I’ve been trying to write a post for about an hour now, but I keep deleting everything I type.  I guess I’m looking for the “perfect” words to  type, but there aren’t any.

Miscarriage. Blighted ovum. Pain. Advil. Pads.

Those are the words that I’m trying to sugarcoat, but there’s just no way to do so.

From the beginning, I just had a feeling that this pregnancy was different than my last one.  When I was pregnant with Monkey, I knew that a baby in July was going to be the final result.  With this pregnancy, I can’t say that I felt like a baby was going to be the end result.  It just felt different and I had a feeling.

But I didn’t want to admit the feeling to anyone, and I tried to push it out of my mind any way I could.  I bought maternity clothes.  I told people I was pregnant.  Blah, blah, blah.

Tarzan and I had sex last Friday and I started spotting on Saturday.  It was just a tiny amount of brown blood, which is old blood, which is supposed to be okay when newly pregnant.  But I didn’t feel okay.  I felt like it was the beginning of something and I kept that feeling to myself.

The spotting stopped Saturday evening and I felt reassured, like everything was all in my head perhaps.  Then it returned on Sunday. And Monday. And Tuesday. And this morning.  I called the nurse on Monday, explained we had sex, the blood was brown, and I wasn’t cramping, nor did I have lower back pain.  She said it sounded normal and the doctor would see me at my appointment on Thursday.

But this morning when I wiped and saw red blood my heart sank.  This was it, I just knew it.  I called the nurse and she told me to rest and drink lots of fluids and to call back if the blood amount increased or if it was accompanied by cramping.  Around 1pm, there was more red blood than there was this morning, so I called the nurse.  She told me to come in for an ultrasound at 2pm.  I left the house in a hurry; my heart completely racing.

I sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever.  I was alone because Monkey was asleep and I didn’t want to wake him up just so Tarzan could come with me to the appointment.  Monkey needed his sleep.  You know, it’s not easy to be stuck in a waiting room with a bunch of really pregnant women when you’re not sure what’s going on in your body with your pregnancy.

Finally it was my turn for the ultrasound.  I looked at the screen and saw an empty sac.  Again.  I asked the tech, “Is it empty again?” and she confirmed it was.  Blighted ovum, she thought, but the doctor would confirm.  Then I went into another waiting room to wait again.

And I was seated next to a couple that just found out they were having a little boy.  They were laughing and so happy and I told myself “be strong, you can cry when you get to the car”.  I wiped tears and finally was called into an exam room.  When the doctor came in, she hugged me and I started crying.

She said it was nothing I did, but she knew that didn’t make it any easier.  You know, she was really awesome and sweet about it all.  I cried and cried.  My pregnancy with Monkey was so easy and healthy… and just a couple of hours prior to this appointment I thought I was pregnant, but wasn’t really.

Anyways, she told me that my options were to miscarry the sac naturally, or have a d&c.  (Blighted ovum meant that my egg stuck to the uterine wall, but no embryo developed.  Usually the body rejects the pregnancy and this happens because there are too many abnormal chromosomes in the sperm or the egg.)

She said that usually she recommends a d&c if a person is 8 weeks along or further (I would have been 8 weeks on Saturday) because of the amount of blood.  She said if I do it naturally there will be a lot of blood and a lot of pain and that I should bleed anywhere from 7-10 days, depending on my body.

I opted to do it naturally just because I’m not so keen on having surgery.  However, the more I think about it, I almost wish I would have gone with the d&c.  The word that comes to my mind with that procedure is: closure.

I feel like every damn day I bleed or hurt I will be reminded that this pregnancy didn’t work out.  At least with the d&c, it will be over and done with like that.  I don’t know – I might call the nurse tomorrow just to talk to her about how I feel.

I never thought this would happen to me.  I’m not sure why I thought that, I know miscarriages happen all of the time, but healthy pregnancies also happen all of the time.  I wanted a healthy pregnancy.  I wanted a little brother or sister for my son.

Apparently after the bleeding stops I’ll get a period sometime soon.  After I get a period, we can start trying and I think we are going to do that.  It makes me nervous, but I do want more kids.

On one hand I feel, what’s the word, wowed. Like my body knew that something wasn’t right and it stopped it from developing further.  It’s kind of amazing.  On the other hand, it sucks.  I wanted to be pregnant.

I’m not sure how to end this…  Miscarrying is a bitch.  Any thoughts/prayers/good vibes my way would be really appreciated.

Related posts:

1. Father-to-be woken up at 5 AM with severe chest pain… Pregnancy stress? It was a scary morning for us.  I woke up...
2. 2nd pregnancy appointment Today was our 2nd pregnancy appointment with my OB.  I...
3. Monkey’s first fall & a big scare for this momma! I’ve known for some time now that I need to...

Today was my first OB appointment complete with an ultrasound.  I was pretty excited to see a little blob on the ultrasound screen and started feeling a little nervous when I just saw an empty sac.  Actually my heart just about sank, if you want to know the truth.

The ultrasound tech asked me if I could be off as to how far along I was and I told her that I could.  (Remember, I know when we had sex, and that date is about 2.5 weeks after my last period.)  Of course when I made my appointment they asked me when my last period was, so the ultrasound should have shown something today.  According to my last period, I would be 8weeks 2days today.

But I’m not.

I’m only 5weeks 5days.

And apparently that is too early to show anything on a transvaginal ultrasound.  So I have another appointment in two weeks for another ultrasound and we should be able to see our little blob then.

The new OB was totally nice & I really liked her and the office.  I will stick with her for this pregnancy because it will be easier for Monkey if he has to be with me during appointments.  She told me not to worry about not seeing a baby; it’s just too soon and it doesn’t mean anything.  She said that it looks like I have a good strong sac, so that was some positive words to hear.

I mean, what girl doesn’t want to hear that she has a good sac?  Ha, ha.

Positive vibes my way would be appreciated, y’all.  I really want to see something on that ultrasound screen in a couple of weeks.

Related posts:

1. 8 weeks pregnant: First pregnancy appointment When I made our first appointment, I thought that having...
2. I think I hurt my mom’s feelings about our big ultrasound tomorrow If you’ve been reading this blog for some time, you...
3. Apparently I’m Miranda from Sex and the City… I was talking to one of my good friends this...

My husband has asked me one hundred times if I could pick an OB in the area that we live in as opposed to my regular OB (the one that delivered Monkey).  I put up a fight at first – I mean, I’m the one having the baby.  I should be the one that picks and makes the ultimate decision.  I need to feel comfortable with this.

But I just made an appointment with a new OB in our area.  I can’t say that I’m excited about it; the lady on the phone was quite a bitch, especially when she said, “If you bring your son, you should know that we aren’t babysitters.”  Right, thanks for that reminder because I was confused.

I haven’t told my husband yet, but I’m going to try out this new OB and if I like her, great.  If not, I’m going back to the old OB.  There are pro’s and con’s to both sides and I do see where he is coming from.  It’s about a 45 minute drive to my old OB, which, honestly, when you are in Houston it’s just not that big of a deal.  I’m not sure if he’ll be coming to my appointments this time around – he’s already seen everything before.

His whole thing is when I’m actually in the hospital.  I’m sure he’ll be coming home with Monkey every night for bed and I’ll be in the hospital.  He doesn’t want to have to drive that far to go back and forth.  I get that that could be a pain in the ass, but I just don’t think it warrants him to make the ultimate decision.

If he wanted to spend the night in the hospital with me (not sure that I see the point in that, but if he does), Monkey can stay with my parents.  They are about twenty minutes away from the hospital.

I don’t know; I just want my old OB.  I know her and she knows me.  She knows about my last pregnancy, post-partum depression, and she’s the only doctor that’s ever looked “down there”.  I like her.  I feel comfortable with her.  I want her to deliver this baby too.  She has toys in the waiting room for kids and her office staff doesn’t remind me that they aren’t babysitters.

Ugh.

My appointment with this new OB is Thursday, August 4th.  We’ll see what happens then…

Humor me though, if you were me, which doctor would you see?  Should my husband really have a say?  I mean, it’s not like he’s pushing a baby out of his vag, right?  I’m interested in your thoughts on this.

Related posts:

1. The real cost of having a baby without maternity insurance: Major news here! Spoke to the hospital today. Jane and I just got back from her pregnancy week...
2. 38 weeks pregnant: We finally packed the hospital bag for labor and delivery I am a woman of my word, I’ll have you...
3. I’m all registered at the hospital for the D&C (insert sad face here) Monkey and I spent half of the day at the...

Remember that episode of Friends where Rachel’s pediatrician drops her as a client for constantly calling him about concerns with Emma?

Well that’s me.  Not exactly in the fact that Monkey’s pediatrician has dropped me though.  More in like that I scheduled an appointment for Monkey today because I found a bump.

And anyone that knows anything knows that a bump is usually not good.  And that it can mean cancer.  And this “knowledge” sent me into a new-mom frenzy.  So much so that I didn’t even want to blog about it yesterday.  I was really freaked out about this bump.

I made a pact with God yesterday that as long as my little boy was okay, I could handle anything myself… Just let my little boy be healthy.  Please.  From the bottom of my heart.

Fast-forward to our appointment first thing this morning.  Thank God that Tarzan was there with me because I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.  The pediatrician came in & we showed him the bump.

Know what he said?

“Oh, this is just the tip of his sternum.  Some are caved in & some poke out.  Completely normal & nothing to worry about.”

Hallelujah!

So, yes, I made an appointment because I was frantic about a bump I found.  It turned out to be my son’s sternum.  Sternum, as in no big deal at all.

Hopefully my pediatrician won’t drop us because he thinks that Monkey’s mom is stupid.

Related posts:

1. First Pediatrician appointment: Questions I asked our Pediatrician and Monkey’s progress Yesterday marked two weeks since Monkey was born and it...
2. Monkey’s two month old vaccination appointment Well it’s about damn time. I finally found a pediatrician...
3. Postpartum depression: Stepping outside the box and feeling more confident As I sit here blogging this morning, I can tell...

I told you that I would jinx myself by writing a sleeping through the night post.

Monkey went to bed at 7:30pm last night and woke up hungry at 4am.  I sat him on his newborn lounger and went into the kitchen to make a bottle.

As I made the bottle, my eyes glanced at the clock on the microwave & I was taken back exactly to 12 weeks ago.

Waking up at 4am to find that my panties & shorts were soaked.

Waking up Tarzan to tell him.

T. asking me if I was sure that it was amniotic fluid or urine.

Calling the doctor & getting told to go to the hospital.

Having a freak out moment & thinking I’m not ready for this yet.

Packing up the car.

Thinking I need more time.

Driving to the hospital at 5am behind a slow driver in the HOV lane.

T. freaking out at the slow car & flashing his lights, putting on the hazards, anything to get the car to pull over & let us pass.

Feeling contractions & disliking them very much.

Trying to stop from thinking that I’m not ready… There was no going back.

Checking in at labor and delivery in the hospital smiling.

Not smiling when I met my private nurse, Rose.

Battling over whether or not to get epidural early. I was only at 2cm.

The initial “pain” of the stab of the epidural.

Ahhh, pure loveliness.

Being with my parents, best friend, & Tarzan.

Sudden lightning storm outside when it hadn’t rained in forever.

Thank you baby for not hurting your momma.

Not progressing too much.

Progressing from 6cm to 10cm justlikethat.

It’s time to push.

Oh shit.

What if I poop on the table?

I should have been worried about spraying urine on my husband & Rose instead.

Pushing sucks.

I’m gonna throw up.

I need a wet rag on my forehead.

Everyone sees the head.

I’m over this pushing stuff.

OB arrives & starts knitting.

I tell Rose, the nurse, that she is in fact cheating on her counting.

I keep on pushing.

A mirror is brought in.

Surprisingly I look at the mirror & am quite amazed at what is going on.

Epidurals are lovely.

I’m watching my OB stretch my vag in a big circle, all while not feeling a thing.

70 minutes later I’m holding my son.

He’s looking up at me with big, alert eyes & I melt.

Tarzan keeps saying, “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.”

I throw up.

I’m crying.  T. is crying.

It’s official:  We are parents.

Wow, am I ready for this?

He is a really cute little guy.

I’m in love.

I breastfeed for the first time.

Then I’m given anti-vomit medicine in my IV & I pass out until the next morning.

Related posts:

1. Pregnancy Labor and Delivery: Pictures, the hospital stories, the nurse, and everything you wanted to know! Here I am in my pink Hot Mama gown! Finally,...
2. If only I could go back in time, how I wish those moments after labor & delivery with Monkey were different All of a sudden many people around me are about...
3. 40 things about what to expect after labor and delivery, childbirth, and coming home that no one told me Now that motherhood has been a part of my life...

Going to see my postpartum depression therapist is like going to the gym.  I dread getting ready & actually driving there, but once I’m there it’s fabulous.  Today was no different.

I walked into my postpartum depression therapy appointment ready to tell my therapist that I no longer needed her assistance, but left my appointment signed up for a women’s group for eight weeks.  Go figure.

I had a great appointment today.  The postpartum depression isn’t my reality anymore, which is oh so nice.  Now we deal with family drama in therapy, which can be as equally annoying as it is helpful.  I’m learning a lot & strangely enough, I’m the “healthy” one in my family.

My therapist told me that I look just wonderful.  I’m all smiles & love talking about my son.  I love being a mom & I feel super confident being a mom.  I love sharing that my son smiles & cooes & follows me with his eyes.  I love my life right now & I am striving to have a clean house, dinner made, & keep up with my son.

An ambitious goal, but it’s what I want.  Who would have ever thought I would say that?!  Not me, but I want to take care of my son & my husband.

Oh, and I told my therapist that I want three more kids.  Yes, that’s right… three more kids.  She almost choked on her water when I said that.  Me… the same girl who was crying a couple of months ago telling her that I didn’t even want one child, let alone any more.  Me… the same girl who said that I wasn’t cut out to be a mom.  Me… the same girl who had tears streaming down her face because it all seemed so overwhelming.

Yes, I want four kids total… but don’t worry, I’m not going to go getting pregnant right now or anything.

Funny how time changes everything, isn’t it?

So, back to therapy…

We talked about my dad (are you surprised?).  My therapist brought up so many good points and mainly told me that I was the “healthy” one by getting help & facing that my family dynamics aren’t exactly how they should have been.

For example:

1.  My mom canceling Christmas.

Yes, you read that right.  My mom canceled Christmas a few years ago.  Long story short:  My parents surprised my brother at his apartment a few months prior to Christmas.  My parents were giving my brother money to help him out.  My brother’s apartment smelled like weed.  My dad freaked out & left.  My brother & my dad didn’t talk for a few months & then it was Christmas time.  I spent the night Christmas Eve & woke up on Christmas morning not having a clue that my brother & dad hadn’t spoke in months.

My brother came over to my parent’s house, went into my dad’s office, & then yelled, “Eff you” & stormed out of the house.  Next thing I know my mom is on the phone to all of my relatives canceling Christmas.  I go upstairs with my dog & just start crying.  Christmas is my favorite holiday & I have no idea why it was just cancelled.

My mom comes upstairs & explains to me what happened & how my dad asked my brother to come over & apologize.  My brother saw no wrong in smoking weed in his own apartment, wouldn’t apologize, so my dad told him to leave.  My mom couldn’t see celebrating Christmas without my brother, hence canceling it.  I was like poor Cindy Lou in “The Grinch Stole Christmas”.  I just wanted to celebrate this great holiday.

Now it gets better…

My mom & dad are not speaking.  My mom can’t believe that my dad actually told my brother to leave on (gasp) Christmas & my dad sees no wrong.  I’m the innocent one there who cannot believe what is unfolding before my eyes.  Then my parents, who are not speaking, & myself start taking down the Christmas tree… On Christmas day.  How depressing it was.

Then I decide to leave.  My mom decides to pack up her whole freakin’ car & come to my house.  My brother & my mom come to my house & we (try to) celebrate Christmas & open our presents.  My mom stays for two weeks until she decides to go back home.  This Christmas was a BIG fail.

2.  Dinner – No talking

I’ve always yearned for the kind of family that you see on old television shows.  You know, the ones that actually enjoy each other’s company & eat dinner together while sharing their happenings for that day.  My family was not like this.  We pretty much ate dinner in silence.  Most of the times my parents weren’t on speaking terms, so we just tried to get through dinner so it would be over quicker.

3.  Friends

I was always happy to go over to my friend’s houses instead of them coming to mine.  Reason?  One time one of my girl friends told me “Jane, I don’t want to go to your house.  It’s like a war zone & there is so much tension.  Come to mine instead.”  Point taken & how true it was.

4.  Trying to step in

I’m not sure how old I was, but I know that it had to have been younger than 11 yrs old because that’s what we moved.  My parents would argue & I would be sent to my room.  I would listen from my room & feel so angry.  Then I would march out into the living room & stand up to my dad for my mom.  I couldn’t understand why she didn’t seem to stand up for herself.  My dad would tell me to stop & go back to my room.  My mom would tell me to stop & go back to my room.  Then I would get more angry & I would go back to my room promising myself that I would never be like them.

5.  Eating Disorder

I had an eating disorder.  It stemmed from my dad, which is no surprise really.  I remember coming home from school & wanting a snack.  What kid isn’t hungry after school, right?  One memory that sticks out in my mind is me eating some goldfish crackers.  My dad puffed up his cheeks (like to make a fat face) & said, “Once on the lips, forever on the hips”.  No wonder I developed an eating disorder, right?!

6.  Family dream

I had a dream the other night about my whole family.  It was so awesome that I cried when I told Tarzan about it.  When I was younger my whole family (it’s big) would go to my grandparent’s house every Sunday & eat pasta.  We would always go over there on the holidays & even the day before to cook the food & watch football.  It was if my family truly enjoyed being with one another & I loved that.  It was so nice.

Now that my grandfather is no longer alive & that my grandmother is (sadly) losing her mind, our family does not seem to enjoy one another anymore.  In fact, the holidays are not like they used to be.  Most of my family is out of town now & they have their own families to celebrate the holidays with.  It’s so different now.

So in my dream Tarzan & I were married & we had Monkey.  It was all in the present time in my dream.  We had just put Monkey to sleep & were going to go in the living room to make out.  I know, funny right?  Well, when we went into the living room we saw my parents outside in the backyard.  I was annoyed because I wanted to make out with my husband, but we let them in anyways.

Then T & I went to wake up Monkey.  It was September.  When we came out of the bedroom with Monkey with us, the house was full of all of my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents… All of the dead relatives were alive.  In my dream I bawled my eyes out after we left the bedroom.  I was SO happy, like full of happiness.

Then we all started to decorate for Christmas, even though it was September.  We cherished being with one another & I felt so happy.  It was so great to see my grandfather, aunt, uncle, and cousin that have passed.  It was even more amazing for them to meet Monkey and see my as a mom.  It was precious & how I wished that it was real.

We all celebrated Christmas & being with one another… and then I woke up.  But I woke up with peace & feeling so good.  I told Tarzan & cried before I could get everything out.  I remember telling him that they were happy tears, not sad.  It was so good to see everyone.

That is the one and only time I’ve ever dreamt about dead family members.  It’s also the only time that I’ve dreamt about the “good ole days” with family.  And it means so much.

I want family & I yearn for it.  I don’t necessarily get everything that I need from my parents, but the good thing is that now I’m a parent & I can create my own family memories for Monkey.  I will never cancel Christmas.  Tarzan and I will always strive to be “real” with Monkey, while trying really hard to never fight in front of him.  We will have family days where we play board games without the Internet & without the phone.  We will eat dinner as a family & talk about our days.  We will enjoy each other’s company.

Most importantly, I will give my little guy all of the love that I felt like was missing out on.  I will let him be a child instead of making him grow up to be an adult quickly.  And I promise that I will always cherish every single moment with him & tell him how much he means to me, how much better he has made my life, & how I could not imagine life without him.  Ever.

Related posts:

1. Being real with therapy, postpartum depression, family, & friends Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the...
2. Therapist appointment, torticollis, and some postpartum depression talk too It’s been a pretty crazy past few days.  I can...
3. Postpartum depression: Success with being real & worrying about word vomit Progress today! I’ve been “real” with two neighbors.  Ah yes,...

Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the night at my parent’s house.  The painters came over on Thursday to paint Monkey’s new nursery (my old office) and I didn’t want the paint smell to bother him.  Tarzan stayed at home with our little dog so that he could get some work done and have some uninterrupted sleep.

Thursday night my parents, Monkey, and I were in the living room and my dad asked about that first psychiatrist appointment for my postpartum depression.  Before I continue with the story, you should know that I have never been super close with my dad in the sense that I share things like psychiatrists appointment and postpartum depression with him.  He’s a great dad, but he lacks the emotional part that a daughter needs at times.

However, my therapist told me that I need to be “real” with people in my life and then set up boundaries if they don’t respond.  I started by being real and sharing the awful psychiatrist appointment with my dad.  It’s really such a big step because there are many things in my life that he doesn’t know about and that’s mainly just because he’s never seemed to care much.  Or at least act like he cares.

Anyways, I told my parents the whole psychiatrist appointment and how awful it was.  My dad kind of laughed at the whole thing, especially the guy who was screaming in the waiting room.  (Not a lack of compassion kind of laugh, but just that I was stuck in the waiting room kind of laugh.)

I told him that this psychiatrist wanted me to up my Lexapro dosage and add Abilify to treat my postpartum depression.  He asked if I did and I said that I didn’t and don’t plan on it.  I told him that the 10mg of Lexapro was doing the trick and that I’m seemingly so much better than just two weeks ago.

Then he pulled a Tom Cruise on me.

He said, “You know Jane, you don’t need to be on an anti-depressant.  You just need to get out of the house and do something to make you feel better.  In time you will start feeling better and the depression will be gone.  You don’t need medicine to treat postpartum depression.”

So. Annoying.

You see, my dad is the type that does not believe in medicine (obviously).  He is extremely healthy and thinks that making good choices when it comes to food, exercise, etc are what is key to good health.  While I do agree that it’s important to eat healthy & exercise, I do not agree with him about all medicines, especially his advice to not take an anti-depressant with postpartum depression.

But that’s my dad and this the exact reason that it’s hard for me to be real with him.  He just doesn’t get it at times.  And it’s so incredibly frustrating, especially when you’re on the receiving end of his rant, like I was with the anti-depressant to treat postpartum depression.

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he went a step further and my annoyance turned into being pissed off.  Really pissed off.

We were about to have dinner and my dad took a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and put it on the table.  I hadn’t said a word; I was feeding Monkey at the time and actually quite oblivious to what was going on.  My dad looked over at me and said, “This is not for you.  You cannot have any.”

Um, excuse me?  Last time I checked I was an adult, have a child, and damn capable of making my own decision, alcohol and all.

I guess I should tell you that my dad enjoys being in control too, which is where this all stems from.

I am not one to keep my mouth shut and I thought my therapist would be proud of me for keeping it real and I told him that although I didn’t even want a glass of wine, if I did want one, I am able to have one.  I checked with my doctor and the pharmacist and was told the same thing:  I can have the occasional glass of wine, beer, etc as long as the beverage is enjoyed hours after taking my anti-depressant.

Then I began arguing with my dad for something that I was even interested in drinking at the time, all due to the principle of it.  He told me that “in his house his word is law” and that I “am not allowed to have alcohol in his house”.  You would seriously think that I was a recovering alcoholic or something.  It was ridiculous.

I told him that he wasn’t a doctor and that it was just his opinion and that I didn’t appreciate being treated like a teenager when I’m just about 30 years old.  I told him that I understood that his comment was out of concern, but that I didn’t appreciate his delivery of it.

He told me that I was being disrespectful.  I told him that he was frustrating me.  And then our words to one another stopped as he went into his bedroom to watch television and I contemplated leaving.

I just wanted to cry.

In a matter of minutes I was brought back to being a teenager with a strict parent.  (I would be grounded in high school if I was a minute late after curfew.)  And yes, I’m sure that he was just watching out for me, but he lacks the good communication skills of relaying a message of concern.  Instead he makes me defensive and fight for something that I wasn’t even interested in having.

That went down last Thursday and we haven’t talked since.  I know that he’s angry at me, but I know that I have to set up boundaries in the future so this doesn’t happen again.  I also know that I can’t control his feelings and that this wasn’t my fault.  It’s his issue with control.

Surprisingly this did not alter my mood in a negative way.  Yes, I was annoyed and angry, but it was only with my dad.  I chose not to let it get to me so that I was a grumpy Gus for the rest of the day.  I can only control so much.

On a much better note, I’m still doing great.  Tomorrow will be one-week since I cried about postpartum depression and I really feel proud of myself.  I feel like I’m in a whole other place and it’s nice.  Even my OB told me last Friday that I looked great, had a calm and peaceful look to me, and that I was smiling a lot more.  Then she hugged me and said that she was so happy that I was feeling better.

I am too.

That night I dropped off some diapers that we don’t use (Pampers Swaddlers) to a neighbor that has a two-week old.  I told her that we like Pampers Baby Dry a lot better and that maybe the Swaddlers would work for her.  She started telling me how hard breastfeeding is, that her son will take an hour to nurse, sleep for an hour, and be up again.

There wasn’t desperation in her voice like how I felt, but there was definitely frustration.  She asked how I did it and if he gets better.  I told her that it does in fact get better and just to give it time.

Oh time… there’s that word again.

She told me that I seem like I have it all together with Monkey and asked how I do it.  I laughed and then was real with her, telling her that I do not have it all together at all.  I shared a little of my postpartum depression with her and told her that we would get together when she got back in town to talk, mother-to-mother.

My how the tables have turned.

Related posts:

1. Postpartum depression: Success with being real & worrying about word vomit Progress today! I’ve been “real” with two neighbors.  Ah yes,...
2. Postpartum depression therapy appointment: Success! Going to see my postpartum depression therapist is like going...
3. Six week postpartum appointment and going to a psychiatrist for postpartum depression First of all, even though I have not commented on...

As I sit here blogging this morning, I can tell that there is a little difference in me.  I feel just a tad different today.  Maybe lighter, like I feel confident about getting through the day.  This lightness is definitely a new feeling, but one that I welcome with open arms.

Yesterday was a good day.  I cancelled Monkey’s two month appointment with his original pediatrician (you know, the one that told me to google torticollis for information and neck exercises) and scheduled him another appointment with a different pediatrician in a whole different practice altogether.  I just can’t put my son’s life in an idiot’s hands.

The new pediatrician appointment is set for September 22nd and while it’s not too terribly long away, I wanted to be proactive on this torticollis thing, if that’s even what he has.  Shoot, I’m hoping that he just prefers one side over the other, but we’ll see today at his other appointment.

I found a pediatric therapist online yesterday that has a practice in my area.  I called them for information and to see if I needed a referral or if I could just schedule an appointment.  I told her the whole google story with the previous pediatrician and how I didn’t really want to wait until the 22nd to hear what the new pediatrician said.

This lady was amazing on the phone.  She told me that she could not believe that a pediatrician had told me to google and that I needed to stop looking up torticollis online because it would just scare me (I agreed).  She said that most of the times torticollis is nothing to worry about; simply do neck exercises that I would be taught and the neck will straighten out.  She said that 1 out of maybe 100,000 cases is more serious.  She made me promise that I wouldn’t look online anymore and to come in to the office today at 10am.  Score!

I’m so excited about this appointment because I don’t want my little boy to have a crooked neck.  I’m actually thankful that the moron pediatrician threw out the word “torticollis” for me to look up so that his neck didn’t go untreated.  I actually just chalked his slightly crooked neck up to his position in my uterus.  Maybe I’m still right, but I’m thinking there’s probably a little more to it than just his positioning.  Regardless I’ll find out today in a few hours!

As if yesterday wasn’t busy enough, I had my therapy appointment for postpartum depression.  Before I went I actually thought about canceling just because I wasn’t sure what we would talk about.  I felt like there would be no conversation on my end, but I was wrong.  It surprises me how many words actually come out of my mouth when I’m in a therapy session, and this was only the 2nd time!

We talked about my mom coming over and helping out and how that really was great for me.  The therapist said that I needed more help though.  She said that I needed to be sleeping from about 9pm until 6am every single night.  She said that I could take Monkey and go to my parent’s house for two nights (or my mom could come to my house, whichever is more convenient for my mom), Tarzan would need to stay up with Monkey for two nights, get a postpartum doula for two nights, and then me being up with Monkey one night.

It all sounds great, but I’m not sure that Tarzan could swing two nights of being up with him.  Like I mentioned before, Monkey isn’t sleeping too well these days and it seems like Tarzan would be just completely drained.  I brought this up with the therapist and she said that Tarzan would be able to do it.  After all, he didn’t just have a baby and he isn’t still healing physically and emotionally from that.  She said that he would be able to fall right back asleep after dealing with Monkey (something that takes me forever to do) and that it would not bother him as much as I thought.

Since Tarzan stayed at home with Monkey while I was there yesterday, he will go with me to the next appointment on Monday to talk more about this situation.  I guess we’ll see what comes out of it.

I told the therapist about the one and only friend I have here that has a baby and that I have been avoiding her calls to get together.  Of course I feel bad for avoiding the calls, but I feel like my friend’s life with baby has been so easy from the beginning.  Her son is almost one year old and she loves every minute of being a mom.  I told the therapist that I’ve been avoiding her because I feel super inadequate and I haven’t told her my feelings.

The therapist said that I wasn’t being “real” with her and therefore could not establish a bond with her.  I agreed.  She thought that it would be best for me to talk to my friend and see how she responded with talking to her about all that’s been going on with me.  After all, it would be nice to have a real life friend to talk to in addition to all of you lovely Internet friends.

I told the therapist that I was going to stop by my friend’s house after my appointment and see how she reacted to me talking to her, to see if we could establish this friend-mom-baby kind of bond that I apparently need in my life.  The therapist thought this was a great idea.

When I left her office, I drove straight over to my friend’s house, luckily she lives in the next neighborhood over.  After we made a little small talk, I told her everything and of course I cried.  If I haven’t told you before, I’m so sick of crying.  Ha, ha.

Surprisingly she said that being a mom is not completely easy for her.  She said that she cried in the beginning too.  She said that some days she just wants to scream because she is so frustrated.  I asked her if she ever felt like her baby was a stranger in the beginning and she said yes.  I was happy.

I’ve known all along that I should have a “mommy” friend to talk to and hang out with, but I always felt like I needed to feel better about being a mom first.  I now realize that I was wrong in my thinking.  I actually need a “mommy” friend to help me know that I’m doing okay being a mom and that things I’m going through won’t be here forever.  I will get past this dark cloud that I haven’t been able to escape just yet.

After we had a beer and talked more, we decided that we would take our boys on a walk this morning.  It will be good for Monkey to get some fresh air and it will be refreshing for me as well.  I’m actually really looking forward to this walk.  I know it’s just a walk, but it symbolizes so much for me.

Yes, I’ll admit, I’m proud of myself… there, I said it.  I stepped out of my comfort zone (read: isolation) and feel like I’m moving in the right direction.  It’s a small step, but a very much needed one.  It’s the step that I will continue to build on day after day.  I don’t have all the answers now and I don’t even know if I’ll feel this confident later this afternoon, but I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Related posts:

1. Therapist appointment, torticollis, and some postpartum depression talk too It’s been a pretty crazy past few days.  I can...
2. Postpartum depression therapy appointment: Success! Going to see my postpartum depression therapist is like going...
3. Being real with therapy, postpartum depression, family, & friends Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the...

It’s been a pretty crazy past few days.  I can say that while I’m still feeling down in the dumps with postpartum depression, it does seem to be getting better than it was a week ago.  I haven’t blogged in a week because things have been so out of whack and I didn’t want to sound like such a Debbie-Downer in any posts.  I’ve noticed that when I’m feeling the worst, I retreat from blogging, answering my phone, and doing anything that I used to enjoy doing.

It’s like a force that is stronger than me comes over me and I just sulk in the house.  I know that answering my phone, tweeting on twitter, blogging, and getting out of the house actually makes me feel better, but some days I just don’t have the energy or desire.  I’m ready for all of this to pass because I feel like there’s so much I’m missing out on.

And I’m just going to say it again, I’m so. sick. of. crying.  Since last Monday I’ve improved and only cried two days out of the past seven, but still.  I’m so tired of feeling sad and weepy all of the time.

Right now I just put Monkey down in his pack ‘n play to sleep for (hopefully) a little while.  His sleeping has been out of whack these past few days and I don’t know what’s going on.  Prior to this past Thursday it seemed as if he was getting on more of a routine and he seemed thisclose to sleeping through the night.

He would take his bottle around 10pm, sleep until about 3am and only eat an ounce or two, and then sleep until 8am.  It was great and I really thought the worst was behind us.  Of course that only lasted until Wednesday night and then all hell broke loose.  I have no idea what happened.

Thursday we took Tarzan’s dad and stepmom to the airport to leave.  I was actually sad to see them go.  Despite the fact that they were in the way at the beginning of their stay, they turned out to be really helpful.  They fed Monkey and played with him just to soak him all in and also to give me a break so that I could take a bath, read a book, etc.  While Tarzan and I took turns feeding Monkey at that 3am feeding, his stepmom woke up for the next feeding so that we could go back to sleep.

It was very nice to hand him off to her at 8am and then sleep until noon.  Yes, I was very sad to see them go.

We took Monkey to the airport with us on Thursday and on the way home he started crying his eyes out in the car.  It was awful to listen to him cry and not be able to do anything to comfort him because I couldn’t take him out of his car seat.  When we got home I fed him, tried to play with him, and then put him down for a nap.  That didn’t happen.

We were developing such a good routine for the two weeks that my in-laws were here and then it all changed on Thursday.  Monkey didn’t sleep at night like he had been doing and nothing changed in that respect.  He was a lot more fussy and Tarzan and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  Thursday night I was up with him about every two hours.  It was rough.

Friday morning he was still being really fussy.  He was biting down on anything he could (this was new), drooling, and some other symptoms of teething.  He’s only 6 weeks old and I thought it was too early for him to be teething, but decided that I would call the pediatrician just to rule it out.

The nurse called back about an hour later and asked if we could come in for an appointment.  I thought it would be a good idea to go since it was Labor Day weekend and the office would be closed on Monday.

My mom had said that she was going to come over and help out over the weekend, so when she arrived at my house we left to go to the pediatrician.  This pediatrician appointment solidified my thinking that we needed a different one.

First of all, I’ve never liked the office.  I know that this was only the second time of being in the office, but I didn’t have a good gut feeling either time.  When my mom and I walked back to go to the exam room we both noticed the amounts of trash piled up and overflowing from the garbage cans.  Yes, it was 4pm on a Friday, but how sanitary is it to have trash literally on the floor?

Absolutely disgusting and totally uncalled for, if you ask me.

The pediatrician came in and I told her about the teething symptoms and she ruled it out immediately because of the fact that he was 6 weeks old.  She never looked at his gums at all.  Then I asked why he was fussy and she said that it could be reflux or colic.  She told me to look up Dr. Harvey Karp for information on colic.

Then I told her that Monkey’s head tilts to the left.  She said that it was torticollis and to google it.  Yes, the pediatrician told me to google on what exactly this torticollis was and what exercises to do to help with it.  I was highly irritated at this point because why in the hell was I paying her money to hear to google something.

Then she said, “Have you done the newborn screen yet?” and I told her no.  She said, “Oops, I must have forgotten to have you go to the hospital on Monkey’s 2 week old appointment, so could you go to the hospital and have it done now?”

Oops?  Really?  You’re a doctor.  Shouldn’t you remember this kind of stuff?!

I paid the $30 co-pay and my mom and I went over to the hospital to have Monkey’s heel pricked.  He didn’t even cry at all.  What a good little boy!

When my mom and I got home we googled “torticollis” to find out what it was.  Now I should let you know that while I was pregnant, even though I hardly had any worries, I was very hesitant to google anything.  I always that googling gives you the worst case scenario for many things and I don’t like it because it just worries me.

Same thing with googling “torticollis“.  I read that x-rays needed to be done to rule out spine problems.  Hips needed to be checked for hip hip dysplasia.  Of course everything freaked me out: surgery, physical therapy, etc.  Even the articles I read about neck exercises to strengthen the neck said “check with your pediatrician first so that he/she can show you how to properly do the exercises”.

What’s up with my luck with doctors lately?!

I decided that I am no longer going to use that pediatrician and I will find another one tomorrow.  We’ve all been doing neck exercises during the day and I’ve been keeping Monkey out of the swing because I think the swing makes it worse.  If anyone has any experience with their baby favoring one side of head, please let me know what you did to fix it.

Anyways, so my mom stayed from Friday until today and it was so nice having her here.  Yesterday I felt like I was getting sick, so I really stayed in bed all day and night.  Not gonna lie, it was nice to be in bed.  Oh how I do miss that big piece of furniture.

Today I decided that I’m going to pack up my office, which is downstairs, and turn that into the baby’s nursery.  I should have just done it in the first place and listened to all of you that suggested that, but no, I’m difficult and have to learn things on my own.  The painters are coming over tomorrow to paint the room (right now it’s pink) and my dad will be helping Tarzan move my office furniture out and the nursery furniture in.

The reason for this move is because I haven’t yet found a place for Monkey to sleep that I like.  The pack ‘n play used to be in the living room and then we moved it in our room.  After it being in our room for a little while, I’ve decided that I don’t like that either.  It’s a pain in the butt when I need to change into my pj’s or if I can’t sleep and want to turn on the tv.  Plus, I feel like I have to be so quiet because I’m scared to make any noise and wake him up.

So I’m hoping that I’ll like his nursery being downstairs, but in another room so I can still get on with my day/night and not have to worry about waking him up.  Keep your fingers crossed.

As far as Monkey’s sleep, well, that hasn’t improved.  In fact, it’s gotten worse.  My mom stayed up with him last night so that I could sleep through the night and she said that Monkey was up every two hours.  Sometimes he was hungry, but sometimes he just fell asleep on her chest.  I don’t know if he just doesn’t like the pack ‘n play or what, but life has been more difficult with a baby who is super exhausted but won’t sleep.

He will sleep for hours in his swing, but I don’t want to go that route because of his supposed torticollis.  I don’t want my son to have a crooked neck, or to have to have surgery so he is staying out of the swing for a while.

It’s so strange because I have no idea what happened to the schedule he was supposedly on.  Somehow everything got mixed up and he’s like a two week old again.  I was thinking that it’s his 6-week growth spurt, but I’m not sure because I feel like he should be eating more for that.

I’m just hoping that tonight is better since my mom is not here.

As far as my therapist appointment last Monday… It was great.  We talked about therapy in addition to a psychiatrist and I got the name of a new psychiatrist from the therapist.  Like I said before, Tarzan knows her and him and I both went to this appointment.

I talked, in great detail, about how I’ve been feeling and I shed many tears during this 90-minute period.  It felt good to talk about everything.  The therapist specializes in postpartum depression and she said that it cannot be “cured” without therapy in addition to medicine.  It’s not like regular depression in that case.  I have no problem with that and I actually enjoyed talking to her.

Of course I feel like I’ve waited so long to blog about everything that I’ve probably forgotten a good portion, but something that sticks out in my mind is that she kept saying that I was the “perfect candidate” for postpartum depression.  The “perfect storm”, if you will.  The fact that Monkey was a huge surprise, that I was so adamant on not wanting to lose myself with having a baby, that I work from home so am somewhat isolated, that none of my friends have children, etc.

Everything was aligned for postpartum depression to set in.

The therapist said that the US is so backwards when it comes to the aftermath of women having babies.  She said that in other countries, even poverty-stricken ones, the new mother has tons of help for months after having a baby.  It’s a village that helps take care of the mom and the new baby.

In the US, we all feel like we have to hurry up and get back to normal.  We have people stay with us for a week or two and then are sent on our way to be a new mother.  In other countries, new moms are shown the ropes and taught how to take care of a baby.  To be a mentor to the new mom.

The therapist recommended us getting a postpartum doula to help out.  I will admit that I have many reservations about this, even though I think I would benefit from it, which is why I had my mom come and stay for a few days this past weekend.  I think part of me feels like I’m almost 7-weeks into this and I should be able to deal with it on my own.  I have another appointment with the therapist later this week, so I know we’ll talk about this.

She also gave me Brooke Shields “Down Came the Rain” postpartum journey book to read.  I finished it today and have to say that she wrote exactly how I’ve been feeling.  To a “t”.  It’s nice to hear that I’m not crazy, other people suffer from postpartum depression, and, more importantly, that there is hope.  I related to everything Brooke said in the book and felt like she was in my head while writing it.

I can’t wait until I can get to the point where I enjoy being a mom.  I am disappointed that I’m not “there” yet, but do have hope that my time will come soon.  I can’t wait to look at my son and feel peace within like this is what it’s all about.  I feel like I’m so far away from that feeling, but again, I have hope.

I guess I have to have hope and believe that things will get better because I want to stop living in this dark cloud I can’t seem to get out of.

Related posts:

1. Postpartum depression: Stepping outside the box and feeling more confident As I sit here blogging this morning, I can tell...
2. Six week postpartum appointment and going to a psychiatrist for postpartum depression First of all, even though I have not commented on...
3. Postpartum depression therapy appointment: Success! Going to see my postpartum depression therapist is like going...

Yesterday was the day I was dreading, but I was also hopeful at the same time.  It was the meeting of a psychiatrist to help with my postpartum depression and I really had mixed emotions.

On one hand I knew that I had to get help so that I could be a better mom to little Monkey, a better wife to my husband, and be able to get through the day without beating myself up, which I’ve gotten pretty good at lately.

But on the other hand, a way more selfish hand, there’s something a little unnatural (at least for me) about talking to a complete stranger about your deepest, darkest moments.  I don’t like how it makes me a certain amount of vulnerable either.  But I focused on my son and the benefits and made my drive to the psychiatrist’s office.

And no joke, the second I walked in I wanted to turn back around and leave.

Let me paint the picture of the waiting room for you:  Pale baby blue walls, 30-40 chairs thisclose to each other, and a very still quiet.  The window to the receptionist was closed and there was a sign on it that said “Do not open”.  On the wall in frames there were signs that said, “After signing in, take a number”.  I thought this was weird and when I arrived I was the first person and no one told me to take a number.  I couldn’t even see where the number was that I was supposed to take.

I arrived at noon and my appointment was at 12:30pm.  I filled out tons of paperwork and wondered why they were asking such vague questions.  There was nothing about pregnancy or postpartum depression and I began to wonder if this psychiatrist was the right one for me.

Next entered in a man who seemed a bit “off”.  He started to talk to me, but I grabbed my phone and began twittering.  The nurse called him in really quickly and I was left alone in this big, uncomfortably cold waiting room.  I still wanted to leave.  I just didn’t feel good about being there and there is something to be said about gut instinct.  I should learn to definitely listen and follow it.

After waiting for 45 minutes the receptionist called me into room number 5.  The room had a desk with no papers on it and two chairs.  Definitely not what I would call inviting at all.  The receptionist, and I repeat, receptionist, started asking me questions.  Some personal about any sexual, emotional, or physical abuse (no) to what my husband’s name, age, how much caffeine he drank.

At this point I thought it was ridiculous that she would be asking such questions about my husband.  He wasn’t there and honestly I can’t see why it would matter if he drinks coffee in the mornings.  I mean, really.

So I asked with quite a big attitude, “I don’t understand the importance of the questions you are asking.  Why does it matter how old my husband is, what his name is, what his age is, how much coffee he drinks, etc?”  The receptionist just answered, “The Dr. likes to know.”

Um, okay.

Then she told me that on one of the papers I filled out, I didn’t circle the number, only wrote it in the column on the right.  She asked if I would circle the numbers.  I told her no because I wrote the numbers in the column and added up my score.  She said, “Well, hopefully the Dr. will be okay with this.  If not, you’ll have to circle them.”

I said, “Right.”

Next page of paper was all about sex.  ”When was the last time you had sex?”, she asked.  I told her that it was the day before I had my son – July 22nd.  She made a face and was like “Wow, that’s been a while.  Do you feel like your sex drive has diminished?”

I wanted to say, “No moron.  Again I’m here for postpartum depression, which means that I just had a baby, which means that I couldn’t have sex until I was cleared by my OB, which again, was last Friday.”  It was completely pointless and she kept on asking questions like this.

I kept on telling her the same damn thing, “I just had a baby so…”

About 30 minutes had gone by and it was now 1:15pm.  The receptionist said that the Dr. should arrive around 2pm and that I was to meet with the male nurse next and then I was free to leave for lunch as long as I was back by 4:30pm.

Um, excuse me? I told her that my appointment was at 12:30pm and that the Dr. was already late since it was 1:15pm.  She asked, “Didn’t anyone tell you that she arrives at 2pm?”  No they didn’t tell me that because if they did I would certainly have shown up at 2pm instead of 12:30pm.

I waited for about 10 minutes and then the male nurse came to take me to his office for more questioning.  I was totally annoyed and pissed off, thinking that I should just walk or run out of the door FAST.  But now I was trapped in room number 3 talking to the male nurse.

He asked me to tell him my name, age, why I was there, and where we were.  I immediately laughed and asked why he wanted to know this; after all, he was looking right at my file that had this information.  I told him my name, age, why I was there (postpartum depression), and where we were (professional building).  He told me to try again on that last question.  OK, um, doctor’s office?  BINGO.

So weird.

Then he asked me what year we were in.  I felt like I was a patient that had just had a stroke or passed out.  I was not seeing a psychiatrist for anything other than postpartum depression, so wouldn’t you have thought that they could have skipped over their “normal” protocol?

He told me, “I’m going to tell you three words that I want you to remember and I’ll ask you to repeat them to me later on.  They are: flower, penny, tiger.  Can you repeat them back to me?”

“Flower, penny, tiger” and I added a little eye roll too.

Next he asked who the President of the USA was and I told him “Obama”.  Then he asked for the Vice President.  Oh shit, I couldn’t remember and I figured this wasn’t going to look good for Mr. nurse.  I started giggling because I find it SO funny that I couldn’t remember this.  He told me, “take your time”.  The only name that was popping into my head was Al Gore and I knew that wasn’t right.

Finally I said, “Joe Biden”.  Ding, ding, ding.  Correct answer.

Then he said, “Who is the mayor of Houston?”  ”Bill White?”

“Who is the governor of Texas?”  ”Rick Perry?”  Then I said, “Are they still the mayor and governor?  I’m not really into politics.”

He said, “Why are you second guessing yourself?  Yes, they are.”

Then he asked me to interpret the glass house proverb.  Right.  I told him that I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and then I asked if I should know this.  He said that mainly older people knew this.  Um, okay.

When this mess was over he told me that the Dr. should arrive around 2:30pm.  I told him that I was told 2pm earlier and he said that she tends to run late.  Oh, wonderful.

He told me that I could wait around in the waiting room or go to lunch and come back before 4:30pm.  I told him that I didn’t understand; my appointment was for 12:30pm.  He said that since I was a new patient I had to come at that time to meet with everyone and go over paperwork, but that the Dr. usually arrives at 2:30pm and sees patients in the timeframe of that and 4:30pm.

I told him that I would wait in the waiting room.  I went into the waiting room and it was packed.  I mean packed as in every seat was taken.  I sat down in the only seat available and thought that I was in hell.

No joke, there was someone pacing in the room screaming, a guy who looked like he could be a serial killer listening to ghetto rap so loudly that we could all hear, a mom who was talking on her cell phone and paying no attention to her kids, and a couple of women that looked completely out of it.

I did not belong here at all.  These people clearly had larger mental issues than postpartum depression.

I texted Tarzan and told him and he said, “Leave and come home.  We’ll figure something else out.”

As much as I wanted to leave, I felt like I should stay for this trainwreck to see what would happen next.  After all, it was now about 3pm and I figured that my name would be called at any moment.

Around 3:30pm the male nurse called my name and took me to room number 1.  He told me to just relax and the Dr. would be in soon.  This room was just as “cold” as room number 5.  A built-in cabinet with nothing on the shelves was on the wall and there were two chairs: one for me and one for the Dr.

There was also a dead spider on the window sill which added a nice touch to the already dreary place.

The Dr. came in and looked like she belonged somewhere else, definitely not in charge of these patients.  She spent five, maybe ten minutes with me and that was it.  While flipping through the paperwork, she said, “You wanted to know why we asked questions about your husband?  We just like to know.”

The damn receptionist had made a note in my file that I asked why she was asking me those questions!

She asked if I had a support system in place and I told her that I had my husband and that my mom stayed with us for a little while in the beginning.  She asked if my mom could come back and I told her maybe.

Then she told me that she was going to increase the Lexapro to 20mg from 10mg and add Abilify to the mix at nighttime.

Now I’m not a Dr. and haven’t spent any time in medical school, but there was something about the way that she was so quick to up my medicine and even throw in a new one that didn’t seem right to me.  My purpose in going to see a psychiatrist was not to be medicated; it’s to get help for postpartum depression.

She told me that she wanted to see me again in one week to see how I was doing.  I asked her if I would have a set appointment or if I should expect 30 people in the waiting room.  She told me that they don’t operate with a set time, but a timeframe between 2pm and 4:30pm.

Basically it’s first come, first serve.  She said I sign in, take a number, and wait to be called.  It took all I had not to laugh in her face.

I started to ask her a question and she walked out of the room, told me to relax (yeah, right), and that the receptionist would be back with information and samples.  I waited for ten minutes and then someone came in with a ton of samples and some information about Abilify and when to take the meds.

I went to the counter and was told that the Dr. wanted to see me again in one week.  I made the appointment, but knew damn well that I would not be going back.

I couldn’t get out of that office fast enough.  I just about ran to my car and wanted to cry.

Why is it so hard to find good help for postpartum depression?  Why did I just waste 4 hours of my time at that psychiatrist’s office and all she wanted to do was medicate me?  She didn’t even ask me questions about how I was feeling.  The day was such a let-down.

While I was there Tarzan was busy at home calling other psychiatrists to see if I could get in to see them.  Everyone has a wait of two-three weeks.  Then he saw a name of someone who specializes in postpartum depression, a psychotherapist, and he knew her because he had done some work with her husband.  And she lives in the next neighborhood over.  She actually trains psychiatrists and OB/GYNs on postpartum depression and has researched for many, many years.

He called her and she moved her schedule around to see us at 5pm.  I got home at 4:55pm and we hopped in the car, leaving Monkey with the in-laws.

We went upstairs at the therapist’s house and started talking.  It was wonderful, right from the very beginning of this meeting.

(I’ll post a different blog post on what happened because it’s long.)

Related posts:

1. Six week postpartum appointment and going to a psychiatrist for postpartum depression First of all, even though I have not commented on...
2. Being real with therapy, postpartum depression, family, & friends Last Thursday and Friday nights Monkey and I spent the...
3. Postpartum depression therapy appointment: Success! Going to see my postpartum depression therapist is like going...