Sometimes you have to admit that you need help. I am a fiercely independent person, I like to be in control and I very rarely admit that I need help. But, I have to admit defeat and say that once more this illness has weakened me. I won't say beaten, as there is still some fight in me, although it is diminishing by the day.
Eight weeks ago I gave birth to my beautiful daughter. Her birth was wonderful, and initially I rode on a high of hormones. I did everything by my plan, carefully managed by my team. I started my lithium five days post delivery, I met regularly with CPNs and attempted to manage my sleep as best as possible. But sometimes even when you do everything right the darkness slips in.
Gradually at first, I started to feel the signs of a low. Hopelessness, crying, inability to make even small decisions. To begin with everything was blamed on tiredness, on the responsibility of looking after a toddler and a baby. But the feelings took hold of me, the sadness overwhelming. Finally a visit to family, where meals were cooked for me, the baby held, sleep had. And yet the sadness prevailed. On the journey home, when the tears were still trying to come, I realised that I could no longer blame these feelings on tiredness, relentlessness or the normal feelings associated with caring for children. I am good at hiding these feelings, and it is possible that no one noticed to begin with. But despite the best efforts of my team, the intrusive thoughts are taking over and the illness is gaining momentum.
And so today I will be admitted to the Mother and Baby unit with my daughter. Hopefully it will be a short stay, where I can rest, get stabilised on additional medication and start to get well again. I am anxious and scared at what to expect. At having to relinquish some of the control to a team of people I don't know. But I have to do this, not only so that I am no longer a danger to myself, but more importantly because my children deserve a well mother. Not one weighed down with misery and tears. I want to be able to laugh with my son again and delight in my daughter smiling.
A part of this feels like defeat, like admitting weakness. That I can't do what thousands of other women do everyday. I have to acknowledge that I am ill and I need help getting better. If I had broken my leg I would get it fixed, and I so badly want to be fixed. Suicide is the number one cause of maternal death in this country, and I cannot be part of that statistic. I will not let this illness beat me.
The title comes from Lance Armstrong (despite the drugs scandal I like the quote). In full he says "Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a
year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its
place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever." This may last weeks or months, but with help it will subside. I cannot and will not give up.
