22 January 2009. Benjamin Riley Smollan born by Jewish natural delivery (C-section without make up) at the Park Lane Clinic. Because he had aspirated amniotic fluid, he was put into ICU for the first 3 nights, with an orogastric tube through which I fed him colostrum (squeezed out and lovingly syringed), a drip in his foot and a C-pap (which is oxygen with pressure ie. one step away from a ventilator). It was a bumpy start, but it was pot-picnic with Mary Poppins compared to what was to come.
Suffice it to say that 2009 was a very difficult year. Ben had severe reflux, compounded by delayed gastric emptying. The reflux was so severe that he vomited several times after every single feed (not fun when you're breastfeeding), 'failed to thrive' and developed ulcerations and erosion of his esophagus from the acid. It was bad. He was on every medication (Western and alternative) available. I changed everything. Tried everything. Went to every doctor, quack, guru I could find. I spent hours in hospitals holding him down while they did bizarre tests (barium swallows, gastroscopies, colonscopies, radioactive isotopic milkograms), drew blood numerous times from his litle neck, ran allergy tests and collected samples of every bodily fluid. He woke up several times a night until he was 2 (he is still a bad sleeper) and had chronic ear infections (another reflux-baby complication). The worst part was that he cried ALL the time. He was in pain on his back so no baby gyms. He hated his car seat and often choked on his vomit when he was in it(I pulled over off the highway at least once a week)and he refused to be in the pram.
It was hell. He was always hungry and exhausted and in pain. And so was I.
When the lactation nurse told me I had post natal depression, I thought she was on crack. I was coping perfectly. Between doctors' appointments, chronic sleep deprivation, a 2 year old toddler and a growing business, I hadn't noticed that I was a hollow shell, riddled with anxiety and helplessness.
Long story short, I went on Zoloft after much resistance and continued to see my therapist once a week. I thought I would share my experience, because psychiatric drugs are commonplace now, for PND and otherwise:
After a few weeks of being on the drug, I felt calmer, more stable and more able to cope. I was hungrier, less manic and my obsessive thought patterns seemed to have lost steam, which was an enormous relief. That said, there were side effects and they were unpleasant (and I have major issues with messing with my brain chemistry), so my plan was always to get off after 6 months. And so I did. Instead of slowly weaning off though, I weaned extremely quickly. Needless to say, this is not a domain in which you should try to over-achieve.
Picture it: my herb garden; 17h30 on a freezing Friday afternoon, clad in shorts and armed with a massive garden fork.
Romy (best mate and therapist): You've been churning that fucking herb garden and singing for over an hour.
Jo: I know!! I have so much energy! I am so happy to be off those shitty little pills!
Romy: Aren't you cold?
Jo: Not at all! I'm brilliant! (my fingers were purple)
Romy: I can't watch you anymore. You're exhausting me.
Jo: Nonsense! I am vibrant, alive, energised and ...
Romy: Manic?
Jo: (pause) Oh Jesus. I'm manic.
Romy: You need to go back on the meds.
Jo: I can't. (crying)
Romy: You have to. People go manic and then crash if they don't wean off. I'm serious. You are dangerously manic right now. Listen to me. I know you.
And she did. I went back on Zoloft and tried to wean off several times after that, but the crash was too hard.
About a month ago, I came off Zoloft and the impact has been good and bad. I am chewing my nails compulsively and it's beyond gross. I'm 34. Grow up. I cry almost every day, but it feels so good. My dreams are vivid and demanding and familiar. Life feels harder because my obsessive thoughts are back like bitches and they are debilitating.
But I feel alive. And I would choose that over anything else. I needed the help at the time and there is absolutely a time and place for Crazy-Happy Pills. But GP's are prescribing them like Nurofen and I'm not sure that sits well with me.
My biggest thing was that I wasn't me. I was a version of me, even when I weaned down to half a tab a day. I AM anxious. I AM emotional. I AM highly strung. It's no picnic, but it's me. And so I pick aliveness and familiarity. For the time being.
As for Benjamin Riley, he is perfect. But he has totally fucked up his chances for a younger sibling. :)
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