Misdiagnosis

“What is wrong with you mom? Why are you acting this way?” Unfortunately, I did not have the answers for my son. These questions would go unanswered for many years.

After our son was born I felt pure joy. He was happy and healthy and thriving. Me on the other hand not so much. Something was wrong. I was so sad and really had no desire to interact with anyone, not even my son. The guilt I felt was frustrating and all consuming. Here I had this “perfect” little boy and a wonderful life, but all I could do was cry. I remember thinking one day in particular while I was feeding him that it would be better for everyone if I was not around. My son and husband would be just fine and I wouldn’t have to feel like this. This pain would not subside. I was in a fog and felt like a zombie. Of course the lack of sleep and isolation did not help the situation. My husband was a surgery resident at that time and worked non-stop. When we did see one another, the conversation revolved around how much our son ate and pooped. FYI I was not doing much of either! I know my husband figured something was not right. The term “baby blues” came up but I said I’m fine. Of course I was not fine. Luckily that oh so lonely, desperate day while feeding him did not turn tragic.

In those very informative birthing classes, no one tells you how you should feel post partum. Gross details of the birth are forever ingrained in your brain. Dads chuckle and cringe while moms soak up every piece of info. The phrase “baby blues” is tossed around but I can’t recall anyone discussing Post Partum Depression.

Well that’s what I had. Post Partum Depression was the diagnosis. My family doctor prescribed fluoxetine aka Prozac. Excellent!! I figured this wonder drug would fix me right up. It in fact did for a while. How cool was it to hear that Brooke Shields also suffered from this. She wrote a book, spoke about it on talk shows. I could relate. Brooke understood!

Series of changing doses and meds were always on my menu.

I felt like my old self while on the meds. I was social again, loved life. Who needs these meds any longer? I can manage. Not a smart decision. Soon I crashed, or in medical terms had a relapse. Once again the despair and loneliness devoured me. I went back to the doctor and she increased my dosage, so all would be fine. Nope. This went on for years and years. Series of changing doses and meds were always on my menu. My family and friends were a great support but I still had so much guilt about feeling like that towards my son. It consumed me.

My life consisted of good and bad days. Episodes of major depression took its toll on our family. I was an expert on putting on a brave face for my son. Slept while he was at school, cried when he was at his hockey games, forcing a smile now and again. At a young age he was an expert too. I knew he knew something was wrong. Again the guilt I felt from disappointing my only child was overwhelming. Back to the doctor yet again. Yeah another combo of drugs. This for sure would work. My bad days left me for a while. I managed to get back to the land of the living. Short lived. I felt different this time. I would feel great for weeks at a time. My energy level was through the roof. I could accomplish anything. Felt like superwoman. People would even comment. Loved this feeling. I was happy again, euphoric in fact. I shopped every day. Made extravagant purchases. Thankfully, the Ferrari I wanted was out of stock. HA. This feeling could never end … but it did and I crashed hard. Not again. Devastated, my husband finally reached out to a colleague and well respected psychiatrist. I felt broken, hopeless and misunderstood. The day I walked into his office was the turning point.

That day saved my life.

After 16 long years of suffering and being medically treated for post partum depression and major depressive disorder I had a new diagnosis. BIPOLAR DISORDER. It all made sense. I could breathe again. The guilt had faded. It’s only been 6 months since I walked into that office, but the new meds for the correct disease are working along with therapy. Those questions from my son have been answered.

There is help out there. We all just have to be open and willing to receive it; brave enough to face the diagnosis and strong enough to commit to the treatment. I am ill and that is OK. Or as Mr. Landsberg so eloquently termed it #Sick not Weak.