Laura's Birth: A revisionist story

For the last few nights, I've lain in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the birth story I typed out just days after Laura was born.  It was the product of exhaustion and relief.  Relief that the baby was finally here, and that I was no longer pregnant.  But happiness and excitement?  Looking back, I don't remember those feelings at all.  I had written that story in part for me, but also for the prenatal yoga class I had taken for almost the entirety of my pregnancy.  So this morning I revised my birth story and sent the following to my wonderful yoga instructor, in hopes that the moms she is seeing now can learn from my experiences with PPD.

Hi ___,

I've been meaning to write to you for a few weeks now in regards to the first 6 months with Laura. My birth story email to you and the yoga moms was written almost as soon as I got home from the hospital back in January. I'm sure it was over-populated with exclamation points; if I had it to write over again, it would be exactly the same. That first week is such a haze of exhaustion, only exclamation points will do! For me, however, my dazed weeks stretched into months. Seven months and two weeks later, I would like to revise my story a little.

Laura's birth story is still the same. My water broke at 2:04. I received pitocin six hours later. I begged for an epidural six hours after that. I pushed for one hour, and then Laura was born. Here's where my revised story begins.
I was expecting Laura to pop out, cry, and be placed all gooey on my chest. I expected Nate to cut her cord. Instead, when Laura came out, she was rushed to the bassinet. A swarm of nurses I had never seen came sprinting down the hall. The doctor quickly cut the cord. And then I finally heard Laura cry. I had not even seen the tiniest glimpse of her. Laura was fine - some fluid in her lungs that was quickly cleared. I fretted for the next eternity while they completed the agpar tests on Laura and got me cleaned up. It was probably 30 minutes. It felt like a lifetime. All I wanted was to hold my baby. Nate kept showing me pictures of her on the camera; I wasn't sure if that helped or made it worse.
Finally, after ages of waiting, they let me hold my Laura Rose. And here's where my expectations were disappointed once again. I had expected that I would hold her and feel a rush of emotions surge through me. My stomach would drop or something like that. I would feel like a mother. I took Laura in my arms and felt... nothing. She was just a really cute baby that I was holding. I took her to my breast, and while the sensation of sucking was a totally new feeling for me, I still didn't feel anything for the baby.

For the first weeks, I was weepy and emotional - all common for new moms. I still had trouble relating to Laura, but I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing really well. I knew when she was hungry, tired, wet. I could calm her down. But I just couldn't feel that motherly love toward her. I faked it really well to friends and family. But I relished the 15 minutes I spent in the shower every day. Laura might be crying, but no baby ever cried herself to death, right?
And then I started hearing her cry. And I started hearing the dryer buzz that it was finished, even though there wasn't a load in. And I started feeling panicked every time I heard those noises - real or imagined.
And then it was four weeks later. Six weeks later. Eight weeks later. And I was still emotional. Still aloof. Laura frustrated me more than anything. I couldn't wait to get back to work. Going back to work would make everything better. I'd have adult time. I'd have a quiet train ride. I'd have day care to watch that baby for most of the week.
But when I went back to work, things only got worse. I was more tired (understandably). I felt guilty for leaving Laura with strangers. I felt guilty for wanting to leave her with strangers. I couldn't focus on work. I HATED certain co-workers and started whispering to myself "I hate you" every time I walked by their desks. Not a really healthy way to act. The worst part though, was smiling sympathetically and saying, "Oh yes, I miss Laura so much" and "Laura is doing great!" any time someone asked after her. I was lying to everyone - it was miserable. Worse than anything else was breastfeeding. My supply was virtually non-existent. Laura and I were both frustrated, and she was drinking more and more formula as I failed to deliver.

So one weekend when we were all out to dinner for my brother-in-law's graduation, I had a few drinks. I got a little drunk. And it felt gooooood. I felt like myself again! And that was the scariest thing I've ever felt. I do not ever want to have to drink to feel like myself. That's when I called my OB for help.
That was in May. In the months that have followed, I have learned a lot about Post Partum Depression. I have learned that it affects an enormous number of women. I have learned that it can show up in many forms. It can be completely dibilitating. Mine wasn't severe and has been easily treated. And yet I keep coming back to Laura's birth story.
Through counseling and soul-searching, I have come to realize that at least a small part of my depression occurred in those few seconds that Laura wasn't breathing. I shut down. I didn't want to give my heart away, only to lose it so soon. In those few seconds I didn't know I was closing myself against Laura, but I was. I never gave her a chance. I look at her now, and feel that swelling of love and emotion that I had expected to feel so much sooner. I look at Laura and just LOVE her so much! And it's the best feeling in the world! She's mine! I'm hers!!!
So, would I change anything? No. I would still get the pitocin. I would still get the epidural. Actually, I'd get the epidural sooner. At the time, I felt very comfortable with the decisions I made. No regrets. It's possible that Laura had fluid in her lungs as a result of the medical interventions. But like I said, I wouldn't change a thing about Laura's birth. There is one thing I would change: I would seek help sooner.
I know this has been lengthy, but I don't want any of your moms to go through what I have. My PPD was not severe in the least, but it was a part of my life for too long. Give hugs to your moms. And if you ever want a show and tell with a 7-month-old, Laura and I are just around the corner!
LOTS of love,

C