Intervention (The trials of new motherhood and the joy of being rescued)

Before I go into my little story, I will make it known, that I bore a baby. I had a baby! I never even knew if I would ever be a mother, uncertain if I could handle it or had the personality for it, but here I am- now a mother! My sweet boy was born at 12:41 am on January 10th. Vyvian Utah Everson Spark. I call him Utah.

Childbirth was not kind to me. I will say that. I ended up with a terrible birth complication that had me at the ER three days after birth. It was beyond terrible. Even the nurses at the ER were holding their hands over their mouths and exclaiming in horror over my body. They called it "a defect". I have never been so scared in my life of what was happening to my body. Now I know much more as to what went on and what I am dealing with... but back then I read about similar situations online and only found negative stories about being housebound. Thank you God my situation turned out better than I feared, but I definitely may have a slight case of PTSD thanks to that awful complication and all of its involved pain and fear.

Not only that but birthing without an epidural or intrathecal was absolute torture for me. I think I screamed every other minute FOR AN ENTIRE MINUTE for THREE FREAKING HOURS. I HAVE NEVER HATED A PERSON SO MUCH as I hated the doctor when he told me I was progressing too fast to get the intrathecal.

And in the weeks following birth, I just didn't do so great. Although I loved my new darling so much, I was constantly filled with fear about my bodily health (the botched episiotomy) situation and having to spend hours in the bathroom with herbs and sitz baths. It's worse than you can imagine. I was one of 3 women that my doctor had seen with such an issue, after 35 years of practice. I am SOOOOO BLESSED that things ended up healing better than I initially was told they could. Art went back to work and I actually didn't have that much help after the first week. Thank God someone from my family came out once a week or so and so did Art's mom, to help in the mornings. Let's just say bearing a child turned my world around in WAY MORE WAYS than I even knew possible. My hormones raged with sorrow, beauty, loss, and even a sense of doom. No one had warned me of it! Not ONE PERSON had warned me of postpartum hormones and PPD and PP Anxiety disorders! I thought for sure I wouldn't encounter such miseries!!! How wrong I was.


And that's where I sort of can begin my story.
"Aching muscles, memory lapses or loss, depression, hallucinations, headaches, increased blood pressure, increased stress hormone levels, hand tremors.."

The effects of sleep deprivation. What stands out to me is hallucinations and loss of memory. No wonder the last 3 weeks have seemed like a half-dream.

*PART ONE*  Rock-bottom.

I'm guessing that's where I was at, for me, at least. Friday night February 1st. Three weeks plus into having a newborn, three weeks plus into finding out that I have a rare birth complication requiring surgery to patch up my episiotomy and other nearby situations, three weeks into my whole life seeming like an entirely different life than it was four weeks ago. And there it was... rock-bottom. I had felt the tears of post-partum, the genuine bright necessity of a wonderful friend and family support system, the occasional bouts of hope and optimism, and the darkness of my health issue situation. But combining all the emotions and physical hardship with total lack of sleep and I was no longer human. I was part monster.

I knew going into having a baby that the sleep situation can be more than difficult. I hoped to God that somehow I would be one of the lucky ones. And in a way, I am. My baby sleeps for good solid chunks from 2-4 hours. Occasionally even 5 hours. So between midnight and noon I can often get 7-8 hours of sleep if you combine the chunks. It takes longer to get that amount of sleep, but in between at least I can say I am nourishing and tending to an innocent sweet new being in the world, and helping to keep him thriving and alive. Thinking of it in those terms, it's totally worth it. But I also am a person that has a terrible time with less than 6 hours of sleep. I don't mind if it's broken up, but I need the amount. I can get by on one night of 4 hours, provided the next night is 7 or 8 again. But give me less than that, and I start to lose my wits, COMPLETELY. So a 4 hour night followed by a 1 hour night of sleep gave me very little to go on. Anyhow, enough about my dumb sleep needs. I'm just trying to illustrate how the monster came about.

So picture this: 4 in the morning the night after my night of 1 hour sleep. My baby will not go to sleep. He eats, he ALMOST sleeps, he wakes, he cries. My sweet Arthie has to get up at 7:30 am so I have total baby duty. My body is collapsing upon itself. I cannot describe the pain of the exhaustion and then my eyes closing. And then the cry of my baby reminding me I cannot go to dreamland. It was the 3rd time over the course of 4 hours that I had got him to sleep only to have him wake up again crying. It was then that I lost it. I wailed out in deep throaty scream-cries of tears and desperation. I cried as my baby cried, our cries echoing thru the dark house, but Art still not waking (he can sleep through anything). And then my desperation turned to anger. Not towards my baby but towards everything. Towards Art having to work. Towards schedules in general. Towards living in a different town than my family. The anger started to tremor thru my body. I marched into Art's room, screaming that I couldn't do it. That I wanted to leave. That I didn't know what else I could do... That I needed help. All the while bawling. A raw picture, I know, but there she was, a raging monster-mama inside of me. It seriously was horrible. Art awoke and was taken aback. I was out of control. I will leave it at that and to say the monstrosity continued for a while, all hell escalating... because writing all this brings tears back to my eyes. I am so ashamed I even got to this point. But it made some things very very clear. I NEEDED HELP, and I NEEDED to sleep. I want to paint an honest picture here, because I know so many new mamas probably get to similar points and just try to keep quiet about it. I don't know if holding it all in really helps anyone else or yourself.

After the melt-down, I ended up giving my baby 2 ounces of formula. It was the first time I had, and I felt terribly guilty about it. The night before my sister and I had finally (after 3 weeks of him screaming all the time) figured out that my baby was actually very very hungry, and that I am one of the 5% of women who have problems breast-feeding due to actual low supply. Of course lactation consultants unite to tell you it's "all in your mind", to "try harder", to do a million different tactics to keep baby from screaming at the breast, but when it comes down to a hungry baby not getting any milk... there's not much else you can do besides TRY to increase your supply over a few days and quell his hunger in the meantime. My sister, being a breastfeeding mama herself, was able to do that the night she was over, but alone at 4am I realized I was gonna have to break down and give him formula if I ever wanted to sleep. And HOW he gulped it down. And then how he slept. But after my monstrosity and rock-bottom I could no longer sleep. I felt terrible terrible terrible like a drug addict mama like a bad bad person. My heart raced, my mind raced. When Art woke again for work at 7 am, I still hadn't slept. I was in my own personal hell. After he left, my baby woke again and I gave him my breast and he went back to sleep. I finally slept too, for an hour and a half. And I also texted my sis and told her what had happened, a brief note about how terrible it was and I was.

That afternoon Heather called me and asked if I needed to come to Placerville for a respite. I was in the midst of just crying and crying. I'd been wearing the same pajamas for two days. I was miserable. Another dear friend, Rebecca also called and asked me if I needed her. I could hardly answer either of them. So they took matters into their own hands and told me that Rebecca was coming to pick up me and my baby and take us to Placerville so that they could soothe us both and I could sleep. Deep down in my soul, I knew it had to happen. Even with my bathroom equipment (I need special gear now every time I go to the bathroom)... I knew I should just put it all in a bag and go. Pack mine and Utah's things and go. I texted Art at work that I was going. I felt absolutely anxious, nervous, torn up about it. As thought it were some life or death situation. I felt bad for leaving Art and my cats, but also mad that Art would get a night free from the chaos. I felt like there was no way I could manage another night on my own with the baby (no Art) but my sister called again and told me "We'll take the baby and take care of him, and you can just sleep and sleep". Nothing ever sounded so good.

Sweet Rebecca showed up with food and treats and her awesome son Sylvan. I was in absolute disarray, ashamed to be seen in my condition, but also not really caring. Art got home from work and helped with the baby while I took a quick shower, packed bags, and got ready to leave. My heart was RACING with anxiety about leaving. I honestly felt INSANE about the whole thing. I kept panicking that my baby was already asleep which meant I needed to sleep too but wasn't. I was PANICKING about sleep and about leaving. As though leaving would burn down my house or cause me to die. Little did I know how much the opposite.

PART TWO *Respite*

One awesome thing about little Utah so far is how much he likes the car seat and driving. He falls peacefully asleep. Rebecca and Sylvan loaded our things and Utah into the car and I climbed in to their SUV beside him in the back seat. I told Rebecc I was going to try to sleep. As we drove through the town of Grass Valley the tiny lights of gas stations and homes and fast food places looked surreal and neon, like distant fairy lights. I felt like a five year old myself, in the back of the parents car on a long road trip to somewhere nice, sleepy in the night. I actually did sleep for fifteen or twenty minutes, with a pillow lodged behind my head, sinking towards the car seat. I felt strong, for some weird reason, and alone, but comforted by the knowledge of great goodness and kindness of my wonderful friends and family. I also felt dead to the world, like an almost lifeless ragdoll. My sweet baby sleeping next to me reminding me of how alive I needed to be but also reminding me of Heather's promise of sleep to me. I've never wanted anything so badly in all my life, I swear it. Around the descent into the canyon, also seeming ghostly and haunting- silhouettes of pines and the light of the river under the moon- I spoke quietly with Sylvan and Rebecca. They had been absolutely quiet until that point, trying to let me rest.
We spoke quietly til our arrival in Placerville.

We got to Placerville and my things were brought in with ease by Sylvan and Rebecca and Heather. As I walked into her home I felt relief flood over me. Her living room seemed alive with color and peacefulness. Bob Dylan was playing on the record player, not too loud, not too soft. My family was all there, or a bunch of them, my sister-in-law, my little brother, my sweet Lucy niece baby, Heather, my dad, my brother-in-law. The gathering of them along with Rebecca and Sylvan in the same house seemed HEAVENLY. I cannot describe the warmth they all exuded of togetherness, of strength, of willingness to help us (me and Ute), of family. Heather took me to my room I would be staying in which was actually THEIR room (her and her baby's and her husband's) which they had kindly given over to me. It was glowing and warm and beautiful. The bed practically shined. Colorful quilts and hanging glowy lights and clean things and warm cats. I was overwhelmed with sweetness. Then they brought little Utah to me to nurse, best I could. I did. And then Heather, sweet sweet wonderful-with-babies-Heather finished him off when he showed how hungry he still was. I will never forget her lying him in Lucy's crib afterwards, and his big peaceful eyes looking up at us all, with a look of the satisfaction of hunger having been met. His needs having been quelled. His peace having been found. There we all looked down at him, Heather, Emily, myself, Joey. My sweet sweet new baby who I had been so rough around the night before. I hadn't been rough to him, but near him. In my house, my screams that had shaken the whole walls. I felt so awfully terrible, and I cried and cried. I cried so much in that bedroom with my sweet family, thanking them again and again, and remembering my breakdown the night before with shame and sorrow.

But Rebecca brought me snacks of berries and nuts and they brought me pizza and told me to eat eat eat for my breastmilk supply. No lactation consultants had even mentioned how important that was yet! Even after I'd told then of my birth complications they just kept acting like no matter how exhausted or no-appetite you were your body would just make abundant milk. I will probably hold life long resentment against lactation consultants, acting as though my bodily health and stress and nutrition and sleep should not affect my supply whatsoever! Acting as though I was being selfish to even wonder of it!!! I actually ended up with a very sweet kind lactation consultant from WIC, she never questioned me or my supply issues. It was the higher-ups, the lactation "GURUS", WHO HAD BEEN SO WRONG.

And then Heather said- "Don't worry about a thing, he seems very sleepy. You- GO TO SLEEP."

(I am picking this post up from months down the line just to tie these ends together- it's now May 27th)

And sleep I did. I slept in the comfort of Heather's lovely soft colorful bed, with her twinkly lights cozy above me. Woody the cat would wake every once and awhile and shift positions. He would stay exactly where he was seated right next to me, but just turn three points clockwise. I smiled to myself at his sweetness and catness. I woke at midnight and my baby had too, and they brought him in to me to nurse again. And then sleep again we did. This time, next to each other. Him in the bed with me. And there I slept and woke to feed, slept and woke to feed until 10 am. And I felt amazing by that point.

I would like to report that after this rock-bottom there were no other hangups or obstacles or bumps in the road. But that would be far from the truth. Instead there were many more sleepless nights, much of which, later at 6 weeks, was my own problem with insomnia and postpartum anxiety and had nothing to do with my baby. I got sick at least twice totaling a month of my time. Worse, my baby got pneumonia before he was 3 months and we ended up in the ICU for 4 nights. Thank Jesus Lord that since then the days and nights have settled and my hormones have somewhat as well. I feel as though my brush with PPD was WAY too close of an encounter. One child will be enough for me, thank you. ANd truly, it isn't him, it's me.

I have to believe that my hormones went ABSOLUTELY CHAOS HAYWIRE after I had my baby. Pregnancy was a breeze for me. If pregnancy was all that was involved, I would have 3 more kids. But the birth itself and postpartum hormones for me have been hell. I'm not gonna hide it or cover the sheer awfulness of it. I'm a wreck "down there". Hell, if I ever get a divorce I guess I can expect to be single the rest of my life as I am now somewhat of a freak. Here I write at 4.5 months postpartum... and I still battle anxiety and night sweats and insomnia. But I can take things much more lightly these days (most of the time).

This week has been good. I feel replenished and normal and I have slept wonderfully.