Is this "for worse" or "in sickness"?

I take you to be my husband, 

to have and to hold , 

for better or for worse, 

for richer, for poorer, 

in sickness and in health, 

to love and to cherish; 

from this day forward 

until death do us part.

I have spent weeks struggling through my Pastor's sermons from the "Not. a fan." series.  At the same time, I have overlapped those struggles with my grieving struggles about the death of my baby boy, and also about the break-up of my marriage and home.  I have experienced a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and have not been able to find much peace.  

Until now.

I went one more round with God about my entitlements.  What about what I want?  What about the marriage that I want?  What about the family that I want?  What about the life that I want?  

I know people who would totally support me going after what I want.

But, if I focus solely on what I want, then I am completely ignoring what God wants.

Dying to one's self is not easy.

I suppose that is why the Not. a. fan. sermon series was so determined to point out that following Christ comes with sacrifice.  The world does not usually understand God's ways.  His ways are higher than our ways.  The world would like to tell us that God's ways are no longer relevant.  Through the various crisis in my life, I have come to see more clearly how God's ways are absolutely relevant.  They are superior.

"Dying to yourself may mean that you selflessly love a spouse 

who has cheated you out of a marriage you so desperately wanted."   

---Kyle Idleman, not a fan.

I have not been able to get that statement out of my head.  I have spent way too much time dwelling on it.  I finally asked God if this was true for me?  Am I suppose to love my husband, even though he has done some pretty extreme unloving acts that have broken up our life together?

Yes.

But, what about boundaries?  I don't want to be a doormat, and just take whatever he dishes out.  Boundaries are important.  If he won't accept the boundaries of a healthy relationship, and wants to walk away instead, then aren't I suppose to just let him go?

Yes.  Let him go.  That is his choice to make.  But, that should not stop me from loving him.  That does not give me the freedom to seek love with someone else.  That does not end our marriage.  That does not remove my responsibility as his wife.

The choice did not come easy to me.  Even after I was very clear on what I needed to do, I struggled with it.  I went through the arguments and emotions.  I brought up all of my entitlements.  

And when I finally looked at myself the way that God sees me.....when I finally realized just how small my problems truly are.....when I finally caught of a glimpse of God's power compared to my weakness.....when I finally realized that there was a much bigger picture unfolding here....

when I finally looked at my life here on Earth as just a vapor compared to my life of eternity in heaven.....

that is when I finally got a clue:

It all comes down to love.

The Bible spells it out so simply.....

Matthew 22:36-40

King James Version (KJV)

³⁶ Master, which is the great commandment in the law?

³⁷ Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.

³⁸ This is the first and great commandment.

³⁹ And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

⁴⁰ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Love God.

Love others.

It is just that simple.

I finally reached that point of accepting that it is time for me to stop whining about how my life did not turn out the way that I had planned.  It is time to stop dwelling on what has been broken.  It is time to stop focusing on what I want, and start focusing on what God wants.

Love God.

Love others.

I purposed in my heart that I was going to love my husband, and forgive the past.  I was going to show the love of Christ.  I was going to do these things without expectation that our relationship and family would be restored.  I am reminded that my husband is expecting strife in his entire life.  He is not accustomed to love.  

I was reminded of a quote I had read in the past, that really reminded me of him:

He drew a circle that shut me out.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a larger circle that took him in.

---Apples of Gold

  

My life has dramatically changed the moment I had a change of heart.

For starters, I have peace.  I am not longer dwelling on what could have been, should have been, might have been.  I am accepting of my situation, and that God knows what He is doing.  He already knows the outcome.  He knows the bigger picture.

Then, in the past four days, I have had three very serious, very honest conversations with my husband.  He has shared with me things I never realized before.

I have a different level of clarity right now.

Health

Finances

Marriage

Things are not what they seemed before.

Oh the irony that those are the very subjects of wedding vows: 

In sickness and in health...

For richer or poorer...

For better or for worse...  

Ok, so are we in sickness, poorer, or worse right now?

Technically, all 3.

But, it is sickness that seems to be trying to ruin us right now.

During our conversations, my husband was able to open my eyes to the reality that I did not see.

His is really suffering.  His depression is not stable.  He sees and is learning to admit to his limits.

He is not currently capable of doing more for our finances, or for relationships.  He is trying his absolute hardest to be a father to his children, but it is taking every ounce of strength he has to do what he believes is not enough.  He has nothing left for anyone or anything else.

Due to his hostile actions in the past 6 months, I did not see how much he still truly cares for me.  That was refreshing to realize.  

He reaffirmed his previous apologies for his hostile actions.  He had tried to blame me for his woe, being in complete denial of his illness.  If he wasn't ill, then clearly it was my fault he was so miserable.  Now that he lives alone, he realizes that his woe has nothing to do with anyone else.  I see that change in him.  I have accepted his apologies.  I forgive him, and leave the past behind us.  

But, what about the present?  Things are not fixed here.

A friend prompted me to check out CCEF Christian Counseling and Educational Foundation.  I found a podcast that was discussing loving a depressed spouse.  The advice was outstanding, and really changed my perspective on my current situation....

 Understand, that as deeply as you love your spouse, you don’t have the ability to cure their depression.  And, you don’t need to walk around, carrying that burden.  God has called you to something much simpler than curing, but so much more important than trying to cure it.  

Being a faithful witness of His love.

Well, that certainly takes the load off my shoulders.  The goal is not to cure the depression.  The goal is to love my husband, whether he is depressed or not.  If I try to throw him a lifeline, and he ignores it, I get caught up in his hopelessness.  Focusing on the cure, is actually rather depressing.    

Even while he is suffering with depression, my husband needs to love and honor God, and love others.  As his spouse, I can model that love.

If my husband had cancer or heart disease, I would still love him.  I would be willing to stand with him as he battled his illness.  It should not be any different with mental illness.

While I cannot even pretend to fully understand his illness, I do understand grief.  There are some similarities that expand my compassion. 

The question is am I a committed enough wife to go the distance?

I have spent a lot of time focusing on how my husband has quit on me and quit on our marriage.  I have not taken the time to test whether or not I am trying to quit too.  

I think this may be exactly why that sermon series bothered me right from day one.  The question was am I a completely committed follower of Christ?  If I admit, yes, then it is time for me to fully honor God in  my marriage covenant.  

The funny thing is that it was my husband who laid the choice out for me.

During one of our conversations this week, he assured me that he has been faithful.  He has no intentions or desires of divorce.  He is not seeking a relationship with anyone else.  He wants me to have companionship, but he is unable to give me the things I desire right now.  He realizes it is unfair for me to have to live this way, just because he is ill.  So, even though he does not like the thought of me in the arms of another man, he would understand if I chose to quit on him, and pursue the type of relationship I desire most.   

That is a very sweet gesture from a man who does not know his own value.  He does not see himself the way that God sees him.

The answer was very clear to me.  I assured him that I am fully committed to our marriage, and our family.  I was not going to pursue anyone else, regardless of how lonely I feel sometimes.  I had purposed that decision in my heart, well before our conversation.  

Instead, I will love my husband with the love of Christ.  

Forgiving.  Restoring.  Unconditionally.

To have...

In sickness...

For poorer...

For worse...

Until death to us part.

(death by natural means:  I am not accepting any options of murder or suicide!)

      

Chutes, Ladders, and Oceans

My eyes have been opened a little further.

After going through a few days of feeling sorry for myself, and writing this post about my struggles within our broken marriage, I had a deep conversation with my husband.  He was very honest with me about how bleak things look for him right now, and how very limited he is in his abilities to cope.  He does not ever see being able to return home and restore our family.  He is convinced he needs to live alone, isolated from other people.

That conversation really shattered any previous encouragement I had, and chipped away at my hope that things can ever get better.  I was feeling pretty sorry for myself about my broken marriage and family.  I was pretty angry about the lack of solutions for mental health issues.  Where are the success stories?  Where are the self-help books telling us how to win at marriage, family, and life, when one spouse is suffering with chronic illness?      

I went to bed with the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I was reminded of just how dark things are right now, with no end in sight.  I was burdened by just how challenging things look to be in the future.  I felt stuck with no solution.  I tossed and turned and really had a tough time falling asleep.

Today, I learned that I have some pretty amazing friends.

I have friends who will listen attentively and give me a hug.  It is nice to have an ear and a shoulder like that.  Bless those friends who are willing to walk along side me and feel my pain.

But, I also have friends who are rock solid in reality and faith.  These are the friends who will tell me like it is, with no sugar on top.  These are the friends who make no apologies for their accurate quoting of scripture, and their bold questioning of my attitude.  

One friend challenged me, 

"Who is the accuser?  Who is telling you that there is no solution right now?  Satan is the accuser.  God is the answer.  God will find a way.  He already has the plan in place.  Right now you are overwhelmed and feeling like you are struggling in the middle of the ocean.  I don't know what is going to happen.  I don't know how he is going to scoop you up out of there.  But, God isn't going to let you drown."

This friends knows.  She knows what it is like to love someone who is so broken that he does not even have the capacity to return love.  She knows what it is like to remain faithful and committed to a relationship, when the rest of the world is advising cutting ties.  She knows what it is like to remain faithful to God's Word, and watch Him miraculously work in her life.

Her testimony completely changed my attitude.  You can't argue with someone who has walked in the trenches before.  

She also reminded me that my situation is not personal.  Sometimes people get so low that they can't even see a way out.  Sometimes they have to reach that point of relying solely on God, because they can't find any other options.  It is painful to watch from the sidelines.  But, it is a beautiful thing when they work through that spiritual struggle.  Learning to fully rely on God is a tough process, but it yields the most amazing joy and peace.  

Another friend gave me an analogy that made perfect sense.  She said that "recovering from a mental illness issue is like playing chutes and ladders."

I think that needs to be listed on the prescription bottles.  What a way to describe the ups and downs, that seem to come from out of the blue.

My friends have rejuvenated me.  They really took my eyes off myself.  I am not alone in the middle of the ocean.  That is a deception that is being used to distract me from the task at hand.

My life is part of a bigger picture.  The playing field is not level right now.

It is a game of chutes and ladders.

This week, we just landed at the end of the big chute.  It is time to stand back up and head towards the next ladder.

It is Just Grief, People!

It has been 12 years since I first grieved the death of a baby.

My, how times have changed!

When I was researching information about the grieving process, 12 years go, I came across many articles, books, and websites that talked about how death was previously considered a taboo subject, and not easily talked about in public.  Those resources were encouraging bereaved parents to open up and talk about their pain, as it would help with the healing.  That advice seemed logical to me at the time.  An additional point I noticed as I shared my grief story was that other folks who had also dealt with the death of a child started talking about their stories and experiences.  Times had changed, and it seemed it was a change for the better, because folks were talking and sharing, and facing their pain to bring about healing.

Today, I am noticing a completely different change in attitude about grieving.  I believe it is a change for the worse.  It appears to me that our society is trying to render mourning as inefficient, and grieving as unnecessary.  

Mourning:  the act of sorrowing or lamentation.  

Culturally, this is expressed when folks wear black, or hang a flag at half-mast.

Grieving:  to feel great sorrow.

Just under two weeks had passed since my son Titus arrived stillborn, when folks were already suggesting that I may need antidepressants for depression.

Really?

Depression in less than 2 weeks since the baby died?  

The shock of the tragedy had barely worn off.  It seemed perfectly logical to me that I would be in a state of intense emotional pain.

But, folks were quick to point out that I could get a quick fix to end the sadness with an antidepressant pill.  Apparently, antidepressants are not just to restore brain chemistry anymore.  They are presumed to remove sorrow now too?

I thought back to the time I was treated for postpartum depression.  It was about 6 weeks after my first daughter had arrived stillborn.  I was crying uncontrollably, at work, even though I was not thinking about the baby or the loss of my hopes and dreams.  Folks assured me that I was just grieving, and eventually the crying would end.  I was not so convinced, so I made an appointment.  My doctor diagnosed me with a classic case of postpartum depression.  He said it would be easy to miss, since I was grieving, and crying was expected with grief.  The good doctor assured me that my hormones were out of whack and things would improve with treatment to get those hormones to behave.  He was right.

So, the first thing I thought when the subject of antidepressants was brought up this time around, was that my doctor would tell me that it had only been 2 weeks and I was grieving.  He would chuckle at the advice and remind me that crying was expected with grief.  Grieving is a process, and it takes time to work through that process.  I know this.

It is true that people can get stuck in the grieving process, and become unable to function in their life.  This would warrant an evaluation for depression.  It wasn't that long ago when people gave themselves a full year to grieve.  If they were unable to cope after a year's time, treatment was considered.  

I am not saying anything against antidepressant medications, depression treatments, or mental illness.  I have seen the effects first-hand, and I fully support such treatments as soon as they are needed.....and before it is too late.

I do not agree that grieving is depression, or that antidepressants can remove the need to grieve.  It seems to me that the medications would only mask the pain while under treatment.  The pain will eventually have to be dealt with.  Just ask anyone who has tried to suppress their pain and refused to work through their grief.  That approach is not real effective, and leads to all kinds of other problems, behavioral and physical.

I started to challenge the argument for antidepressants so soon.  Usually there are symptoms of depression to consider before making such a diagnosis.  I was not withdrawn.  I was functioning in my life.  So, why think I was depressed?

Because I was just SO sad.  That was the answer I was given.  Plus, I was willing to admit it, instead of brushing off inquiries about my well-being, with an "I'm fine."  

I just shake my head in dismay.  

I am SO sad.  That is true.  I am extremely sad.  I have had a tragedy occur in my life.  I am certain that justifies the sadness.  

My sadness is intense.  But, it is not debilitating.

I know that it will ease in time.

Thankfully, I have friends and family who know these things.  They encourage me to take my time and grieve.  Take it easy and heal.  Cry.  Rest.  Cry some more.  Feel.  Heal.  Take the time now, or else the emotions will chase you down later.

It is working.  3 weeks haven now passed, and I am seeing better days again.  I am having a couple better days, followed by one tough day.  That is manageable.  I expect that pattern to continue to improve, as I heal physically, and deal with the pain emotionally.  My previous experience with grieving has armed me with the knowledge of how to treat myself now.

It is a good thing that I do not have to rely on some of these current trends.  I can't even imagine the ramifications of trying to ignore the grieving process.  I doubt coping is going to be achieved by prematurely taking antidepressant medication.    

At first, I thought this was a changing attitude in people who have been previously treated for depression.  Then, I came across a blog article, from Dr. Joanne Cacciatore, founder of the M.I.S.S Foundation, that opened my eyes that change is coming through the medical community as well:  

 http://drjoanne.blogspot.com/2012/03/relativity-applies-to-physics-not.html

It appears the new DSM V, that is set to come out next year, is changing its recommendations to suggest that folks can be treated for depression after just two weeks of facing the death of a loved one.  

Yikes!

The shock barely wears off in 2 weeks.  Usually the intense emotional pain is felt as the shock starts to wear off.  

In my opinion, that phase is better described as sorrow, not depression.  

It is just grief, people!

Grieving is a normal human response to the death of a loved one.

Hot Topics: Depression

Depression is one of those illnesses that are socially uncomfortable to discuss. It reminds me a lot of the reaction to grieving. Folks just don't know what to say, and usually are not very helpful with the odd comments they come up with. Much like grieving, I find the most comfort in folks who have walked in depression footsteps before. As the saying goes, "It takes one to know one."

Unfortunately, Depression has challenged our marriage many times over.

There are many classifications of Depression. It seems that the therapy world is working to identify even more classifications, in order to specialize treatment. Working with human beings and their combination of physical and behavioral details is rather difficult. That is one reason why Depression seems so tough to conquer. I do not have any expertise in Depression. I can only share from my experiences. This post is not medical advice, as I am not a health care provider.

I'm sure that most folks understand "the blues," having a down day, or feeling slightly melancholy. I handle such days by taking a day off or taking a break from my usually busy schedule. Those are the days when ordering pizza covers dinner. I skip chores, and spend more time participating in relaxing activities. Going to bed early helps restore my mood by the next morning.

Unfortunately, I have also experienced Depression that required medical treatment. Some things require more than a day off, or a longer night's sleep.

Post-partum Depression: just over a month after giving birth to our firstborn, I started showing signs and symptoms of Post-partum Depression. The boldest symptom I had was random, unprovoked crying outbursts. I would walk across the room and just start crying, for no reason at all. I also had trouble sleeping at night. My concerns were dismissed by friends and family, because I was also grieving. So, I was assured, that it was just part of grieving. Thankfully, our family doctor knew otherwise. He understood grieving. He said I had the classic symptoms of Post-partum Depression. Thankfully, it was quickly treated with a few months of taking an antidepressant, at night, that also had a sedative side-effect. Post-partum Depression is caused by those wild hormones, and improves when the body chemistry gets back into balance.

*The difference between the grieving symptoms and the Post-partum Depression symptoms was the "random" component to the crying. During grieving, I would cry when thinking about my daughter, my experience, and my heartache. With Post-partum Depression, my body was crying on its own, without sad thoughts provoking it.

Spiritual Depression: Unfortunately, Depression is often misunderstood in Christian circles. Some folks sincerely believe depression is a matter of a lack of Faith. Their advice is to pray, and spend more time with God. Christians are suppose to understand the amazing gift of salvation we have received, so we should only have joy everlasting, right?

Most forms of Depression are related to chemical imbalances in the body. It is not a matter of Faith. It is a matter of physical health. Of course, God can heal us from all such afflictions. But, we are also stewards of these bodies and need to take care of them.

That much being said, I have also experienced a Spiritual Depression. Medical interventions may help with certain symptoms, but do not fix the core of the problem. In my case, I dove into Depression when my second pregnancy ended in an early miscarriage. I was beyond sad. I was done with grieving. I quit. I spent more time with God at that point in my life than ever before. I was in constant prayer......begging God to take me out of this world. I did not want to be a Mother who had no living children. It was way too painful for me. I thought I had served my time grieving a stillborn daughter. I could not stand to endure the grief of losing my second child to miscarriage. I lived in a very dark place, deep within me. I stayed in bed most of the time. I finally called the doctor for help, with the gentle encouraging of The Referee.

My doctor understood my need to hold a living, breathing baby in my arms. He got me. He treated me with an antidepressant that was safe enough for pregnancy. He advised me to take the med, go through the motions of my life, and not worry a bit about the med when I get pregnant again. Throughout my entire pregnancy with Jersey #1, the doctor assured me that I would be just fine as soon as that baby was in my arms. The antidepressant helped me endure the details of my life, like going to work and shopping for groceries. It helped with some of my physical symptoms. It did not restore joy. I stopped taking the antidpressant the week Jersey #1 was due. It was not safe to take for breastfeeding, so I stopped it when that bottle ran out. I knew if I needed it after her birth, the doctor could prescribe something that was safe for breastfeeding.

God restored my joy. God answered my plees to be taken Home. He said NO. Not yet. I had a greater purpose, and I needed to trust Him. So, I grudgingly went through my life, expecting to be in chronic grief. I did not instantly recover when Jersey #1 was placed in my arms. I was in shock. I did not believe she was alive. I just knew that she would be taken from me at any moment. I took her home, and took care of her every need, and braced myself for the moment I would lose her too.

I still remember the exact day that I won that spiritual battle. Jersey #1 was 4 weeks old. The Referee was at work, and I was still home on maternity leave. I looked over at that precious baby girl, napping peacefully on the bed next to me. I was hit, like a ton of bricks, with the realization that Motherhood was a calling, a RESPONSIBILITY. Not only was I given this blessing, but I was expected to follow God's instructions to train her up in the way she should go....to teach her about God and his love for us. My life was instantly changed. My heart was instantly changed. My attitude was instantly improved.

In that instant, my heart was full. Full of love. Full of purpose. Full of joy.

Thankfully, I have not suffered with Depression since.

Unfortunately, I still suffer from Depression...

The Referee battles Depression. His symptoms seemed so very different from my experiences, that we missed it for years. Sadly, the last 3 years of our life together have been most awful. We could not figure out why none of the marriage resources we sought, were helping our relationship. The Referee was suffering with undiagnosed depression, and we just did not recognize it. A year ago, when I was certain that all hope was lost for our marriage, a friend gently asked if my husband had ever been evaluated for a "chemical imbalance." She gently commented that the symptoms of depression were different in men and women. She explained that a missionary who had visited our church that summer taught her the difference, when he shared about his own battle with depression. I made the suggestion to The Referee in passing, as I was taking the baby to change his diaper. Minutes later, The Referee told me that he took the suggestion and went online to research it more. He took a quiz about depression on one of the medical websites, and after 4 questions it flashed a screen saying he should seek medical attention immediately. Yikes.

That evening, we called our Pastor & his wife over to meet with us. They explained all they understood about depression, and more about the advice of the missionary who visited. They armed us with prayers, support, and resources. For the first time in many years, we actually felt a sense of relief about the strains in our marriage. We had turned over every stone between us, so it made sense that our problem was actually outside us. It is crazy how comforting that piece of information can be.

Unfortunately, The Referee's depression battle is H.U.G.E. Thankfully, he is determined to conquer it. He desires to be healthy, and to have a healthy family. So, he is doing all he can to win. He has an incredible support network on his side. Our family physician is managing the antidepressant medications. A Christian counselor/life coach is providing therapy, literature resources, and guidance. Our Pastor & his wife are practically holding our hands each step of the way. Friends, family, and our church family continue to offer prayers and support as well. The path is uphill, but it is certainly easier to hike in a group, than alone.

The Referee suffers with Double Depression. (I tease him that he is such an over-achiever that one type of depression is just not enough for him).

Dysthymia is chronic depression. The symptoms are less severe, but linger longer. Folks can usually function adequately, but they always seem unhappy. The counselor suggested that The Referee has probably been suffering with dysthymia since adolescence. It certainly explains a lot. Dysthymia is thought to be caused by chemical changes in the brain involving serotonin, a neurotransmitter that aids in coping with emotions. Antidepressant medication in the SSRI category (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor) have helped tremendously. The Referee shocked me one day, after taking the meds, when he announced that he didn't think he was actually a pessimist! That was life changing, for sure.

Major Depression (Clinical Depression): The Dysthymia was identified after The Referee sought treatment for his Major Depression. Unfortunately, Dysthymia complicates Clinical Depression, because when life resumes to "normal," that "normal" is still low. Men express depression differently than women. Some of the Depression symptoms that The Referee has expressed are fatigue, low mood state, grumpy/unhappy, withdrawal and isolation, angry outbursts, and insomnia. I now see clearly that when he starts to have insomnia....staying up all night, or gets very little sleep for multiple nights in a row, he is on a downhill turn in his depression. The withdrawal and angry outbursts have been most damaging to our marriage. The behavior itself is bad enough, but the fact that it is so random, irrational, and out-of-character, has been most damaging. Being married to a man who appears randomly angry and periodically acts like he doesn't really care, is quite tough on a sensitive gal like me. I started to question which of his changing views about me were actually the truth. Now that my eyes are open to his Depression illness, I am able to see that things really aren't has personal as they once appeared. Now that The Referee realizes that those symptoms are related to his Depression, he is much more careful to turn to Depression help, instead of taking his emotions out on me.

We have noticed that The Referee appears to have episodes of Major Depression due to job stress. Job lay-offs, and the instability of some of the funding of his jobs has been a major source of stress for him for years. Some situations cannot be prevented. But, now that we realize how important it is for him to identify himself with his career, The Referee is being much wiser in his career path and employer selections. I am pleased to report that it looks like he chose a good company recently, resulting in his work situation starting to stabilize. I predict that as he settles into a stable job, his stress will begin to decrease, hopefully helping his depression become more manageable.

Managing Double Depression requires a lifestyle change. The Referee has to set strict boundaries for himself for a sleep routine, and making sure he is eating regularly. Daily exercise is very helpful. He makes himself go through the motions of things he knows is important in his life, even if he doesn't feel like it. He gets up and showers, goes to work, goes to church, teaches Tae Kwon Do class, and participates in family activities, whether he wants to or not. Emotions can be deceiving. So, he is learning that moving forward through the tasks that are previously deemed important, helps him stay afloat. He is also learning to give himself regular breaks to withdrawal. Right now, he gets an evening off, when I take the kids to AWANA, where he has no responsibilities for a few hours.

Finding the right balance of medications and therapy is a great challenge when battling depression. There are many classes of meds. There are many types of therapy. There are tons of books and websites filled with information. It can be overwhelming. But, finding something to help with the battle is SO much better than doing nothing at all. In addition to finding a medical provider and counselor you trust, finding a friend who has walked through the valley of depression can make a world of difference in the support you need to win the battle.

For the sake of yourself and your loved ones, I beg you to seek help if you suffer with Depression. Ignore the comments from people who know nothing about the illness. Find support from folks who do know. There is hope. Life really is better outside of the pit of despair.

She Fills Our Hearts With Joy

I am FINALLY going to write a birth story with a happy ending! Here she comes--Jersey #1--our first live-born baby!

Even though I have great trust and respect for Dr. S., our beloved family doctor, I chose to completely ignore his sound medical advice to wait for my body to work through one cycle before trying to become pregnant again. I was still so very mad. Mad as in angry & mad as in crazed! I had been so carefully concerned with my health, nutrition, and safety, for each of my first two pregnancies, and both children died. For crying out loud, drug addicts are capable of having living babies, in spite of the way they mistreat their bodies! Well-meaning family members tried to offer comfort after the miscarriage by suggesting to me, "it was just too soon. Your body wasn't ready." I did not receive that well. Were they actually suggesting I had a hand in causing the miscarriage because I didn't wait long enough to get pregnant? It was all so unfair, and I focused on the injustice. I rebelled against my lack of control in the situation. I told myself, it didn't really matter what I did, because I could not guarantee the life of my child with any of my actions....and I was mad about that. A mature Christian would have rested in the will of God, and waited for his timing. I was not mature. I was extremely immature.....and rebellious. I had only 1 priority--I was going to have a living, breathing baby, or I was going to die trying!!!!

It is not very smart to engage in a battle of wills with God.

I was just like a toddler who repeatedly rams a toy against an obstacle, when it would be so much easier to just move the obstacle. I was struggling for control, instead of just resting in the arms of the One who is in control. I became pregnant for the 3rd time, just two months after the miscarriage, while we were on our vacation. I had not had a regular cycle yet. I was still taking the antidepressants. I was still going through the motions of life, but I was not doing very much living. I was stuck in a depression, because I was stuck in a spiritual struggle.

Dr. S. was cheerful, encouraging, and ready to hold our hands through another pregnancy. He was convinced that if he could just get that baby into my arms, I would be just fine. He was a man on a mission. He shrugged off the "depression-in-pregnancy" diagnosis and did not dwell on it. He assured me that the antidepressant was safe for pregnancy, so he wanted me to continue taking it the entire time. He said it was not safe for breastfeeding, because it was excreted in breastmilk, so I would stop taking it at delivery, and he could prescribe another one that was safe for breastfeeding, if I needed it. He was confident that I would not need antidepressants after the baby was born.

I had no peace during this pregnancy. I knew that I was not in control, so the baby inside me could be ripped away from me at any moment. I was convinced Jersey #1 was going to die. At each prenatal check-up, my heart would race at the sight of the Doppler. I held my breath until her heartbeat was found. Sometimes it was hard to find the baby's heartbeat, because my own pulse was going so fast! I had a prenatal appointment the morning that I had my first ultrasound scheduled. I was 12 weeks along, and Dr. S. could not find the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler! I was not surprised. I was expecting doom. He tried to assure us that he was not worried. He suggested we get some lunch and go to the afternoon ultrasound appointment.

Much to my surprise, the ultrasound showed a healthy, living baby, whose heart was beating just fine. The ultrasound tech played the heartbeat repeatedly for us, as I was in disbelief. Jersey #1 turned her face to the camera, and appeared to smile and wave at us. She repeated this very same smile-n-wave pattern for 3 other ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy, where I was convinced she was dead in the womb. Each time, she was alive and well. Dr. S. later credited Jersey #1 with giving him grey hair for the number of times he could not find her heartbeat with the Doppler, and ended up needing an ultrasound confirmation!

I did not dare dream that Jersey #1would live. My friend (and college roommate) offered to host a baby shower for me. I declined her offer and suggested we wait to see if she was even born alive. I did not bother to set up a nursery. We had stored all of the baby gear we had bought and received for Mackenzie, into a closet. We pulled it out into the room that would eventually be the nursery, but we left it in boxes. No need to get our hopes up. I was bracing myself for another loss. I did not want to take another prepared childbirth class. I could not sit with all those innocent, happy, parents-to-be, and dream about our upcoming deliveries. It would not be fair to share my experiences with them anyway...let them keep their innocence. Dr. S did not think another childbirth class was even necessary. It would only be 19 months since I had delivered Mackenzie. Childbirth doesn't change much.

I slept through most of the pregnancy, but I did not give myself much care otherwise. I tend to run strong in the nesting desires in the last trimester. With my pregnancy with Mackenzie, I wanted to landscape the yard. With my pregnancy with Jersey #1, I wanted to tile the bathroom floors (that were previously carpeted). I sat in a strattle position on the floor and glued down sticky tiles, leaning over my big 'ole 7-months-pregnant belly! I almost didn't make it back off the floor. That hormone (relaxin?) that allows tendons and ligaments to stretch further during pregnancy, allowed me much more flexibility than I really had. By the end of that project, I had pulled a groin muscle and a hamstring muscle in my left leg. I also managed to damage the round ligaments that hold the pregnant belly to the point that I was in constant pain with any movement. Dr. S. enjoyed a chuckle as he informed me that those muscles and ligaments would not heal until after the delivery.

I started a new job two weeks before Jersey #1 was born. I actually followed my boss to a new company, where she was given the opportunity to have her own research laboratory. She invited me to be her technician. At least she already knew I was pregnant. I gave very little consideration to the need for leave to take time off, nor did I question if I would I really want to return to work full time after the baby was born. Those were non-issues because I was not expecting the baby to live. I knew I would want that great job to give me something to focus on while I grieved.

My heart betrayed me in the end. Deep down, I knew I wanted Jersey #1 to live. I wanted the opportunity to be her Mom. There was nothing I was going to be able to do to guarantee her life. Regardless of what I tried to tell myself, there was nothing I was going to be able to do to prepare myself for her death, or to make it any easier to handle. My struggle for control hit a climax when I reached 39 weeks pregnant. I was an emotional wreck. I wanted her to live. I was afraid she would die. I prayed to God to bless me with this baby and let her live. I did not think I deserved her. I had been acting so childish and awful. I wanted His mercy, but feared His judgment. I started to fall apart.

Dr. S. had a plan--let's induce labor 3 days before her due date and deliver her. That way, I would not have to endure the time line of Mackenzie's death, wondering each day, if this was the day that my baby would die in the womb. A mercy induction? What a great plan! Unfortunately, the hospital (and probably most everyone) thought he was nuts....but he understood our fears. It was against hospital policy to induce before 40 weeks, when there was no medical problem. Fear that my baby was going to die was not considered a medical problem. Besides, the nurse added, they were booked up and it was a holiday weekend. Aha! Monday was a holiday--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. S. knew the labor & delivery floor would be empty that day, because they would not be scheduling inductions or c-sections on a holiday. He told me to show up for a Non-stress test at 7am that day. He said if they found any concerns, then they would recommend induction anyway. He would meet me up with me there at 8am to see how the test was going.....then he would stroll through L&D and make sure it was empty....and then he would admit me to a room and induce me!

Everything went right as planned except for my unexpected panic attack as soon as I entered the L&D wing of the hospital. A flood of memories of the day Mackenzie's death was confirmed, washed over me. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. The nurse asked if I had problems with high blood pressure. I assured her I did not, but that I was having a panic reaction to returning here. She said my blood pressure was so high that there was no way they were going to let me leave the hospital. So, there it was: an induction-justified medical problem.

Once again, my body was not showing any signs of preparing for labor. No dilation, no effacement. So, what are all those practice contractions doing for me anyway? Thankfully, a little Misoprostol goes a long way for me! Contractions started shortly after the first dose. Then, after the 2nd dose was given 4-hours later, my body kicked in on its own and maintained the contractions and labor progression. I had no pre-planned ideas for labor. I decided to manage it for as long as I could tolerate....more out of curiosity as to how it would be different with a live baby....and then I would get an epidural later (choosing to skip those IV meds that make me loopy). I walked the floors, I rocked in a rocking chair, I sat upright in bed and held the rails during contractions. Since my water had not yet broken on its own, I figured I still had a ways to go, and I was not having any fun managing contractions. So, I decided it might be time for an epidural. Dr. S. wanted to check me first (apparently knowing I was getting close). I was 7cm dilated....(contraction)...oh, wait, 9 cm....(another contraction)....10cm & time to push! Ok, skip the epidural, I'll try pushing now.

I quickly learned that tiling the bathroom floor while pregnant was a huge mistake! With a pulled hamstring, and a pulled groin muscle in the same leg, my left leg was practically useless. The nurse attempted to help me hold it bent for pushing, and those muscles went into spasm! Change of plans, she stuck my left leg in a stirrup and we pretended it did not exist. My pushing positions were a little funny looking, but I eventually figured out a way to be effective. Dr. S. broke my water, since it never broke on its own. I had no idea I could dilate to 10 with the bag of waters intact. Odd. Since my husband is not much of a fan of biological things, we gave him the job of watching the contraction monitors. He preferred to deal with computerized equipment anyway. I was feeling the contractions on my own, but it was fun to watch his reaction to them on the monitor, at first. The closer I got to delivery, the less I was intrigued by the whole labor & delivery process. I became less of an observer and more of a participant. Right at the end, I tuned everyone else out and had a fight with my own mind. "Keep pushing.....No, I don't want to push out another dead baby!.....What if she is not dead yet, Push!....No, I can't go through that again!...Push, Push, Push.....Nooooo!!!!! And then she was born! Alive!

Dr. S. plopped that slippery pile of Jersey #1 onto my torso, and she stared me down! I could not believe that she was alive. She was breathing, she was squirming, and she was intently staring at us with eyes wide-open! My husband leaned over my shoulder and we both just admired her. She was beautiful.

It took me 4 weeks to accept the fact that I was the mother of a live baby. I loved her. I cared for her. I went through all the motions of breastfeeding, diaper changes, holding her, bathing her, ect. I did not want to let go of her, for fear she would disappear. At her 10-day check-up, Dr. S casually asked where she was sleeping. I think he was wondering if she slept in a crib, bassinet, or our bed. I answered, "In my arms." I had not put her down. He tried not to laugh, but a chuckle slipped out. That is when it dawned on me that I was not acting normal. He reassured me that if she was still in my arms at 18 months, we would talk, but for now, don't worry about it.

Breastfeeding is a natural way to feed a baby, but it did not come naturally to me. In an attempt to work out a rhythm, I lounged in bed with Jersey #1, practicing nursing whenever she was awake, and holding her and admiring her when she was asleep. I was watching her nap the morning she turned 4 weeks old--and that is when reality HIT me--she was ALIVE, and I was her MOM, and God had given me the AWESOME responsibility to nurture her, guide her, raise her, and train her in the way she should go! It was at that very moment that I stopped expecting to lose her, and started to think about what if she continued to live? I had a job to do, so I had better get to it. God loved me, blessed me, and expected more from me! My life had purpose! I had a baby girl in my arms! My heart was filled with JOY!

The King and I

It seemed only fitting to write a post about each of my pregnancies and deliveries, after pouring out all the details of the first. It sounded like fun to tell the story of the origins of each of our team players. In my head, I planned to write a new post each day, in birth order. Clearly that did not happen. A week has passed, and I have not yet added a new post. What originally sounded like fun, quickly turned into a challenge. The more I considered the idea, the more I realized that I have been able to joke about the details of each childbirth experience on a superficial level when chatting publicly, but when I stop and look a little deeper, there is so much raw emotion that I have been covering up and hiding from. My journey into Motherhood has been more than just growing, birthing, and caring for babies. It has been a spiritual journey as well. And it has not been funny.

We had been warned that men & women often grieve differently. It made sense. We were not prepared for just how differently we would react. After I attempted to "actively grieve" Mackenzie's death, I reached a point when I decided I was brave enough/strong enough/crazy enough to try for another baby. I wanted to move forward in life. My husband was horrified by the thought. He never, ever wanted to feel the pain of losing a child, ever again. Never. The only way to do that was to never have another child. I wanted to be happy again. He wanted to be in control. I was seeking joy. He was trying to prevent pain. Having no more children could control his level of vulnerability, but he knew it would not be an option for me. So, he allowed his heart to be an open-target again.

Six months after Mackenzie's birth/death, I was ready! Thankfully, we are extremely fertile, and I became pregnant right away. Dr. S. was excited for us and ready to go another round. We discussed the first pregnancy, the first delivery, the autopsy findings (that she was healthy, but the cord was constricted as her head began to engage in the birth canal, due to it being twice wrapped around her neck), and we agreed that we had not missed anything that could have been prevented. We should be in the clear, because "Lightning never strikes twice," Right?

Wrong. Pregnancy #2 ended in an early miscarriage. Apparently there are individuals who are struck by lightning multiple times in their lifetime. In hindsight, some early warning signs were there...the pink line on the home pregnancy test was rather faint....I was not nauseous at all....and my moods were rather low, going from cautiously hopeful to somewhat sad (for no apparent reason). I still had my most common pregnancy symptom--exhaustion. So, I slept away the first couple months. Once again, I had my first ultrasound at 10 weeks. I was so excited to get to see Baby #2 on the screen!

The ultrasound tech asked the usual questions about dates and timing while she took all the usual measurements. She finished up, ran the numbers, and announced that I was 6 weeks along in this pregnancy. What? No, I am 10 weeks along. No, she was certain that the sac, the crown-to-rump of the baby, and other measurements were right at the 6-week mark. I was concerned that we could not see a heartbeat. The tech assured us that it can be difficult to see the heartbeat at 6 weeks, so we should certainly expect to see it next time. I asked her what this meant in terms of developmental problems if the baby was measuring 6 weeks, and I was 10 weeks along. She was convinced I was just wrong on my dates. Instead of leaving that ultrasound appointment with increased excitement, I left puzzled and concerned.

I went right home and called Dr. S. and told him. He called the ultrasound tech, called me back, and confirmed that she was confident the measurements showed a normal 6-week pregnancy. I knew I was accurate on my dates. I asked what this would mean regarding development problems, if I was really 10-weeks along. Sadly, Dr. S. explained that it was not possible to be 10-weeks along in the pregnancy, with the baby only measuring 6-weeks in size. Early gestation follows a specific growth pattern, and genetic differences in height and weight of babies do not emerge until later in the pregnancy. It is all or nothing at this point.

Dr. S. suggested drawing my blood to check the hCG levels. Human Chorionic Gonadotropin is the pregnancy hormone that is made by the cells that form the placenta. In early pregnancy hCG levels rise measurably quick and concistent. He would draw my blood and test the level every other day, for a total of 3 times. If the baby was continuing to grow, the hormone levels would show a dramatic increase with each draw. The first blood test measured hCG levels accurate with a 6-week pregnancy! Ahh! How can this be? I keep really, really good track of my cycles, marking them on the calendar, just like my Mom taught me! Was it possible? I racked my brain trying to find ways that the dates could work out well in the end.

The night before I was scheduled for the 2nd blood draw, I started spotting. Dr. S. met me at the clinic first thing in the morning, and the sad look on his face (which he thinks he is hiding) confirmed my fears. He gave me a hug, and I fought back the tears. He suggested I complete the blood draw, to give him confirmation that the spotting was a product of the dropping pregnancy hormone levels (wanting me to be hopeful that the levels could be going up, and all would be well). The spotting was a sign of a threatened miscarriage. He briefed me on what to expect if I did start to miscarry, so that I would be prepared. I asked for a specimen cup to collect the baby's tissue for testing (yes, I am a scientist by nature).

The blood results did not have time to come back before I fully miscarried our Baby #2. I was prepared for cramping, pain, and possibly the need for surgical intervention. Instead, I experienced the easiest miscarriage ever possible. There was no cramping. No pain. My body expelled everything quickly and smoothly. Our Angel Baby simply fell out of my body. I collected the "products of conception" (as the lab called it), in the specimen cup, stored it in the fridge, and went to bed crying.

My husband held my hand as we went back to see Dr. S. with another failed parenthood attempt. I was devastated. Dr. S. checked out the tissue I collected and confirmed that everything was there. He confirmed that my body was closing up shop, after letting go, and there were no concerns with my health. He hugged us both. He tried to encourage us. Miscarriage is so very common--at least 25% of all known pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most of the time, the reasons are unknown.

The good doctor encouraged us to try again. He said the common recommendation is to allow 3 cycles to pass....allowing the body to heal and "reset".....before attempting pregnancy again. The concern is that the location in the uterus where the baby/placenta attached, would have an area with a healing blood clot, when everything detached. So, in theory, IF the next baby implanted at that very same spot, there might be problems as the old clot healed and fell off. In reality, he suggested waiting 1 cycle would be Ok with him.

For me personally, miscarriage was a double-edged sword. My heart was stabbed no matter how I tried to face it. Knowing miscarriage was common did not help MY situation. I was angry that I even had to deal with such a thing. I had already suffered the loss of a child...so I served my time, right? How dare this happen! Compared to the support we received after having a stillborn baby, the support we received after the miscarriage was very, very low. I was surprised by the intensity of my grief with the miscarriage. I was devastated. I was angry. I was hurting. This time, I felt so alone in the pain. I started to sink into depression.

I attempted to throw myself back into my work, as a way to take one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, the demands of my job took more out of me than I had to give. I was responsible for training a new coworker, but I was too weak to deal with that level of social interaction all day long. I would dread going to work each morning, and I would drop into bed as soon as I returned home. I often skipped dinner, choosing to stay in bed and sleep the evening and night away. I was ready to give up.

I had a check-up 6-weeks after the miscarriage. Dr. S. picked up on my symptoms of depression immediately. (I was treated for postpartum depression after having Mackenzie). He assured me there were antidepressants that were safe during pregnancy, since he knew I would want to get pregnant again soon. I said I was doing Ok. He told me to call him as soon as I saw the warning signs of depression. A week later, I walked down the hallway at work and had 3 different people ask me if I was doing Ok. I gave them each the same flat "I'm fine" answer. In reality, I was just going through the motions, and my heart was not in anything anymore. I was growing frustrated with my coworker trainee. I did not think I could tolerate her anymore. I was ready to quit my job. I was ready to quit my life.

That night, I prayed fervently for God to take me out of this world and bring me Home. I prayed. I begged. Please put an end to my pain. I cried out to God that I just could not deal with the pain any longer. I just could not see the point in living my life if I was going to have to live as a mother who had no children to hold. That was too much for me to bare. I wanted to be with my children, and I could not stand my empty arms and broken heart anymore. When I finally stopped crying, God answered my prayer. He said "NO." He reminded me that He was in control. He would take care of my needs. My purpose here was not yet complete. I fell asleep that night in peace. Sad, with peace.

The next day, I managed to drag myself to work and go through the motions. I had completely given up on my life, but God refused to take me home, so now what was I suppose to do with myself? My boss pulled me aside and said that she was worried about me, but that she didn't want to aggravate me by constantly asking if I was Ok. She asked what she could do to support me. It suddenly became clear to me that I was in a state of depression. I saw the signs. I admitted it to myself and to my boss, right there, and told her I thought it was time to call Dr. S. and get some antidepressants. She agreed, and encouraged me to take action. I tearfully explained to Dr. S. that I thought it was time to talk about depression. He told me he had been waiting for my call, and he had the prescription already filled out. He assured me the antidepressant was safe during pregnancy, so he wanted me to start it, continue considering a future pregnancy, and keep taking it until my next delivery.

The antidepressant did not fix my life. It did help keep my emotions in a better balance. I was able to get up and go to work each day, and go through the motions of my life, without all the anger and tears. I was not able to find joy. I had a bad attitude about life. I was in the midst of a spiritual struggle. Things did not go my way. I wanted to be in control. But, I was not in control. God is in control. His ways are higher than my ways....and I still needed to accept that.

This time, it was my husband who decided Life was for the Living. He suggested we plan a vacation and get away from the sadness for a while. We drove to Las Vegas, Nevada, and stayed a few days at the Excalibur Hotel. It was a great get-away. We ate great food, we walked all over the Strip, in the daytime and nighttime, and checked out the lights, the fountains, and the free shows. I was surprised to find comfort at the King Tut exhibit at the Luxor. The exhibit showed a model of King Tut's tomb, filled with jewels and treasures. There were also two tiny caskets. According to the audio tour guide, King Tut suffered the loss of 2 infant children (one was believed to be stillborn). He took the pain of those lost lives with him to the grave. Who knew I would have something in common with King Tut?