out of my skin. She prescribes atavan.
A half hour after I take one, I feel as though, well, as though I’m not running for my life. I am calmer than I have been in weeks.
That night, I go to bed, the baby lays beside my husband and me; our night is split into two 5-hour shifts. I drift off to sleep now and again waking to bottle nurse the baby . . . this is unlike any night so far. It is the first night of many on a long road (back to a healthier me). When it is my turn to sleep I take ambien and fall into a deep, zomby sleep.
Weeks, no months pass. Each night gets easier and easier. We stop relying on our 5-hour shifts. I hold Levi in my arms through the night. I tell my therapist, “It is all I can do for him. I can’t breastfeed, so I’m giving him this.” She thinks co-sleeping isn’t a great idea. She thinks it disrupts my sleep and in her eyes, that is bad.
“I want you to get ready to go off of the ambien, Jessica. You sound better and better each time I see you. Do you think you can try it?” I nod but I don’t want to. I feel so afraid. I fear a night without sleep. It makes me someone, something else.
But I try it. First I cut my dose. When I see that I can sleep well on a small dose, slowly I let myself let go of the sleep aid. Like my doctor tells me to do, instead, I take an atavan to calm myself at the end of the day. I drink a glass of milk. I sleep. I sleep as much as a mother of a newborn sleeps.
“So are you feeling better now?” a friend asks me. I do, though the question raises feelings I do not want to confront. My logic throughout this entire experience has been that if I were diagnosed with a physical ailment, like diabetes, I would take insulin. I would change my diet. Anxiety and depression are no different. Medicine helps my brain produce what it needs so that I can live. I eat a good diet and exercise daily. I take vitamins and supplements. Taking care of myself is my priority. I am a better mother for it. I am a better me for it. I love myself. This isn’t and has never been easy for me to do. Isn’t that sad?
I now go to bed each night and drink a cup of chamomile tea. I take a single atavan. I don’t want to. I move back and forth on how I feel about needing this medicine. I accept that I will likely be a “lifer” on my antidepressant (a term I take from another mother who was treated for ppd) and somehow I think I am comfortable with taking only that. I accept the stigma of having a mental illness. I accept the stigma and fear wrapped up in having take medicine. But it is simply another mountain, of so many, that I climb. The stigma that is. Of medicine. And funny, that in a way, the medicine is like my gear, helping me climb that mountain.
That is all for now. I needed to write this.
{ 12 comments }
Jessica~ditto what your Mom said! We all love you!
you are truly a beautiful person, inside and out and i love you
Jessica~thanks for writing this. You are a writer and you need to write. You also know what is best for your children. I’ve always been a fan of “co-sleeping,” even before it had such a fashionable name. It’s just what feels right. You need to have Levi close and he needs this too. You and your husband are wonderful parents and you have two beautiful, healthy children. Keep taking care of yourself!
Wow, I’m with Prasanna! I couldn’t say it better.
Taking care of yourself is the right thing to do, no matter what it looks like. But it’s not easy, for mothers of young children. I’m not very good at it myself. Whatever it takes to climb that mountain, and all the other mountains, we’ve got to do it. There’s no stigma in that, taking care of ourselves and our children as best we can.
I’m so happy that you’re feeling better and have made taking care of yourself a priority. Love you!
Once again, I feel like I am reading my own words. I eventually quit taking my anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication, but it took almost 2 yrs for me to feel comfortable doing so. I am pregnant again and now know what troubling signs to look for. It is so scary to think about falling in to that sleepless trap again. Even though I no longer take medication, it is nice to know it is there if I need it.
Thanks for sharing – it seems like your doing a great job a climbing that mountain! My baby is almost 6 and there will always be challenges, but they really seem to get easier the older they get. I’m often amazed how I can just pick up and head out door only grabbing a water bottle and some bars and everyone sleeps through the night! My thoughts are with you – hang in there.
There is no stigma in my eyes. I reject the notion of a societal stigma and embrace the notion of compassionate love. Now if only I could get everyone in the world to do that! … I think your blog is doing that. It’s helping to open people’s minds and hearts.
you may be a lifer you may not be. i was fourteen when i was first put on antidepressants. i spent years trying out different variations of medications mixes (almost always including regular use of xanax and/or klonopin). i was eighteen when they decided they had misdiagnosed me and i was really bipolar and need to add lithium. i have been on a lot of medications in my lifetime. i always thought, from the day it began, that i was a lifer. but you know what? i have been medication free for coming ten years. imagine that.
*sob* You put my very thoughts into words. Thanks. I am so grateful that there is someone else out there in the same position and someone else who understands the stigma. So often I feel like I have a black spot above my head… mainly when I have to feed Liam outside our home. I am so anxious for him to be fully on solid foods so that no one will know…
Thank you for writing this Jessica. I’m only a student, and have not as yet any children to care for, but dealing with anxiety and not sleeping well as a result is not easy even so. Thank you for having the courage to write like this, honestly, and I want to let you know that you are an encouragement to me.