The Best Mum vs The Sane Mum

Last week I went home on leave, with no intention to go back.

Today - four days later I am officially discharged. Again, with no intention of going back.

But something had to give. Something had to change. Something had to drastically alter in my life in order to make that happen.

I couldn't keep pretending I could be The Perfect Mum and remain any kind of sane.

To live up to that ideal was, and IS impossible. 

I was determined to be the breastfeeding mum

source:http://nefhealthystart.org/20-actions-in-20-days-promotion-campaign/

When Bubs was born, I expected that I would and should destroy myself in order to breastfeed. Breast was best, at all costs. And it cost me big time. Physically, I was exhausted. Physically, I was damaged. Literally drained by expectation.

After I came to terms with the fact that breastfeeding wasn't going to work, and I wasn't going to be that perfect breastfeeding mum, I found another way to be that best mum.

I became the cloth nappy mummy.

source: http://www.teeheebaby.co.uk/

I was so proud at the end of my first complete cloth nappy day. It was easy. I felt like I was doing the earth a favour. I may not have been able to breast feed, but dammit, I was using cloth nappies, and that was a worthy alternative! And bonus, financially it made up for the cost of the formula we were now buying. So really, I'd caused our new family no financial hardship by my failure. 

But it cost me in other ways.

The washing doubled. I was constantly refilling buckets, and frantically trying to get liners dry on pouring wet days. She needed changing every hour or more, because these nappies weren't as waterproof as the disposables, and with each nappy change, she also needed a new outfit.

But I kept going, because I couldn't fail at breastfeeding, and then be ok with adding another $20 a week to our grocery bill by NOT using cloth nappies. 

So as time went on, I got the routine down. I got up each morning and by 11am, I had put through two loads of washing, hung out last nights cycle. I was exhausted. But it didn't matter. I had to be that mum.

But still I felt like I was letting my family down. Like all that wasn't enough. I was home all day, and Husband shouldn't have to come home to mess.

So I became the clean mum. 

source: http://www.muminthemadhouse.com/2012/11/08/how-to-clean-a-house-a-mum-knows-best/

I made the kitchen sparkle, and the bathroom shine. There was always toilet paper in the toilet, and the dishwasher was always emptied, the vacuuming always done. 

But by now the cracks were showing.

post natal depression: J. C. D'Ath

 I had nothing left for my husband. When he got home I was the snappy wife.  The tearful wife. The wife who wasn't sleeping. The wife who was starting to self harm. The mum who could no longer keep up any kind of facade that she was ok in front of her daughter.

Expectation, both real and imagined, destroyed me in every way.

It wasn't just 'something' that had to give. 

Everything gave way.

A lot of people worked very hard to bring me through the past two months alive. In one piece. To put me back together. And I must be put back together anew. Because the old me wasn't working anymore. 

I write this as my daughter is half way through her first afternoon at daycare. A compromise which I am struggling with, but know I must accept. Because, right now, I can't be the perfect 'stay at home with my baby all day' mum. I have to step back from everything, and start again.

I may not be a breastfeeding mum.

I may not be a cloth nappy mum.

 But now I am not even a 'never put my baby in daycare' mum!

So, what kind of mum am I going to be, when I finally do make it out the other side of this illness? When I am put back together, and intact again, who will I be? 

When I was in high school, they taught us about this model of health. We learnt that all four 'walls' of this model had to be strong, if you were to be truly healthy. 

source:http://sallyhart72.wordpress.com/tag/bi-cultural-partnerships/

I have completely neglected the spiritual wall for years. My emotional wall has been dodgy and bending for a decade or more now. So, is it any surprise that all it took was for Bubs to come along, and for me to abandon my own physical needs, for EVERYTHING to come apart in a way I have never before experienced - and pray I never do again.

I am determined to build all four walls back up to be stronger than they have ever been. That includes eating right, taking time for me, taking time for my family, and (for me) finding god in my everyday. I went to church on Sunday, and something inside me shifted. I felt relieved and like perhaps I may finally be on the right path. 

Because at the end of all this madness, I will finally be a Sane Mum, and then, finally, I can be, the Best Mum.

Giving Up, or Moving On?

I spent the whole day waiting to see the psychologist.
Finally, I would be able to speak to someone who wasn't a nurse. I would be able to try and make sense of what was going on. I would be able to come up with a plan that would see me getting out of here.

The anticipated 2pm appointment time came and went, and at ten minutes past, I asked a nurse who told me to just wait, the psychologist was probably still with someone and they would come and get me when they were ready.

At 2:30 they still hadn't come to get me, so I went again. It was a nurse changeover time and so no one was really paying any attention to the fact that I was standing anxiously outside their station wondering if I should ask about the appointment or just leave it be. Eventually, I had to ask to get through the coded door which separates in from outpatients and after knocking on my psychologists door and getting no answer, I caught an outpatient psychologist on her way between rooms, who told me that my psychologist was in fact away today as she was sick.

That was the end.

I am being dramatic as usual, catastrophising no doubt, also. But it really was, for me, the final straw.

After nearly three weeks in this place - nothing planned day to day, walking the same well trodden hospital halls, letting someone know when I'll be back, where I'm going, feeling anxious about which nurse is going to come through your door next, and wether you are breaking yet another rule you didn't know about - having the one thing I had been looking forward to (and feeling in desperate need of), cancelled without warning, really did break me.

Once again, I started to pack up my room.

I am home now. I honestly believe I wont (I cant) be back there again.
I felt this way about stopping the respiridone, an incredibly strong compulsion inside telling me 'stop', telling me 'this isn't making you better anymore'. Technically, I am only on a night leave tonight, and I have to go back in tomorrow for the night. But I really don't feel good about it. I believe that ward can no longer help me, they were there when I really needed them, but now I am only going to get better from home. We are starting to put things in place to help me stay well. We have learnt a lot about me and our new family in the past few weeks.

I have learnt that I am stubborn.
I have learnt that I really love and need the outdoors.
I have learnt that I am defensive.
I have learnt that I can stand up for myself.
I have learnt that I don't like being told what to do.
I have learnt that I really enjoy working.
I have learnt that I am terrible at being 'wrong'.
I have learnt that it is OK to not be cut out for full on stay-at-home-motherhood.
I have also learnt, that I am possibly the worst candidate for a hospital stay.

Don't you dare tell me I've become my father.

source: http://www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk/p/i-may-not-always-be-right-but-i-am-never-wrong/

Where to from here?

It's official, they are reading my blog.
I know this because I got grilled about posting pictures and ensuring other peoples privacy this morning. Again,  by the same nurse who set me off wanting to pack up and leave last week. I dont understand why she cant just pretend to be friendly?
Now I am sitting outside with a fast asleep bean contemplating hanging myself from the nearest tree, going back inside and demanding a disharge or just forcing myself to get on with it.

Honestly though, I have no idea what 'it' even is. I have been here nearly 3 weeks now,  and my first appointment with an actual psychologist is this afternoon. 

I'm feeling less desperate but more angry amd frustrated.  They have changed me from one antidepressant to another, tried to mood stabilizers both of which have made me worse, and now I'm on nothing but the new antidepressant.  I feel as though my bipolar stuff is being ignored completely and a little bit like I'm just being left to languish. 

I'm sure they would say differently.  But then again,  perhaps so would I, if I wasnt the one on this side of the door.

Night Leave

Two weeks after I made it home from respite, I am finally about to go to sleep in my own bed again.

It is a strange feeling, having to line up and ask for your meds in the morning, explaining exactly when you are leaving and when you will be back. Having them, in turn explain in great detail what meds you are taking with you and how to take them - apparently oblivious to the fact that you have been managing them yourself for years without issue.

Ok, maybe not completely without issue.

I'm not going to lie. Just over 24 hours at home and I've only begged to be taken back twice...unsure if that is a success or not?

We had some nice chilled out family time, didn't do anything more extreme than visit the mall on easter saturday (!!!!!) and watch a few episodes of breaking bad.

We made a valiant attempt to get some awesome family pictures.

And made Bean her own little racing car from a box and some twine.

And in the midst of all this, we worried about us as a family. Will we make it through this? What does this mean for our marriage? It appears we are both blaming the other one for having a part in this breakdown, and we are both searching the past to see who did what, and who didn't do what. How did this happen? How did we fall so far?

Husband isn't doing great, but I can't hold him up. I want to, but those feelings of burden just come crashing back and all I can think is - these two would be better off without all this trouble I am causing them. They would be better off without me. I am making their lives too hard, no one should have to live like this, with a mother and wife in hospital because she can no longer cope with life. 

A Baby being shunted back and forwards, hospital to car, car to home, home to car and back again.

What if this destroys us and it's all my fault?

How would I ever forgive myself that evil?

I have used all my PRN on this trip. And I know that I won't be able to come home in a week. I simply am not well enough yet. The littlest hint of upset, anger or of the pain I am causing leaves me reeling and completely unable to see anything past the moment.

So we are creating little moments for me to giggle at when I'm in my room. Between nurse checks and shift changes, I can scan through my phone and remember that things can be ok. 

Falling For Aria - Artwork - 20.04.14

I have finally started to accept that I am in a psych ward, stopped feeling an overwhelming urge to escape, and have instead been making use of the art room in the evenings after Bean is asleep. It helps me feel better, especially when I am finger painting. This piece, started off as a piece of wood, which I covered in black paint and then placed two red footprints on it using a screwed up fist. Then I continued with the red to symbolise the blood and pain of the past seven months, before adding scratch marks and dragging my fingers down through the red to try and capture the slow, unwilling fall into this illness. The feet remain in a clear corner because I am trying to protect her from all that pain.

After that, I scanned it into my computer and adjusted some of the saturations, sharpness and added a 'cloud' filter on a low intensity to try and capture the ultimate fogginess of it all when I'm trying to remember how bad things have been. Finally, I added a 'charcoal' border to try and tidy it up a little bit. I am pleased with how it's turned out, particularly with how clear the scratch marks have ended up in the final result, as on the original wood painting, they aren't very obvious.

It was very cathartic, and I am now working on another piece. It's just a shame the art room has nothing to draw on, no paper, no scissors, no board or canvas. Someone needs to fund it, even the sewing machine is not working.

Day Leave

I have been granted an entire day at my own home! Not a big deal, many would say, but I am now so institutionalised, that I was awake from 4am because I was so excited.

I was nervous about how I might cope. I was worried I wouldn't know how to behave. I was excited to see my cat. I was dying to go outside and stand on the grass - despite the fact that it is a howling storm outside. I wanted to lie on my bed and grab some new undies, the four pairs I have in hospital are probably getting a bit over-washed by now. 

Walking into my house felt weird. On the drive home I'd suddenly realised just how long I've been unwell for, nearly six weeks now. I've been in hospital for two, it's been a month since I rang my mum to come down, and things started before that phone-call.

To be honest, it's all a little overwhelming.

I got home and played with the cat, and lay on the grass in the pouring rain and took a long bath without worrying about a nurse coming to check and even shaved my legs without asking for the razor!

I'm now only an hour or so away from going back to the hospital. I have made it through the day without taking any PRN (lorazepam if needed), but it hasn't been without it's hiccups.

I'm currently sitting in my bed, listening to Bean and Husband out in the kitchen making dinner, feeling to anxious to go back into the chaos, and aggravated by Bean's "I'm hungry" noises. I get up and try to feed her, but it doesn't help, I know that husband is frustrated that I'm not being helpful and he is doing tea and looking after her. So I try to help, I take her to her room to give her a bottle and hopefully she'll sleep. But she is refusing the bottle and STILL screaming in that overtired manner and suddenly I feel dangerous inside. I call out for my husband and push Bean into his arms as soon as he arrives.

I'm pleased I was able to call him. That I was able to recognise those feelings. But I did just break my no PRN record. Lorazepam was downed as soon as I got into the kitchen and 'took over' dinner, which was already finished.

I'm worried that I won't ever be able to cope with her crying. I worry that I won't ever be able to be a mum properly to her again. I'm worried about how I'm going to manage full stop. What if I can't and I never get better and never get out. Or worse, what if they give up on me and I do get out and then I can't cope.

And then I look back.

Two weeks ago I couldn't even handle feeding her without crying and feeling like I wanted to scream. My husband was having to take days off work because I couldn't face her without crying or becoming a quivering mess at the thought of yet another day being unable to manage her demands.

But this week has gone better. I haven't yet made it through an entire day without having a nurse have to take her for a while, but those times are getting shorter. 

I have taken control of my meds a bit, and feel more able to be in control of my own treatment and recovery. I've posted a job advert on my FB page asking for some in home help and a babysitter. We are looking into a couple of half days of Day Care and it looks like I will be eligible for a set number of respite hours during the year.

Surely things can't be too far away from getting back to normal?

My Baby Learnt To Crawl Inside An Insane Asylum

SENSATIONAL! WHAT A TITLE! I really should think about writing for a tabloid with skills like that. But hey, this is more fun, although the pay is far worse.

I'm fairly sure my (once) lovely nurse is now seriously regretting she ever opted to become my primary carer in here. I mean, things were going great until I swore at her for offering me Lorazepam after taking away my hot water bottle. Then came the day I packed up my entire room and asked repeatedly to be discharged. Or when she told me I couldn't feed Bean with an unsterilised bottle because it was against hospital policy, after which I didn't speak to her for an entire evening. Yesterday, I accidentally vanished without telling anyone and discovered that they had called my husband in a state of mild panic over my whereabouts. And now of course, I am now the patient who 'refused' to take her meds. (Am still rather proud about that one. And I feel vindicated, I fell asleep before midnight finally, I woke up feeling very clear in the head this morning, and haven't felt dizzy even once so far today.)

Also, I seemed to have pissed off the kitchen staff. This is a vegetable sandwich on someone else's tray.

This is a vegetable sandwich on my lunch tray.

Probably shouldn't have dissed their menu. I'm going to the cafe.

But, something far more serious has happened...

Today when I went to collect my morning tea from the nurses station, I spotted an address label with the words "Anxiety Girl Gets Pregnant" written on it, stuck under a computer.

I AM FREAKING OUT!

I have been trying to get a photo as proof all morning, but the damn nurses appear out of nowhere whenever I get close, and there is only so many times I can go back to check if I got the right morning tea.

I don't know how to find out if they've been reading this. 

If they know it's me. 

If they have clicked onto the fact that they hold a major

look into my psyche at their fingertips. 

If they know about all the illegal food and 

hot water bottles I'm hiding in my room. 

So, staff at Mothers And Babies Unit CHCH, come and see me and let me know if you are reading this. Or, just utter a safety word in passing if you are too scared to let me know. It's "peanuts", by the way.

And all the while, Bean gets closer and closer to crawling. When she got her she was just rolling around like Leo in his cerebral high on Wall St. But now she is pulling herself along the floor, in a way reminiscent of Leo under fire in an action film. It's really amazing how far she has come in just seven months. 

But I can't help being angry at myself for being so unwell that I feel like (once again) I'm being denied those awesome feelings of joy that everyone talks about in relation to having kids. I cried when she first sat up, because I wanted to feel excited for her. I felt intellectually proud of her, but emotionally I felt nothing. 

I am growing increasingly concerned that the longer I am in here, the less I'll be able to cope on the outside. This place isn't that far removed from a prison. My walks have been extended to up to two hours, which is kind of like having your parole extended. I worry that one wrong move and I'll be back to half an hour only. I think I am allowed home on leave for a day and perhaps a night even this weekend, but the truth is, I'm scared that perhaps I won't come back willingly. I have horrible visions of me being given intravenous doses of one of the 'pams'* and dragged back here in a comatose state. Sentence extended indefinitely.

My moods are so unstable, and so unpredictable, that even though I woke up feeling really clear and well this morning (and proud for not taking the respiridone), I have been on the verge of tears for most of the day. I don't want to interact with any of the other inmates here, and so I've locked myself in my room. Even worse, one of the youngsters on the ward has her entire family visiting, and they are everywhere and I can't stand it. I have had to change the route I walk around the ward, the places I eat, the places I sit and (once more) shut myself in my room. I am also pretty sure that one of the other patients across the other side of my ward was a student at my school, but I don't want to say anything, because if she isn't, that would be weird, but if she is, that would be weirder.

I don't know if I am becoming truly paranoid or if all this is true. I know that with each emotional fall I have, they are less and less likely to discharge me. 

Bean and I went to the chapel this morning. We sang old wartimey songs with the elderly folks from other wards in this non emergency hospital. Bean seemed to love it, and the old timers were pretty stoked. Someone even brought their dog. That was pretty sweet. While I was there, I wrote a prayer and tried very hard not to cry.

We went there yesterday actually, accidentally discovered where it was. It was so calm and peaceful, that once I was there, I didn't want to leave. I think we will make it a daily visit. I also think I might be about to find God. 

But more about that later, I have to think of a sensational title first.

*lorazepam, diazepam, clonazepam - you get the picture. They're all sedatives (for those not in the know).