The Hell of Postpartum Depression

The insular world of the hospital now behind her, the reality of the responsibilities that now lay ahead,  overwhelmed my daughter.  She was constantly tired but could not find sleep.  Her anxiety and fear rose with each passing day.  And yet, she consciously and calmly went through the motions of caring for Aidan's needs each time he awoke.  He was loved and cuddled.  Warm and fed.  All the things a newborn baby ever really needs.

Yet my beautiful daughter could not find peace.  Could not relax.  Could not sleep.  Could not enjoy her little baby boy.  "All normal feelings for new moms" said the midwife and doctor.  But the anxiety and sleeplessness persisted and worsened.  All the while, my little grandson oblivious and content in his newborn baby world. 
I did not know how to help her.  I helped in any way I could.  As did her husband, my amazing son-in-law.  We cared for Aidan and we cared for his Momma.  But it was scary.  For all of us.  It was supposed to have gone by now.  She was supposed to be this happy, got-it-together new mom.  The truth was she was falling apart more each passing day. 

After one bad night, we ended up at the hospital...an interview with a psychiatric nurse...an appointment with a psychiatrist...a prescription for anti-depressants and sleeping pills.
Through all of this my mind would sometimes wander to a news clip I had heard several months earlier about a woman who, along with her weeks-old baby boy had jumped in front of a subway train.  It haunts me still. All the questions...how could she...what would make her do that...why didn't she get help...how does her family cope with something so devastating.  My heart broke for the family left behind.  The mother/nana left alone. At the time, I couldn't imagine what could possibly make this woman feel so hopeless and helpless that the only way out was to take her life and that of her baby. 

But now, I can imagine.  I didn't know what else to do for my daughter but be there for her, day and night.  Having never experienced anything like this...it was the 'great unknown' for all of us.  The pills didn't help much.  They mostly increased her anxiety over having to take them!  Another bad night.  Another trip to the hospital.  Better help this time, finally.  By now my little grandson was almost two.  Somehow we had all muddled through.  There were good days.  There were happy days.  I made it my mission to get them both out somewhere each day.  We made the best of it.  My brave daughter struggled through dark days and lonely, sleepless nights.  All the while, my grandson thrived.  From somewhere deep inside, his Momma always found the strength to smile and be happy around him.  Through all the fear and helplessness that held us in its grip, we were calmed and grounded by one little baby boy.  His laughter was contagious.  His joy made us breathe.  His love made us hope.

Aidan, two weeks old...and his momma

My story does have a happy ending!  After pursuing so many possibilities, it turns out my daughter had a 'through the floor' hormone imbalance, likely triggered by the actual birth process.  With the help of hormone cream, other natural remedies, and diet changes, her life began to improve.  Peace and happiness slowly returned.  Today she is, as she has always been, an amazing momma to one happy little boy.  Having gone through the hell of postpartum depression, she has come out the other side physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually stronger.  I am so proud of her.