Seriously

I’ve tried to start this post a dozen different ways but everything I’ve tried sounds so stupid.  So just bear with me.

While hurridly taking a shower during those magic moments yesterday afternoon when both Liam and Evie were napping AND NO ONE WAS NEEDING TO NAP ON ME, I was mulling some things over in my head.  I do my best thinking in the shower.   Anyone else do that besides me?  Sometimes it seems the shower is the only place a person can hear themselves think around here.  Anyhow.  I was thinking about things, about stuff and I came ot a realization.   I’m in a Bermuda Triangle of sorts.  At least, I think I am.

You see, I may have mentioned once or twice that I have a little problem with my thyroid.  I know, you’re probably tired of hearing about it already.  In the last couple of weeks I’ve done some sniffing around and I’ve noticed that there are some connections between hypothyroidism and depression.  Either the thyroid causes you to feel depressed, or the depression is a symptom or an effect… Okay, now I’m just starting to confuse myself.

And then I started thinking of the influx of postpartum hormones that crash in when a baby is a couple months old.  That thought was probably prompted by the handfull of hair that I came away with after rinsing the shampoo out.  The hair starts falling out and the hormones inside are trying to even themselves out.  It’s no small task, I’m sure.  In fact, I’m sure it’s a pretty serious endeavor since it was during this postpartum period that my thyroid first decided it was going to take a dirt nap all those years ago after Harry was born.  So it would be no small wonder that hormones leveling out should cause me to feel a little on edge.  It makes sense, even.

And then there’s postpartum depression.  Is it related to the evening out of hormones post-pregnancy?  Or something else?  I have to admit that I know very little about PPD.  What causes it, why some women get it and others do not.  Why some women get it worse than others.  And why you can have multiple chidren and not have it with some but have it with others.  I have no clue.  But it’s there.  It exists.

So where do I fall amidst all this?  I have a feeling I fall right in the middle of it all.  Right in the middle of the “Bermuda Triangle” of hormones, depression and syndromes.  I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s not a happy place to be.  At least, I don’t think it is.  Because I’m not even 100% sure that it’s where I am.  How do you know?  I guess I never considered that a person who was feeling depressed wouldn’t know for sure if what they felt was depression or if, well, they needed to just buck up and take it.  When I would hear someone recount their experiences with depression, I would never second-guess it.  I guess I assumed if you were depressed you just KNEW.  Is that the case?  Or not?

I guess it can be hard to see what’s right in front of you when you’re in the Bermuda Triangle.

I’ve felt that I just need to buck up and take it.  That what I’m feeling isn’t that remarkable, that what I go through is nothing compared to some women, that I have no room to complain about anything.

I want it to be known, however, that I cherish my children.  The love I have for them sometimes keeps me awake at night, it is so enormous.  I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.  As hard as things might be right now, I know my life is so much better having them in it.  So don’t think for an instant that I don’t realize I have some pretty awesome kids.  Because I know I do.

I just need to find my way out of this Bermuda Triangle so I can really start feeling like myself.  Even though I worry that I’ve been in here so long that I don’t even know what “myself” is anymore.

“You know, last year after BlogHer, I felt this way too.”

“Which way is that?”

“Tired.  Emotional.  Don’t you remember my friends were asking if I was mad at them?”

“Yeah, that’s when that whole mess sorta started, isn’t it?”

“Well, of course, last year it ended up that I was pregnant.  And I always figured that is why I felt that way.  But now I’m wondering if it wasn’t just a typical BlogHer Recovery.  Because, obviously, there’s no way I am pregnant now.”

“It could be your thyroid, too.”

“…”

“Maybe?”

“Uhm… yeah.  You know, it probably IS my thyroid.  That would make a lot of sense, actually.”

***

To make a long, embarassing story at least a short, embarassing story, I haven’t taken my thyroid meds in four months.  Not since Evie was born.  See, about a month before Evie was born, my previous prescription had run out and I knew I was going to need some extras so my obstetritian wrote me a prescription for another month or two, enough to get me through until I could go see my family practitioner.  But then I lost that prescription.  And I didn’t want to go see my family practitioner because I still have guilt. It’s stupid, I know.  But you know how it is when you’re a mom (a new mom, especially).  It’s hard to make time for yourself.

Well, then our health insurance was going to change at the beginning of July.  I figured I would go see a new family practitioner then.  But then Kile had his little incident and plans changed.  Our budget had to be adjusted, and then adjusted again to account for our trip to San Francisco for BlogHer.  So I figured I would wait some more.  I’d already waited that long, why not another month?

***

I’m feeling it now.  I’m exhausted all the time.  I start yawning, often just an hour after I’ve woken up.  I never have any energy to speak of.  I’m sore all over, from my neck to my shoulders to my back to my legs.  My fingernails, of all things, have been changing and getting (there is no better word for it) sicker.  I see myself and besides just being shocked by the sudden shorter haircut (still not used to that), I am horrified by how I look.  My shape seems hulking.  I don’t like what I see.

My smile seems harder to find.  My temper has been short.  It has been a lot easier to find woe than it has been to find a silver lining.  It’s been subtle, but then again, maybe not THAT subtle.  Even now, my stomach hurts, my patience is insanely limited as everything my children is doing is driving me RIGHT UP THE FRIGGIN’ WALL.  That seemed to happen overnight but maybe it didn’t.  Maybe this has been going on, building up, a lot longer than I thought.

My attention is diverted, my inspiration is limited.  My motivation is low.  I feel, I guess, somewhat depressed.  Which is pretty typical of hypothyroid sufferers.

***

I know you’re not supposed to go off of meds.  But I never felt like meds made me feel THAT much better so I figured being off of them wouldn’t make me feel THAT much worse.  My biggest concern was weight gain, to be honest.  But going from 200mcg of levothyroxin to NONE, I guess, is enough to make even my laid-back system sit up and take notice.

I need to make an appointment.  I know I do.  But yet…  I will always be able to find an excuse not to.  Do I really want to explain to a new doctor what the deal is?  What if they think I’m full of crap and don’t believe I have a thyroid problem?  Is there going to be a huge rigamarole to get my old files from the other family practitioner?  Is it going to require me going down there because I don’t think I can do that.  Is that another excuse?

Tune in to see if I actually a) make an appointment and b) keep it.

Are we, as a people, losing our compassion for each other?  I see and hear things all the time that just make me feel ILL.  People have so little regard for each other anymore.  Where did this come from?  When did it become “ok” to ignore those in need, treat each other with disrespect and laugh at other’s misfortune?  As far as I’m concerned, it is just as important as it ever was to look out for my fellow man.  Moreso, maybe, now that things are so rough out there in the big, bad world.

I saw a story on the Today Show this morning that turned my stomach.  A woman in a waiting room collapsed and was left on the floor until she died.  People saw her.  People who worked at the hospital saw her.  And no one helped.  Until it was too late.  Should it matter that it was an emergency room in a psychiatric hospital and not a standard hospital?  NO.  Should it matter if she was homeless?  NO.  What mattered is that she was essentially ignored and left to die because no one wanted to deal with her.

And what about the seventy-something year old guy that got hit by that car in New Hampshire about a month ago.  It was a hit and run and there were people walking the street.  NO ONE helped him, no one ran over to see if he was okay.  What is wrong with this picture?  I can’t fathom seeing something like that and just going on about my business.  I simply could not.  How is it that other people CAN?  That scares me, folks.  It really does.

And what about online?  Oh, you hear it all the time.  Stories about cyber bullying, etc and so forth.  Those are the obvious examples.  But what about the little moments, the small ways in which we turn our backs on each other on a daily basis here online?  Why is it okay to ridicule someone on Twitter just because you’re online and consequences be damned?  Even if you would do the same thing in person (perhaps moreso, because that in my opinion makes it even WORSE), WHY would you?  What would you get from tearing someone else down?  Does it honestly make people feel better to do this?  I don’t get it.

Do you see in my sidebar where it says “kind blog”?  I still try to hold true to the ideals of that badge.  Sometimes it’s really hard.  I get snarky like the rest of them.  Boy, howdy, do I!  But I try to limit myself, especially on this blog.  Because it’s not doing myself or anyone else any favors.  You all have my permission, by the way, to call me out if you do catch me disrespecting anyone here.  I just don’t want to be that person.

I wouldn’t hit and run in real life and I won’t do it online either.  I wouldn’t turn my back when I saw it happen in person and I’m trying not to do it online either.

Let’s all try to remember that we’re all in this together.  We’re all people, we’re all human beings and we all have feelings.  Lets show a little compassion, now, before it’s too late.

So I got to do something that all stay at home mom’s of little children DREAM of doing the other night.  I got to leave the house and meet friends for dinner and a movie.  WITHOUT KIDS.  It was a miracle.  It was hard, to pull away and know that my little 2 month old suck-fiend is in there along with my nearly two year old and my 8 year old and MY POOR HUSBAND.  Still, push came to shove and I put it out of my mind as best I could and I had a GREAT time.  I’m so glad that I went.

We had burritos at a taco place near the theater and went to see (dun dun dun!) “Sex and the City”.  I was never big into the series, as we never had HBO, but familiar enough with the stories and characters to care.  And it really was a pretty good movie.  A LOT of boobies to be seen (along with *cough* some other parts too), but also some good romantic payoff too.  I walked away feeling GOOD.

But at one part of the movie, Carrie was feeling a mite blue, and when talking to her friends, mentioned that the tragedy that befell her wasn’t entirely surprising.  She had some warning signs.  But she didn’t want to “speak them aloud“.  And in that moment, I totally knew what she was talking about.

Four years ago, right before we lost Jackson, I had some warning signs.  It was a busy weekend at our place, but on Sunday night, I lay in bed wondering when I’d last felt movement.  I couldn’t quite remember.  But I didn’t want to think about the worst possible scenario.  I didn’t want to vocalize my fears.  Saying them aloud would make them more real and I wanted anything but for them to be real.  So I didn’t say anything to Kile about the lack of movement.  I didn’t mention it to a soul.  I put it out of my mind and it was alarmingly easy to do so.

There’s a little shame in admitting that.

Even though I know that by the time I noticed there was no movement that it was probably already too late.  Still.  There is guilt.

This is why, when I went into labor, I had the voice in my head saying, “I sure hope that baby is still alive in there.  Maybe he’s not.”  I even “joked” to Kile about it.  Breezily enough that he didn’t even pick up on the fearful undertones.  That is why he was blindsided by the news that Jackson was gone… and I was not.  I mean, I was, but I wasn’t.

What would have changed had I spoken my fears out loud?  Anything?  I doubt it.  I’ll never know though.  Will I?