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).

I wish Part II

source: http://www.deviantart.com/customization/wallpaper/?view_mode=2&order=14&q=Self+Aware

It would be nice to have an illness,

that everyone could see

So that when I'm scared and tired

the reassurance wouldn't be,

But if you had the flu, a bug

or a broken bone inside your head,

would you or anyone else expect

that you should leave your bed?

I wish I had a fault that was easier to fix,

and a well researched and trialled dose

could save me from it's hits.

But when something's wrong inside your brain

it is all just in your head.

An insidious and deadly toll it takes on you instead,

and no on can tell by looking

that you're walking but are dead.

So no one sends you get well cards,

few people give you time

like they would if you were hospitaled

with broken bones, or flu of swine.

So instead you just stop telling where the pain you feel hides.

Because you yourself, know longer know's for sure where it lives inside.

You search for ways instead to feel something that is real

a physical sensation in a place your hands can feel.

Look a cut, see, here's my hurt.

See I'm not ok.

This pain is real, and feels more pleasant than what's standing in my way,

and you can tell by looking, that this pain is not ok.

Not Ok

I have to get out. I just don't know how.

I'm pretty sure that all I am learning in here is to be quiet. The less I tell them, the freerer I remain.
If I tell them I want to hurt myself, they'll post a 24/7 watch on my door.
Today I actually packed my entire room up and told them I wanted to be discharged. This was, admittedly through a haze of ugly crying. Just like that, talking to a doctor. More hospital protocol being lectured at me.

I can't stand it. I actually think I am becoming worse just being here.

There is an ever growing list of things I can and can't do. Don't use unsterilised water for your baby bottles. Don't enter the art room in only socks. Don't eat your meals in your room (granted, I haven't actually been caught on that one yet). Don't use a hot water bottle. Don't use a wheat bag. Don't use a heat pack. Don't try to escape.

Definitely, don't try to escape.

But I haven't felt normal in over a week now. I have felt dizzy and nauseas every one of those long days. A nurse suggested it was anxiety, but dizziness isn't one of my anxiety symptoms. I want to stop taking the respiridone. I don't think it's helping. My moods are swinging with more severity and to further extremes than they have ever done before. I can't sleep. I have no appetite. I was happy and feeling good within myself for twelve whole hours, from last night to lunchtime today.

I wrote 1000 words on my novel. I rang my sister. I wrote poetry. I went for a long walk in the sun with Bean and on the way we sang and I composed two songs in my head. Neither of which I can remember.

Our lovely walk - kind of. Source: www.christchurchtop10.co.nz

But all it took was for one nurse, to say one thing and I crashed so hard, that I still haven't got back up.

I am so tired. I was falling asleep by seven. But it's closer to ten now and here I am. Writing furiously because I actually don't feel safe.

There, the truth.

I don't feel safe with myself right now, and I am afraid to tell anyone because all I want to do is go home.

I am looking at my pinboard (which is now covered in pictures of trees and other nature things I ripped from magazines in the lounge) and desperately trying to imagine myself in a secluded cabin. With no one but myself for company, and nothing but a book to read and a novel to write. Two weeks of nothing but freedom and nature.

I think, that that is what would get me well.

This drug trial prison is going to kill me. But if I say anything like that, the walls will only close tighter.

Ward Meeting and Real Estate Menus

This morning was my first ‘ward meeting’, and I had been warned about it, but clearly was still unprepared.

Ten people, a registrar, two medical students, two house doctors, my nurse, a social worker, all sitting with folders and staring at me and my little family as I’m forced to discuss my week, my thoughts, and disclose all the many side effects I am experiencing from this apparent drug trial I am on.

Nausea, fatigue, fogginess, forgetfulness, dizziness, diarrhea, re-lactation – relactation? Really? Cue blood test. Waiting. Probable medication change. Start again.

Afterwards I am so overwhelmed that I start to cry and feel the all-to-familiar darkness coming back for another go.

We take Bean to the park, and put her in the swings and go down the slide. Her funny half giggles, the fresh autumn air and the cool sunlight push the black away, just for a little while.

I’ve decided that whoever writes the menus here (which we must mark off a week in advance), must be a former real estate agent. Hired to transform soggy food into fresh, vibrant ideas, so that we are fooled into believing we actually have a choice.

Yesterday, I chose ‘Satay Chicken on a bed of rice with seasonal vegetables’. I received a plate of white meat, in an equally pale sauce, speckled with red flakes and a slightly orange tinge. It tasted how it looked, there was definitely no satay. The seasonal vegetables are apparently code for frozen mixed veges and suspiciously phallic kumara.

I’ve only wanted to kill myself twice today.

Things People Say Before They Have Children

I'll be the first to admit, I did, in fact, say each and every one of these cringe worthy statements.

I wish I could go back in time and slap my arrogant pre-baby self in the face.

Common Pre-Baby Misconceptions

Oh the joy of a perfect, beautiful, happy family.
source:http://allhod.com/?attachment_id=1596

1. "I just don't get it, how do people with kids seem to have no time? Don't babies sleep for 16 hours a day?"


2. "There's just no reason not to be a yummy-mummy. I mean seriously, I've got people lined up to babysit, all it takes is an hour to see a hairdresser."


3. "I'm pretty sure I can do the baby bit, it's the labour I'm worried about. I mean, babies only need three things don't they? They're either tired, hungry or need a new nappy. So how hard can it be to figure out which one it is? I'll be fine."


4. "Well, this bouncinet bounces automatically and has a white noise player. So if baby isn't sleeping, I'll just put it in there and then it will be rocked to sleep no problem."


5. "Gosh baby clothes are cute. I just want to buy them ALL!"


6. "Look, plunket gave us a book which tells us how to do everything. I'm sure whatever goes wrong, the answer will be there."


7. "Oh, I'm not worried. I'm too excited to have a wee cute bubba running around the house."

Post Baby Realisations

Ummm, soooo, yeah. Meet my family. Wait, why is my daughters face missing from the picture? 

1. "I thought babies were supposed to sleep for 16 hours a day? I haven't slept for more than 3 hours at a time in the past two months."


2. "I'm sorry, do I look like I want to go to a hairdresser and stare in the mirror at their disgustingly beautiful make up and styled hair and frequently showered bodies. I'm just amazed I got dressed today!"


3. "Seriously, what else could it be? Because I'VE TRIED ALL OF THOSE THREE TIMES AND YOU ARE STILL SCREAMING AT ME!"


4. "What do you mean, baby doesn't like the bouncinet? It cost me $300! MAKE HER LIKE IT!"


5. "We have way too many baby clothes, and baby has already grown out of most of them and SHIT! We never managed to get a photo of her in Aunt Mertyls hand crocheted dress! Better squeeze her into now while we still have a chance."


6. "Where is that plunket book?! What is the number for plunketline again? WHY ISNT IT IN YOUR PHONE YET?! "


7. "Is it wrong that I want to console people who tell me they're pregnant, instead of offering my congratulations? Is it? Why is she still awake? Why won't she eat her food? Why is she spitting at me?"

Going To The Beach

Something good did happen today. 

I'm supposed to write about that too, or else my Husband feels sad. And I don't want him to feel sad.

I was allowed out for a drive for one hour, and we went with Baby Bean to the Beach at Sumner. I felt a bit sick going out there, and got a bit anxious and Bean fell asleep on the drive. But then I took her out of the car and onto the Beach and although it was her second time at the beach, it was the first time she had really seen it. 

I showed her the waves, and the sand, and the driftwood. And then we all sat on a bench, and Lover and I ate hot chips and threw them to the seagulls, which Bean's incredulous face thought was pretty amazing when they swarmed around us from out of nowhere.

 

Lover took lots of photos so I could play around with them later and hopefully get some nice pictures of Bean and me to remember the day.

He's actually a pretty good photographer.

It was a really nice outing, and I felt truly happy for the first time ages. Not elevated-bipolar-happy, just happy.

Then I got back here and was in isolation again. But my friend J visited and we talked, and my Love brought me beautiful flowers and a bright lime green blanket and a Burrito for tea. Then when he saw my post about the hot water bottle, he rang to remind me about all the beautiful things that happened today. And He is right. 

Bean out with Daddy Buying Me Gorgeous Flowers to Brighten My Room.

Damn these mood swings.

Hot Water Bottle

I am so angry right now, that I can't even look my lovely nurse in the face.

I have been waiting for 6pm all day long.

I have been praying to not have another gastric upset. Freaking out every time my tummy gurgled. Watching the clock like a hawk as the hands ticked closer and closer to six.

Six-o-clock came and went. I was sitting in my room pacing excitedly. I was well. Finally all the drama could stop. I could go and make up my own baby's bottles. I could shower without having to get the cleaners to clean right after. I could go to the fish bowl room and sit in the massage chair. I could go and fill up my (now cold) hot water bottle. I could watch Ellen again.

I buzzed for a nurse, who took five whole minutes to appear. "Am I out of isolation now?" I asked. She said she would go and check. Five minutes later I've almost given up hope and am trying to fill my hot water bottle from the tap in the sink. Then my lovely nurse enters, grinning cheekily and saying "are you trying to put one past the other nurses?"

No. I say, "it's six-o-clock. I should be out of isolation by now."
"No" She says, "Remember, the house surgeon said if no results came back, then you had to remain in isolation until the morning?"
I felt deflated, and instantly clouded over inside. "Fine, then will you be able to fill this up for me?"

BIG FUCKING MISTAKE!

Apparently you are not allowed a hot water bottle in a hospital.
Apparently they are doing my a favour by even letting me out of isolation in less than 48 hours as per hospital policy.
Apparently they are being super generous to even allow me to fill my hot water bottle with hot tap water and to keep the offending water bottle overnight. 

Now not only do I have to stay in here like a Lepper until tomorrow morning. But tomorrow morning when my Husband arrives here I have to hand over my hot water bottle!

I gave up. I burst into tears. I couldn't even look her in the face. I was so angry.
"Are you ok?"She asked.
"No, I am not fricken ok." I replied.
"Shall I get you a lorazepam?"

"NO! I DO NOT NEED A FUCKING LORAZEPAM EVERY TIME I GET UPSET!"

I cried back. Tears flowing freely.

She proceeded to calmly explain that they didn't want a repeat of last nights escape plans, and wasn't my husband amazing, wasn't it great for Bean that we have such a good marriage, aren't the plants he bought me beautiful?

I just wanted her to leave.
I just want to leave.
I am not handing over my hot water bottle tomorrow.

Flourescent Lights

Thursday 10th April

Today was a good day. Hubby took the Bean home for the night and I managed to sleep for a solid 9 hours. Remarkable.

I managed to shower, and then give Bean breakfast when hubby brought her in. I gave her lunch and we played, sang and read a book. I even kept it together when she screamed her way to sleep, and felt like I'd really achieved something.

I didn't consider ways to kill myself even once.

Until I suddenly had a funny feeling in my tummy, and now I am in isolation for at least 24 hours since the last gastric episode. Oh wait, make that 48 hours. Apparently hospital isolation rules are stricter than for those of you on the outside. 

I am not allowed to leave my room. Unless it's to go to the bathroom. There is a not inconspicuous hazard sign on my door.

People are being encouraged to use hand sanitiser, masks and even to gown up upon entering my room. My lovely nurse actually threw my afternoon tea to me from the doorway, this afternoon.

I've never been made to feel more of a freak in my adult life. (And yes, that does include my time as a teacher of teenagers!)

My own Toilet. Just for me!

My Psychologist came to see me this afternoon, and sat of the other side of the room. Way to build patient rapport.

Bean started screaming while she was here, and all the things collided in my head. I started frantically twisting my lovely woollen blanket between my fingers and toes, and Mrs Psychy started trying to get me to be mindful, and to focus on the feeling of the blanket on my skin and "was I wearing socks?", but all I could hear was Bean's overwhelmingly piercing whining, the smacking of her hand against the floor, and (he who had just returned) Hubby's in-vain attempts to distract her. And all I could feel was my head spinning and the thoughts gathering and the tension growing and growing until I thought I would literally snap.

Then my tummy betrayed me again and just like that, my sentence just increased by another three hours. I'm considering not telling them about any new episodes, just so this hell can end faster. I'm not even able to watch Ellen, because the TV is on the other side of the ward. To hell with my treatment plan!

So, tomorrow I am supposed to stay in this room all day with the Beany Bub. They are bringing in a high chair so that I can feed her in here. I have a horrible feeling that it isn't going to end with my sanity intact...if I could even dare to call it that now.

I'm starting to consider ways of escaping. But every route is blocked by a nurses station. I'm pretty sure the fire exit will set off an alarm, and the windows only open a few centimetres, if that. Plus, I didn't pack a rain coat. Besides, I think that considering it is a half hour drive from here to my house, I might be noticed as missing by one of the hourly overnight patient checks, before I get very far.

Better De-Germ yourself. And look, the fire exit
so close, and yet so far.

But still, it might be worth it. Just to get outside. Because I just watched Anchor man 2, and the fluorescent light in my room is suddenly looking far more appealing.

All The Little Pieces Falling Out Of Place

Two nights ago, I was "the new one." The "where is the new one's dinner tray?" The "why are you here, are you from Christchurch, how old is your baby?" The New One.

Because two nights ago, just hours after my last blog, I was sitting in my therapists office, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stop my nails from digging deeper into my arms, begging her to put me in hospital.

And here I am.

"This ward is sad. I'm sure people will think I'm a snob becuase I've shut muself away in my room. It's hard to make something so sterile and dated look - let alone feel -  homely. But I'm really trying.
Maybe that's the point, so you don't want to stay here? Amongst the word down carpet, the scratched and dented walls, or the old fashioned cots, some steel some flakey paint white.
They've decorated the walls with Winnie The Pooh Decals, but somehow that just seems to exacerbate the overall sense of despair." 07.04.14

It was an unexpected ending to a very planned out day, ending up here. An inpatient in a mental health ward. I actually couldn't tell you how it happened. Except that it did.

I was home from respite. I was excited to be there. I was loving Bean lots. I was excited about all the changes to our lifestyle we were starting to make. We were going to eat healthier, have screen free bedrooms, hire a cleaner once a week, get some help with Bean by hiring a Nanny or finding some daycare.

Everything was going to be all right.


The next morning I woke up with a masterpiece in my head. A book on par with the Da Vinci Code. It was going to be the book of the year. A thriller to defy all thrillers to date. It was going to be a movie within six months of its (imminent) release. I was going to win a Pulitzer. An Oscar. And of course, Ellen was going to star in it.

I couldn't wait to get writing. I wasn't exactly sure what I was writing, but I had a killer opening sentence and a fairly-solid-almost-completish idea for the story itself. But first, I had to write a blog. I needed to reassure everyone that I was ok after my weekend of melancholy poetry uploads. I also had to attend my stroller fitness class because I'd booked and paid for it. Besides, fitness is good for your mental well-being, it gives you endorphins, it makes you happy. And wasn't happy my goal?

I only lasted 20 minutes into the session.
I couldn't keep up with the other mums. I suddenly realised how tired I was. I suddenly found myself biting back tears.

That was all the warning I had, before my happy morning clouded over so fast, that I didn't have time to catch it.

I've been here three days now. My moods are cycling so rapidly I can barely catch a breath. I thought I'd be super visual with y'all and draw a diagram so you can understand a bit better.

This graph is not an exaggeration I'm sorry to say. It really is that fast, and the moods really are that extreme.

Since this time last week I have had my medications played round with in ways I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I've had increases in Lorazepam (Ativan). "Take half a tablet. Try two. Oh, lets just say 3mg shall we, feel better yet?" 

I've had decreases in Fluoxetine (Prozac) "Been on it seven years, you say? Well, clearly it's not working. Let's stop it now shall we?"

I've flirted with Quetiapine(Seroquel). "12.5mg not putting you to sleep? Ok, take 25mg. Still not working? ok, 75mg. You were awake till 2am with restless crawling arms and legs? Ok, lets try 150mg. Oh wait - you seem to be reacting badly let's take you off it."  Thanks.

Started Sertraline (Zoloft). "Just a little at first, to counteract the withdrawals from the Fluoxetine, then we will increase it as needed."

Started Risperidone. "Now, this is similar to Quetiapine, but not the same. It is an antipsychotic, but no one is saying your psychotic. You're definitely not psychotic. 1mg?or half? Let's try half."

I've been experimental with Zopiclone. Half a tablet, one tablet, two tablets. Addicted. Try sleeping without it NOW HAHAHAHA.

It's no wonder I am a sleepless, scratching, nauseated, anxiety ridden, suicidal, elevated mess.

At least I managed to convince my charge nurse to include watching Ellen as part of my treatment plan. (My distress over the no TV before 5pm rule was not healthy).

I worry so much about the impact on Bean. 

I try to get someone else to take her if I'm about to start crying or if I am thinking of killing myself. But at the same time I worry that she is scared, I worry that she doesn't know where she is, that perhaps she is worried about me.

I worry that I don't know when this will get better or if this time I will even make it through. 

It is hard to keep going when you don't know where the light at the end of the tunnel is. 

It's hard to trust others and forgive myself when pieces of me are falling away and I am supposed to be the one person Bean can rely on. 

All The Little Pieces

Enough with the morbid poetry! It's time to get up and go face the monster.

I was terrified to leave that wondrous place of respite, quiet and nothingness. Where I had nothing to do, and no expectation to do it. I was terrified to come home and for everything to be exactly as it was when I left. For me to be exactly as I was when I left.

NUMB.

CONFUSED.

DOWNRIGHT EXHAUSTED.

My little Bean learnt to sit up right before I left. I, of course, was upset that I didn't feeling excited about it. I was too confused to feel anything but angry about the fact that she had chosen to do that then. Right then. Right when I was an unfeeling blob of tears and confusion.

Wrong time, Baby!

But now, I'm home. And finally, tentatively, slowly, a little bit afraid, but very very surely, all the little pieces of me are falling back where they belong.

Last night I held my Bean and made her laugh and sigh and giggle giggle giggle. And I giggled back, because it was just so delightful.

I accidentally woke her from a just-put-down-nap, because I couldn't resist the urge to kiss her on her tiny nose. (cue unhappy husband)

And just like a child clapping for 'I do believe in fairies', all the little pieces which make me me,  slowly but surely, dropping back into place.

Plus LOOK - Kimberley at www.makemommygosomethingsomething.com gave me an award!

So time to pay it forward:

The rules to accept the award:

1. Acknowledge the blogger who nominated you and display the award. CHECK
2. Answer ten questions the blogger gives you. CHECK
3. Give ten random facts about yourself. CHECK
4. Nominate ten blogs that you think are deserving of the award.
5. Let the bloggers know you nominated them.
6. Give them ten questions to answer.

My nominations are super fabulous bloggers that I love:

1. Emma White - Mentalhealthforparents.com Because she is super active online, and is extremely inspirational.
2. JulieRoo  http://juliesnotebook.co.uk/ - because I want to know more about her and she keeps tweeting my posts which I LOVE!
3. The Nomadic Family  http://thenomadicfamily.com/ Because their blog is really interesting, I REALLY want to know more about them and plus, they keep retweeting my posts too.
4. A.J Fitzwater http://pickledthink.blogspot.co.nz/ Because she is a super talented writer and I hope to be like her one day!
5. Kiran Chug  http://mummysays.net/ because she was my initial inspiration to start blogging, she seems to appear everywhere and I'd love to get to her blogging level one day

I know this is only 5 bloggers - but I am relatively knew to this and have yet to discover more bloggers.

My questions to answer.

1.Are you that guy in your neighborhood who feeds the wildlife?

Does wildlife include neighbourhood kids who are looking for odd jobs to raise money for gymnastics classes? Then Yes.

2. Where do you write? (10 bonus points if you admit that one of those places is the bathroom. Don’t lie. We all do it.)

In Bed, In front of the tv, In the BATH - does that count? Sometimes, I swear I am writing when I am asleep....

3. My New Year’s Resolution was “More thongs, less yoga pants”. What was yours and are you sticking to it?

Mine was to publish a book AND write a novel. I've so far published a book (yay) see top of blog. But the novel.....working on it.

4. Lucky Charms for breakfast or are you one of those “I like my heart” kind of people?

Pretty sure I've never seen Lucky Charms in NZ - soooooo, I guess I'm an "I like my heart" kind of person.

5. What are your thoughts on global warming? Kidding. Do you like pizza? Some people don’t like pizza and those people cannot be trusted.

mmmmmmmmm, Pizzzaaaaaaa. But not with anchovies!

6. What is your favourite colour and have you used that colour (or a variation of it) to paint your walls?

Green. But Vibrant Lime green. Not that gross army green, or murky green, or even perky green. I would definitely paint my walls this colour if I actually owned my house

7. What do you look forward to in the spring?

Daffodils. Lambs. Baby birds. Those happy happy spring feelings.

8. Is there a piece of jewelry that you wear every day? Is there any significance to it?

The only piece of jewellery I wear everyday, is my wedding ring. Everything else is fair game for the Bean if I am wearing it. Sad face

9. Cold pillow or warm pillow and are you a pillow flipper in the middle of the night?

COLD COLD COLD! I will definitely flip if necessary.

10.Favourite picture of you and why?

Because it's me and my siblets all in one place having a great ol' time!

Ten Random Facts About Myself.

1. I always sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door.
2. I sing - all the time - not kidding. Mostly disney or Les miserables.
3. I love Les miserables, and will enter into major arguments if someone disses it.
4. I have only seen Les Mis live once :(
5. I read the entire three volumes Lord of the Rings to impress a boy. He didn't even notice.
6. I clearly didn't learn my lesson because I took physics in high school for a the same reason. (different guy)
7. This backfired terribly as I failed to understand any of the basic concepts and just felt stupid.
8. I wanted to be the first woman to walk on the moon.
9. I go into media lockdown if I can't watch the academy awards live.
10. I have recovered from serious Social Anxiety Disorder, thought I was free of anxiety disorders full stop, then was diagnosed as bipolar II 2 weeks ago. YAY ME.

Ten Questions For My Nominated Bloggers.

1. What do you like best about where you live?
2. Why did you start blogging?
3. If you could have any animal as a pet, what would it be and why?
4. What are you doing while you answer these questions?
5. If you could travel to any other country which one would you go to and why?
6. What are you most afraid of?
7. Are you a cat or a dog person?
8. Are you a winter or summer person and why?
9. What is your favourite item of clothing and why?
10. What is your least favourite colour and why?