the "d" word

I don't know what I was expecting when I finally weaned myself off the pump. I know that I wasn't expecting to feel depressed, like I'd lost part of myself. It was confusing to me to feel so down and sad, especially now that I had some freedom back. I was set free from the bondage of the pump! And this made me feel sad? That made zero sense. But hormones don't have any respect for decorum or common sense.

I felt more useless than ever, now that I wasn't pumping Sam's bottles. We had hit a low point in July. Looking through the logbooks I kept, I see the days where Sam only drank 10.5 ounces, 11 ounces, or 12 ounces total on a daily basis. I was consistently and regularly panicked. Even after we switched him from the breastmilk to the formula, it took time for his body to adjust to the change. I think there was a psychological aspect to it as well. It took some time for him to realize that it wasn't going to hurt as much to drink and that he didn't have to be afraid to drink. He was struggling with the transition and I constantly questioned whether I had done the right thing. Logically, it made sense for me to stop pumping. Physically, it made sense for me to stop. I had been ridiculously sleep deprived (without the benefit of caffeine) for nearly a full year- much more so than if I'd had a newborn with regular up-all-night needs. For months, Sam ate every three hours, around the clock. For months, I pumped every three hours around the clock. So at one point, I would pump at 9, feed Sam at 9:30, go to bed at 10 or 10:30. Up again at 12, feed Sam at 12:30, back to bed around 1:30. Up again at 3- this was usually when I read my Bible. For some reason, the night always seems quietest at 3 am. And on it went. Eventually, I spaced out the pumping and feeding a bit, but I never got much sleep. So logically, it should have been a huge relief to eliminate the pump from my daily schedule. Emotionally, my body just wasn't getting the memo. I felt like I was walking around in a gloomy fog.

Depression is sometimes thrown around like a dirty word. Sometimes it's used too flippantly. It's medicated lavishly and treated as something that we should vaccinate ourselves against. As I read my Bible, I saw the account of Job and the Psalms of David in a new way. Job was deeply and heavily afflicted, physically and emotionally. He lost his children, his wealth and his health. He lost the respect of his wife and his friends berated him for his supposed sin. He was blamed for own misfortune and infirmities. And yet, through it all, he refused to curse God. He sought answers, but he stopped short at turning his back on the One that could help him. David was "A man after God's own heart," known both for his scandalous sin and his passionate dedication to his God. When I read the book of Job and the Psalms, I saw depression.

"I loathe my very life; therefore I will give free reign to my complaint and speak out in the bitterness of my soul."
    Job 10:1 (NIV)

"Yet if I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away. Surely, O God, You have worn me out; You have devastated my entire household."
    Job 16:6-7 (NIV)

"But He knows the way that I take; when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold."
    Job 23:10 (NIV)

"Yet I am not silenced by the darkness, by the thick darkness that covers my face."
    Job 23:17 (NIV)

"Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God."
    Psalm 69:1-3 (NIV)

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and breakers have swept over me. By day the Lord directs His love, at night His song is with me- a prayer to the God of my life."
    Psalm 42:7-8 (NIV)

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
    Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

"I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord."
    Psalm 40:1-3 (NIV)

I saw depression, but I also saw hope and trust.
I felt crushed in spirit, like I had given all I had to give and was bone dry. "Don't ask any more of me- I have nothing left."
The days were long and dark, but they passed. I kept mixing bottles, checking on Molly's schoolwork, doing the laundry, fixing the dinners, feeding the dog. Time went by and slowly the fog grew less dark. I can't accurately describe that time in words- it was dark, lonely, sad, and seemed to drag on interminably. I think that a part of it was not just the hormone mix-up after quitting the pump, but also a sorrowing over the death of my dreams. I went into my pregnancy with Sam full of plans and a mental spreadsheet of how exactly I would like things to go. Instead of having Molly 2.0, I got the very first and never-to-be-duplicated SAM. He's an amazing little boy, and I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world, not even a "perfect" little baby that cries at explainable times, nurses like a champ, and only spits up if they are doing a handstand. God gave me an incredible, beautiful gift when he loaned me this baby. I love him more than I love myself and he's been the exactly right seamless piece that fit the hole in our family. I still struggled, though, with feelings of jealousy and despair, especially when we went to church and I saw other mothers and babies interacting. Or when I tried to start attending PWOC on post and Sam got sick within 48 hours after being around other babies. I'm human. Sam was hard. I struggled.

If I were someone reading this blog, I'd probably have a a question or two to ask- especially after reading this post and the one entitled, "me vs hell." The question at the top of the list would be, "Did you ever consider medication? Because that might have been helpful...you sad, sad, crazy lady." That's a very valid point. I will do my best to explain my reasoning for not pursuing medication.

When I was sleep deprived and enraged, I slammed things and cried and made a general mess of myself. But I never hurt myself and I knew that I would not hurt my children.
When the world turned dark for me after I stopped pumping, I felt the need to just keep going, one foot in front of the other even if I couldn't see where I was stepping. I was afraid that medication would make my bad situation worse with side effects and a numbing of my emotions.

I didn't feel that I had Time to go the doctor for myself and discuss "my feelings."

I was afraid that if I told a medical professional how I was feeling, they might think I was an unfit mother. One of my biggest fears was that people would agree with me- that I was failing in my mission to take care of Sam and Molly.

I am very aware that these reasons aren't the greatest.

Finally, I didn't pursue medication because at the very bottom of all of those swirling emotions: rage, sadness, sorrow... there was meaning and reason. I had Reasons for feeling the way that I did. None of this just came upon me suddenly without provocation. My rage was brought on by lack of sleep and intense emotional and physical stress. My depression was brought on by a mixed up cocktail of hormones combined with stress over Sam's dietary issues. I felt that it was completely valid for me to feel the way that I did and it would be weird not to experience some intense emotion as a result. Just as when I was sick with mastitis and became upset when I was told that I would potentially be separated from my children for a month. My doctor said, "You seem sad. Would you like for me to prescribe something for depression?" Duh. I SHOULD  be sad. If I WASN'T sad, you should be concerned and check to make sure I'm not a ROBOT. To further clarify, just in case anyone is wondering, I am NOT a robot. And if you're reading this, neither are you. I readily acknowledge that there are many situations involving chemical/hormonal imbalances that benefit from medication. I'm not anti-pharmaceuticals. When I felt the change in my demeanor, I did some research. Everything that I read implied that the hormonal imbalance brought on by weaning (or in my case, ceasing pumping) was temporary and would pass.

This whole journey has been an experience that has brought me into a deeper relationship with Jesus. It's not over.

About a year after I divorced myself from the pump, I began experiencing sudden and deep depression- darker and thicker than anything that I'd yet felt. Along with the depression, I was in physical pain. I understood with sharp clarity what Sylvia Plath described in her book, The Bell Jar. For about two weeks out of the month, it was as if the world around me was skewed. I came very close to losing the ability to function. The onset of these symptoms left me breathless, like a punch in the throat. After a couple of months of hormonal fluctuation and extreme mood swings, it was discovered that I have recurring ovarian cysts. They grow and shrink over the course of the month, and as they grow, they release hormones into my body and make me feel crazy. This can be treated with medication. So now, every morning, I take a little blue pill that keeps me on the right side of the Matrix.

As far as depression and medication go, I don't believe that there is one right answer that works for everyone. I think that solutions should be sought with a lot of prayer and careful deliberation.
And I think that we should talk about it more: bring this darkness out into the light and support one another.