Hello, my name is Saige. A few years ago my husband and I realized that we were having a hard time trying to conceive. We then embarked on one of the toughest journeys of my life, infertility. I spent countless hours in the infertility clinic, flushed thousands of dollars down the drain, cried enough tears to flood the world, underwent numerous treatments, and eventually went on to conceive the most incredible little munchkin ever.
I thought that once my Munchkin was here the emotional trauma of infertility would be over and that life would be the happy story I always imagined it would be. In the days following her birth I had some serious post partum depression. Not the kind that made me want to abandon or hurt my child, but the kind that made me sob and dread the passing of each and every minute. I hated going to sleep at night because I was afraid I would wake up the next morning and it would be 16 years later in the morning. As a result, I couldn't and wouldn't sleep, which compounded the depression exponentially.
I fought it with everything I had to keep my doctor from prescribing an anti-depressant or from landing in a shrink's office. I thought I was fighting the good fight and that I had overcome, but every month I would experience major setbacks. Things that would normally only bother me for a day or two sent me careening over the edge.
Finally, at the request of a husband desperate to save his wife, marriage, and the mother of his child, coupled with the pleadings of a father desperate to save his daughter, I sought help. At first I tried visiting a counselor, but by the end of our third session I realized she was not helping me the way I had hoped. Our fourth session ended 15 minutes early.
I tried to go on my merry way, informing my loved ones that I had tried, but that apparently I was fine. Then I experienced another setback. Next up was my GP. I asked for a prescription, told her what I had previously been on, and asked for a specific anti-depressant, which she did not give me, but instead gave me what I did not want. She told me it could make parts of my PPD worse, but that she wanted to try it anyway. She is no longer my doctor.
Seeking help was only causing me more upset than it was helping. The number of hoops I had to jump through with the insurance coupled with the fact that no one seemed to really want to listen or help even when I was paying them to do so was more than I could handle.
Again, I told everyone I was fine, put on a happy face, and went forward with life only to have another major setback a couple of weeks ago. It was at this point in time that I realized I needed to be playing in the major leagues. No more counselors, no more GPs who could care less about me. I did the unthinkable, the unfathomable... I went to a psychologist with a PhD.
I was and still am embarrassed to be there, but I realize now that I need to be there for my husband, my daughter, and my family. This isn't about me anymore and what I am comfortable with, its about showing the ones I love that I love them and will do what I need to do to be here for them. If I have to talk to a shrink and be on anti-depressants to show them that I love them very dearly, then I will do it, no matter how degrading it feels to me.
I have post partum depression hand-in-hand with left over baggage from years of infertility. It feels to me like I just can't catch a break. But I realize that everything I am handed in this life is a test. I can choose to roll over at every crossroad, or I can choose to learn from it and become a stronger person.
I choose to become a stronger person. So I am picking myself up, dusting myself off, and seeing my life the way I want it to be. Doing so will make it a reality.
Welcome to my journey to recovery from PPD and IF.