Pardon My Post Partum-Part 2 of 2

So, you know the stereotype of the typical "crazy" person?  The one where the crazy person's running down the street naked in the dead of winter yelling "Merry Christmas"?...I kid you not, this man was on my floor!!!  One of the teachers I team taught with called my room to see how I was and asked, "you're not going around yelling Merry Christmas are you?"...I didn't know whether to laugh or cry...I replied, "I'm not, but there is some crazy son of a bitch doing that very thing right outside my room as we speak" (pardon my use of "crazy"..who was I to speak)...This poor old man was naked except for an adult diaper and got pissed if you removed the Polaroid of him dressed in a Santa hat from the door to his room.   Most of the patients however, didn't fit the stereotype; they weren't rocking themselves back to sanity or glazed over in a catatonic state...many of them looked like you and me.

Regardless of most patients' "normal" appearance, the gloom of depression, attempted suicide, and unpredictable outbursts, lingered behind their eyes and permeated the ward.  I have to admit I was terrified...terrified of my future, losing my mind, losing my child, losing the respect of my family, friends, and co-workers, and honestly...terrified of my suite mate..she grunted a lot:/.  Thankfully, after two days of a full night's sleep and evaluation, I was discharged with a new prescription, and a follow-up appointment with the psychiatrist who oversaw the psych department.

Though I'm sure the anti-depressant I was on helped quite a bit, the fact of the matter is I felt almost entirely different just after getting two nights of good sleep during my stay...I'd been running on fumes for four months!  Even now, I feel the anxiety and moodiness creep up if I go too long without a descent night's sleep.

So, I'd made it out alive and still, relatively sane;).  I was home and with help from my mom and additional daycare hours, I was able to get a break and some respite.  My loneliness was improving as I'd reconnected with a college friend who had young children as well.  Time with her helped tremendously.  Finally, I was spending time with a fun and witty girlfriend who also happened to be a mom...so many mom's I'd met were very nice but other than talking about our children, we had very little in common.

Unfortunately, while the burden of panic began to shed, the my appetite and ultimately weight, packed on.  Within a year, I'd put on 60-70 pounds...seriously...a super model...I'd gained an entire super model...what the hell?!!

This is me and my big guy...I was beginning the process of dropping pounds.

 This is me less than 2 years later...

Pardon My Post Partum-Part 1 of 2

I gave birth to my first son just a little after a year of marriage.  At the time, I was 24 years old.  To some, that may sound like the average age for a first time mother however, none of my friends had children nor were any of them married.  I remember walking into my first expectant parent class; the other mothers were at the youngest, 30, and I felt like I was a pregnant teen and I'd done something.

After 23 hours of labor and 2 and a half hours of pushing (why do moms always include this?), he'd arrived.  He was beyond a miracle and the most amazing thing I'd ever laid eyes upon.  He was the first grandchild and nephew for both our families so needless to say, all were eagerly waiting to meet him.

A couple of days later we returned home where friends and family gathered and prepared meals and did whatever they could to help us.  I held it together pretty well.  I loved my son and already I'd gained a whole new sense of faith but my body was still reeling from the aftershock of birth, a long labor, and the reality that this baby couldn't make me love his father the way a wife should.  Sure, my body was old enough to get married and to have a child but perhaps the older students in our parenting class waited for good reason.  Had I rushed?  Had I just brought a baby into something I was already questioning?  I was overwhelmed, riddled with guilt, I was depressed and lonely and I'd only been a parent for 72 hours.

Within a week, post-partum depression set in.  Most of our friends were still happily living the single life and loneliness was definitely a conditional factor.  As the weeks went by, I continued to fight the post-partum.  I'd gained confidence as a mother and getting exercise and healthy eating made a difference.  That being said, when my son was only 9 weeks old, I returned to  teaching full time and 2 weeks after that, began my masters program....did I mention until my son was 6 months old, it took him until 4am to fall asleep?...I had no idea what to do and letting him cry it out wasn't working.

So here I was depressed, working full time, commuting to Falls Church for my masters...oh, and I had a tiny human to take care of!  On the weekends when most would hope to sleep in, baby and I were on our own because his father had a part time job bartending late on Friday and Saturday nights and he needed his sleep on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Adding chronic fatigue to the list of other responsibilities was a recipe for failure...something had to give.  My mind and body were on overload and within 3 weeks of returning to work full time, I had to take medical leave.  I was having 3-4 panic attacks daily...at home, at work, in the car...and while I was home alone with the baby.  I felt like I couldn't breathe, I'd leave my students alone in class and run outside of the school because my mind would race, my heart would palpitate, and I felt like I couldn't catch a normal breath.

There was a four month wait list to see a psychologist (welcome to the stress of Northern Virginia!).  So when my son was just 14 weeks old, I could no longer handle what my body was doing.  I showed up at the door of my wonderful family practitioner and immediately began sobbing and then...having a friggin panic attack!!!!

Now, I've said from the beginning that I'd be open, raw, and disclose far more than I'm comfortable with so here is something I've shared with very few people.  Maybe a dozen people know this but now I'm admitting it to you...with a 4 month wait list and escalating post-partum depression, my doctor felt that my sanity and safety as well as the baby's meant immediate professional help and the only way to get this for me was to admit me to the mental health ward at a local hospital.

We all have stigmas we place on things and thankfully, the stigma we've place on mental illness is lifting but for me, it was truly disheartening.  I felt defeated, I was in such a low place...I now had "shame" to add to my library of dirty self talk.

The cute female candy striper that helped me find my way to the mental health unit asked me at least 3 times if I was sure that's where I was supposed to be.  I guess I didn't match the profile of the mental ward's typical patient but why do I need to separate myself?  I was sick, they were sick, and God willing...we were going to get better.

(part 2 will arrive next Wednesday/Thursday...God willing:))

Fat Girl Diaries: No Fatty-Graphs Please!

Fat Girl Diaries: No Fatty-Graphs Please!: Looking through my computer and Facebook files for photos of me isn't an easy task...there aren't many.  For the last 10 years, I&#...

No Fatty-Graphs Please!

Looking through my computer and Facebook files for photos of me isn't an easy task...there aren't many.  For the last 10 years, I've avoided the camera.  I've spent vacations with my children, family celebrations, birthdays, holidays, and important life moments in valiant effort to avoid having my picture taken.  I have mountains of photographs and video clips of my children but very few of them include me.  Looking at pictures like the one below, I understand why.  In this picture...I was already 30 pounds down from my highest weight so getting in front of the camera wasn't as hard as it had been.  Even now though, I look at my arms, my stomach, the insecure expression on my face and I wonder, when is it that we begin disliking our life in photographs?  

Surely it isn't when we're young.  Photos from infancy and childhood are often treasured memories.  Even in my early 20's, I'm okay with walking through my pictorial past.  So what was it?  When was it that we stopped wanting our photo taken?  For me, it's when my photographs became fatty-graphs and I could no longer hide the daily struggle I faced...an exhausting mental battle full of negative self-talk and an internal war with cravings and appetite that left me feeling completely out of control.  I was betraying my body on a daily basis and pictures were photojournalism for this battle...until there was victory, I wasn't ready to share it.

This is me then.

This is me now.

Forgive me if fatty-graph, fat, or any variation of the word offends you.  My blogging is wide open, full of candor, and if we're going to get honest about weight, well, fat is an appropriate description of where I've been and where some of you may be.  Fat doesn't have to undermine who you are just as skinny and thin don't elevate you beyond a certain place.  Fat is what I carried around for almost a decade and it's what I needed to lose in order to gain back a life I could feel good about.

So now that I've lost the weight I can tell you that life isn't perfect but it's certainly worth capturing and sharing.  As I continue in my weight loss/management efforts, I'm excited to bring this component of wellness and aesthetics to Rejuvalase Medspa in Stafford, Virginia.  Along with personal trainer and fitness guru, Laszlo Balazs, we'll give you the basics of balanced living, weight loss, and finding a life that is close to...picture perfect.  I'll continue to share advice, meal ideas and options, monthly spa specials, and my personal journeys as well as the success stories of those of you who join Rejuvalase's program.  I look forward to hearing from you on our discussion board and wish you health and a beautiful week.

Next week, I'll share how my struggles with post-partum depression began the start of my weight wars.