Apr 24, 2018
Link to show on: iTunes, Google Play, Stitcher, Overcast, PlayerFM, PodBean, TuneIn, Podtail, Blubrry, Podfanatic
This week on the podcast, I joined with Dr. Pereau to talk about postpartum depression, both from a personal level and as those who treat it in our patients.
Dr. Pereau is incredibly honest and vulnerable in this emotional episode as she shares her story. Throughout it, she talks about the symptoms of her postpartum depression, including:
Intrusive thoughts
Emotional disconnection from her baby
Sleep deprivation
Hopelessness
Problems with concentration
Disconnection from passion and joy
Panic attacks and anxiety
Poor self care
It had never occurred to Dr. Pereau that she would struggle with postpartum depression, though she had treated many people with it, and could easily recognize symptoms in others. Often, when we are experiencing these kinds of things, it’s hard to identify the symptoms within ourselves. We understand the need for someone with a recognizable disorder, such as bipolar or schizophrenia, to get help. But depression can be a slippery, indefinable problem when it comes to labeling ourselves.
If you are dealing with postpartum depression, know that it can be treated, and there absolutely hope to work through it. Here are some things that can help:
Breastfeeding to stimulate connection and positive hormone production
SSRI treatment (medications prescribed by a doctor)
Talk therapy
A good support system
If you’ve been experiencing the symptoms we discuss in this podcast, there are plenty of resources, plenty of people who can help you during this time.
The Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale is a simple questionnaire that can tell you if you are experiencing postpartum depression.
For a list of local support groups in the region, www.postpartumprogress.com is a wonderful resource.
Postpartum Support International is another great resource for online support groups and educational materials. www.postpartum.org
2020 Mom is an online advocacy group for maternal mental health. It includes blogs, educational materials and legal support. www.2020mom.org
Below is a touching excerpt from her story:
“My mother always said that when I had a child, I would know true
love in a way I could never conceptualize. It had been a very long
path to finally getting the child, and when he finally came I felt
nothing. Actually, I felt worse than nothing. For the first couple
months, all I can remember is darkness. I felt alone to my core. I
felt like I was drifting, disconnected and lost. In my mind, my
life was over. It was forfeit. The child wasn’t a beaming ray of
sunshine, filling me with hope and life and love. When I looked at
him I felt nothing. The guilt of this overwhelmed me.
I found myself wrestling through the options, fantasizing about
packing a bag and running away in the middle of the night, or
giving the baby up for adoption, or crashing my car off the edge of
the mountain on my way home from work, or throwing myself off our
cabin’s third floor balcony. The images whirled through my mind and
I would clench my teeth and force them away. It was all so dark. I
didn’t want him. I didn’t want my life. I believed I knew these
things for certain. I believed these were my thoughts.
I mentioned to my husband Bryan about having a dream where I
jumped off the balcony, but then I quickly minimized it. I
filled out the Edinburgh Scale in the OBGYN office with just enough
depression items to be flagged but not enough to get hospitalized.
We use the term, “A cry for help,” and generally refer to something
gamey or indicative of less severe illness. I can see how it looks
that way. But I now know without any doubt what a cry for help
really is. It was the weak, thready voice of the last piece of me
left in my mind, the last flicker of light not darkened by
postpartum depression. It was the last bit of me that was not
pinned down under the weight of illness. Those weak cries were the
best I was capable of. The illness was too great. My mind did not
belong to me. My thoughts did not belong to me. I just didn’t
realize it.
As a society, we believe that depression is something that can be
willed away if a person is strong enough. If they just try hard
enough. And yet nobody tells a schizophrenic to just try to not
hallucinate. We don’t tell a person with bipolar disorder to just
try to not cash out their retirement to finish that half built bomb
shelter in their back yard they’ve been building the last few
weeks. Even conditions like alcoholism have been embraced within a
medical model. We don’t tell the alcoholic to just try to stop
drinking anymore. We recognize this to be a medical illness
deserving of care and treatment. And yet we tell the depressed
person to try to be positive. Try to be happy. And I think I know
why. As humans on the planet, each of us suffer, faces grief,
loss, and even hopelessness. And we find ways to survive, often
becoming stronger because of it. We assume our experiences with
emotional pain are similar to what a person with depression goes
through. I know I thought that, and I’ve faced considerable loss
throughout my life.
Unfortunately, depression isn’t anything like that. It’s disease.
It’s organic. It’s neuro chemical. It is an illness where your very
thoughts become twisted and distorted, your perception of the world
around you becomes altered. You lose who you are and generally have
no idea that it’s even happening. We have to stop assuming that
depression is something like the subjective painful experiences we
all encounter in life. It’s a biological illness of the brain. In
the past decade completed suicide rates in the United States have
increased 20%, taking the lives of 121 people a day. Attempting to
will away depression cost me 11 months of my life, where each month
that passed took me deeper into a hole I couldn't claw out of.
Postpartum depression affects the lives of over half a million
women a year. It destroys families and severs the connection
between a mother and child. It is a deadly disease which cannot be
combatted through willpower. I believe a new approach is needed to
proactively educate and better screen our patients. I don’t begin
to have all of the answers, but I can say that the culture around
mental illness must change. There is no room for judgment. Maybe it
starts with a simple, “I’m worried about you. I think you’re
hurting.” Maybe it starts with spending the time to paint a clear
biologic picture for the family surrounding a mother to heighten
monitoring. All I know is that “holding it together” is no way to
live, work, or raise a child.
I chose to accept help. I chose to take medications to treat
postpartum depression, nearly a year later. Eleven months after my
son was born, I remember a pivotal moment. It was 3 in the morning
and he had just fallen back to sleep, there in my arms. As I looked
down at his beautiful face, there in the darkness, I whispered to
him, “I would choose you.” It was like it was the first time I had
ever seen him. The Joy that normally present in my everyday life
came back. My thoughts became my own again, no longer twisted and
distorted. I have firsthand knowledge of what it looks like to be
overcome by an illness of brain, of the mind. It’s chemical. It’s
biological. And it’s one of the most terrifying illnesses I can
imagine. And help exists. I know Sharing this helps to dispel
shame, despite this being...a bit overwhelming. But it’s seriously
about life and death, and if hearing my story helps you to better
understand what 1 in 7 women who have had a child is experiencing,
then this is worth it to me.”