Sertaline

In my last post I admitted that I am struggling with my mental state.  I wish that "admitted" wasn't the word to use, but it is what describes the feeling of telling others that you have brain issues-like a secret you have to admit with caution.   I do admit it, however, in hopes of opening up the dialogue about mental health.  It should not be something so secretive that people feel nervous writing it down in a quasi anonymous blog. (getting off soap box)

All that said, I wrote that I would be addressing this problem.  Not sure how to begin,  I called my OB doctor- since this is most likely baby related.  His nurse called back and said go to my regular doctor and could offer me no help or advice.

Step One: Call doc
I called up my general care physician who said he could get me in a few days later.  You should know, I am not a big fan of this doctor. He is someone I found on a list of who accepts my insurance within 3 miles of my house and I just put up with his lack of personality and sub-par wait times out of convenience.  After making the appointment, I began to feel extra anxious from that point on.

Step Two: Go to Appointment
I went into the appointment with a pretty good idea of what was going on, thanks to my internet self-diagnosis.  I told him all the things I had been feeling and he agreed that I had anxiety. He took some notes, pointed out that I had ringworm on arm (thanks, kiddo), and wrote me a script.  I drove to Walgreens and picked up my generic Zoloft medicine.  five dollars.

Step Three: Drugs
I got home and took the first dose before going to bed as it makes a lot of people tired.  I woke up in the morning feeling the same, no immediate side effects, so that was good.  I guess.  I kept taking the meds in the evening and monitored my feelings.  On day three, we went to the home depot to get some house fixer-upper supplies.  As we walked through the store, my husband excitedly looking at light fixtures, I thought, "what is it all for?"  And that was the beginning.  During that first week on the Sertaline, I felt those creepy, over-sad-Eeyore, we are all a pile of nothing- thoughts.  It seemed like my anxiety was ok, my body was ok, but my brain was a deep, dark, hole.  Oh, and, uh, martial relations...nope.  Not on these pills.

Step Four: Make executive decision 
 I felt too disconnected to the world to keep on with the medicine any longer.  I called the doc, told him how I felt, and he immediately called in something else.  Not encouraging.  

Where I am

I have entered a new phase as a mom.  I had a pretty smooth sailing pregnancy, a no hiccups delivery, and have a very happy baby.  Things, truly, have gone so well.  But, (of course there is a but) I feel bad.

Over the last few months, I have felt the following things:
Dizziness
Mental confusion
Funny body sensations
Panic Attacks
Shallow breathing
Side cramps
Busy headedness
Disrupted sleep
Generally worked up
Overwhelmed
Body betrayal (excessive clumsiness and the like)
Loss of apetite
Weird and scary thoughts
Thinking I was becoming a nutcase
Planetarium stomach (a term coined by my sister that means, the inability to process everything and it makes you feel tiny and swirly and nauseous to try and comprehend all that is around you, which is heightened when I think about my baby's whole life)

I started to think I was crazy.  Or that I had Lupus.

I called my doctor several months back and told him I felt out of sorts, fatigued, and sick-ish.  He took blood work, which all came back normal.  I began to feel better after that, and thought it was a fluke virus or something.  Then those feelings started to come back a few months later.  But this time they were more aggressive.  There was a moment in Kroger when I thought I was going to die (I am not being sarcastic.  I truly thought I was having a heart attack and I was going to die right there.  And some aproned employee would find my body draped over all the cartons of eggs, that would be sticky and wet since I would have crushed them as I fell to my demise.).

But the crazy thing is, if someone would have asked, I would have said that I did not feel stressed or anxious.  I thought that these things that were happening were physical and not related to my mental state.  I was wrong.  After searching the symptom "feeling drunk when haven't been drinking"  I landed in a blog about post-partum anxiety.  And it was the first time that it even dawned on me, the fact that I had a baby in the last year might have done something to my brain.

I knew about post-partum depression.  I was keenly aware of my mental state in those first few days and was happy to find that I wasn't burdened with that challenge.  However, my understanding of this disorder was that it had a short window of time to strike and that it would always show its face through sadness.  I didn't know that it was much bigger than that.

After I read that blog post, I started thinking.  I thought about all that I had been through in the last year.  I found my list of woes and life changes to be rather long and pretty gloomy.  I think it was the first time I really thought about it.  Making a career change for myself, an unexpected loss of employment for my husband, switching daycares for my son.  Then I kept thinking.  I thought about the day that my beautiful nephew was born, I was standing in the snow, listening to "Taps" being played as my son's name sake was lowered into the ground.  I thought about looking into the rearview mirror and seeing a fifteen passenger van slam into the back of my vehicle on the interstate.  I thought about it all and realized-I needed some help.  (the list goes on.)  And what I found was that,  right now, this life thing has gotten bigger than I can handle.  I believed that I could walk these thoughts away, or meditate them away, or bible them away, but nothing worked.  And my brain, which tries hard not to think about all these things, is telling me(through crazy symptoms) that there is a problem that needs to be addressed.  I am addressing that problem.


The following site helped me realize what was going on.  If you feel at all like I have described, take a read.
http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-depression-anxiety-in-plain-mama-english

The Little Weenie Weaned Himself

After nine months, two weeks, and three days of breastfeeding, it was just done.  

It wasn't until I was five months pregnant and working on a baby registry at Target that I even thought about the fact that I would have to feed this child.  I knew that the doctor would cut the cord after my baby (lovingly called Hummingbird) was born and then (s)he would look to me for food.  And I had a choice to make.  I was flush, embarrassed, and honestly weirded out by the thought of the actual act of breastfeeding.  I was thinking about all of this while my mom was asking me, "Do you want to register for a breastpump?"  What?  A pump?  For breasts?  What the what?  I gave a quick, "Uh, yeah?  I guess so."  I held the scanner at safe distance and heard the beep.  I knew that I had successfully registered for something in the breastpump section, so I moved on and began scanning tiny bath accessories.  Trying not think about the whole feeding thing for a while.

When I was a kid, my grandparents had a dairy farm.  I spent many summer evenings talking to my grandma as hundreds of cattle moved through shiny mechanical gates, into neat lines.  My grandma would diligently spray each utter with iodine and wipe them a towel then throw on the four pronged automatic milker.  I would stand there and watch as pint after pint of fresh, white milk moved through the lines.  I was going to be a dairy cow.  Just without my grandma to spray me down.

So I thought some more and worked up enough lady balls to start asking questions.  I asked my mom and what my siblings and I ate.  I learned that she nursed us all for 2 months and then like clockwork, her milk dried up and we did formula from there on out.  I asked some other family members and friends and heard so many different feeding strategies.  But, I still felt weird.  

As the months drew past and I got larger and closer to meeting my kiddo, I started to feel a change a-brewin'.  I think it had largely to do with my getting larger.  The more my body started to look like it wasn't  mine anymore, the more it seemed to belong to the baby.  Like the thought of nursing this child would be okay, because those weren't really my cans down there anyway.  They were, ah, changing, and it was all for the baby.  Whatever was in there, wasn't mine and I was okay with sharing it.  

I, like other moms, faced some challenges when actually beginning the whole nursing buidness, but within a few short weeks, we hit our stride.  Then I went back to work and started pumping 3 or 4 times a day.  My little guy had to have formula to supplement his growing appetite.  And as the months wore on, he was needing more formula and I was producing less milk.  Summer came and we quickly found ourselves just nursing in the morning and at night.  The amount of calories he was getting was dismal I am sure, but I felt like I had to this.  I had set goals for myself.  I was going to nurse this baby until he was 11 months old and I went back to work.  11 months, dangit.  

Well, how naive am I to make plans without consulting the baby?  He woke up one morning and REFUSED to nurse.  What does that look like?   It looks like full-on scream-crying, flailing, pushing away with real tears, protest.  Again at nightime.  Again the next night.  

And then it was done.

He voiced his opinion and I heard it loud and clear.  I just didn't want to hear it.  I wanted to meet my goal.  I wanted to still be his mama that could make food for him that was healthy and good for the heart.  I wanted to give him immunity powers.  I realized that this thing, this dairy cow, saggy boobed thing, was something that I wanted.  I was so scared of it just a year before and now I was crying that it was all over.  

Mi bebe tienes RINGWORM!

My kid got ringworm.  How, you may ask?  I have no idea, is the answer.

A few weeks ago I noticed this circle of red skin forming on the back of his head.  My first thought was, "Oh no!  Lyme's disease!" But the lack of a tick bite convinced me that he did not have Lyme's disease.   Also, the fact that he was not exhausted and sick should have tipped me off that he did not have Lyme's disease.  Since the red ring appeared about a week before my son's 9 month appointment, I decided to keep an eye on it and if it didn't change, I would just ask the doctor then.

About two days before the appointment, I thought, "Could that be ringworm?"  But I was fairly certain that it was not, as he had not been wrestling around on damp mats with high school boys.  (This is all I knew of ringworm.)  So, I googled it.

Ringworm, for those who don't know, is an infection of the skin caused by a fungus.  It is not caused by or related to worms.  It is similar to athletes foot and spreads through contact with someone who has it.  And was probably what was on the back of my kid's head. (The more you know-----shooting star!)

Two days later, I took him to the doctor, and to his surprise he said, "Wow!  That is ringworm.  I haven't seen that on a kid this young for a long time."  Cool!  My kid is lucky!

The doctor said that because the ringworm was on the back of his head, that he would prescribe an oral anti-fungal, as the scalp is hard to treat.  He also said that he would need to take it for at least 3 weeks until the ring was gone.  As a good patient, I went and picked up the prescription and forced the sickly, sweet orange liquid into my kids mouth.

(Aside)  My child is super easy.  He is so stinkin' good.  He only looses it when I lay him flat on his back or try to give him medicine.  (End Aside)

I filled the syringe and tried to hold little man on my lap, arms pinned down, and squirted the medicine into his mostly toothless mouth.  He flung his head, cried, screamed, gagged, and spit out most of .5 mL  that I had squeezed out.  There were still 3 mL in the syringe.   I squirted those into a bottle.  He said, "No, thanks."  Then I put some juice in there with the meds and tried to give him that.  Still nothing.

I gave up.  I would try again the next day.

The next day I tried to give him smaller doses throughout the day mixed into various bottles, but I could  not get him the take the stuff.  Knowing I had to get rid of the ringworm, I decided to try something different.  I have recently gotten into essential oils and home remedies, so I started researching how to naturally get rid of ringworm.  I found that tea tree oil has great anti-fungal properties, so I gave it a shot.  Each day, I put one drop of oil onto the ring in the morning and before bed.  In six days the ring was dried out (dead) and healing.

Things my kid ate yesterday:

1. Hormone- and antibiotic-free, free range chicken pureed with organic carrots and organic green beans.
2. A mouthful of sand, which he choked on
3. A piece of the American Express junk mail flier, which I tried to pull out of his mouth, but it was too far back, so we just got some water and swallowed that mess.

Things my child has put in his mouth...in the last week

I realize that this makes me look like a negligent parent, especially to those of you who do not have kids, but those of you who do, know that a child can get his hand to his mouth at about the speed of two atoms flying toward each other in a particle accelerator.  And that their tiny fingers make for the most accurate set of tweezers.  So, though all of these things have found their way into little man's mouth, none have been swallowed or choked on.  I swear.

1. the open end of a sunscreen tube (sans lid)

2.  a nickel

3. the cord for the record player (covered in hair)

4. the dog's squeeky bone

5. the dog's actual bone (cow femur)

6.  the dog's foot

7. the dog's tongue

8. a furniture pad

9. my husband's shoe

10. two dvd cases with Brad Pitt on the cover

11. my toe

12. the legs of the coffee table

13. scooby doo

14. a brown paper bag

15. the edges of the rug


Can you tell he is army crawling everywhere?

God Bless the Single Parent

(disclaimer-this entry is very graphic)

I am not a single parent.  I have a good and kind husband.  My son's delight in him shows me the incredible level of devotion between father and son.  And because of that devotion, my husband works very hard to take care of us.  As of late, he has begun a project at work and has been working 12-14 hour days trying to complete it.  On day five of his being at work during all hours of our son's awake time, I was starting to feel the weight of "doing it all": working, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, generic gender stereotypes, etc.  Add to that my son is teething.

After said day five of my temporary single parenting, I was hoping to get some things accomplished at home after work.  After a ten hour day, I picked my son up at daycare and finally made it home.  Home to my terrible, awful, poop-smelling home.  Let me clarify, my home does not usually smell of poo, but as I walked in the door, the scent of feces was heavy in the air and my eyes fell to the dog kennel.  But even before I saw it, I knew by the smell that this was not going to be an easy clean up.  I found that my poor creature had been VERY sick in and outside his kennel (if that gives you any idea).  There was a general splatter within a three foot radius.  

I put down the car seat carrier and attempted to think through the situation, but was not having great success.  That said, I opened the kennel to take my dog, Phil, outside, and he did the ol' doggie shake, flinging doo all over me and my work clothes.  I managed to get him outside and tied to a tree, then headed back in for the kennel.  Before entering the house, I turned to look back, hoping my make shift tie out was going to hold him.  Looking back at him, he gave me a look-a look I had seen once before; three years ago, when a student I really loved was vomiting on the desks and floors of my classroom, and in between heaves, he was frantically apologizing.  Of course I was not angry at the child.  Nor was I angry at the dog, he clearly could not have prevented this from happening, and seeing his ears drooped against his lowered head, outside in the rain, covered in shit, I felt bad for the guy.  However, the pity was not going to get my work done, so I stripped off my work clothes, put on some scrub clothes, and went outside to face the mess.  

Meanwhile, every time I left my son's line of vision he started screaming.  I grabbed the hose and started to wash the dog.  When he was clean, I went after the kennel.  Since it was 50 degrees and raining, I couldn't take my son outside with me, which meant that he was screaming outside of my line of vision, but not out of earshot. And I don't mean fussing or crying.  I mean screaming, as in, sweating, flush face, sometimes holding the scream too long and doing the silent scream.

But the poop.  So much poop.  Must.  Keep.  De-pooping.

I tried to soothe him by talking to him, but was not having it.  Since I knew he was recently fed and had a dry diaper, I dredged on.  I scrubbed the beshatted floor hands-and-knees style to get the grout all scrubbed out.  And the with the distance between the stink and my nose reaching more than friendly distances, my stomach started to turn, and my son's screaming was starting to weigh down my brain.  In that moment I felt a twinge of something similar to desperation, but instantly, even in all that mess and noise, I knew that I had it good.  I have a baby.  I have a dog.  I have house for both those things to poo in.  Tomorrow, my husband will be home. The two of us can face tomorrow's disasters together.  But some people have to clean up the dog poop and the baby poop on their own, and those people are deserving of gold medals and a good night's sleep.  So to all the parents who are doing it alone, God bless ya.


I thought of doing that public shaming of dogs with written signs to explain their bad behaviors thing, but it didn't seem fair, he clearly wasn't trying to be a menace.   However, here are some very ashamed dogs that other people have posted to the interwebs and last one isn't too far off.

Also, I had wine and oreos for dinner.