I had one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life this week.
I'm still reeling to be honest.
When I was first diagnosed with premenstrual dysphoric disorder, it was recommended that I should see a gynaecologist to try to gain some more insight and a tailored treatment/contraception plan.
Straight away, I got a referral to the wonderful OBGYN who delivered Isaac and referred me to the Mother Baby Unit when I was so unwell after his birth, and who helped me validate that my experience was not normal - both the birth and the weeks after.
I had to wait nearly three months for an appointment, which is fairly standard for most specialist appointments and I didn't think much of it until about a week beforehand. The practice I needed to attend is in the same place as the hospital where I gave birth, and I hadn't been back since my post-Isaac six week check up where I was in a fog of exhaustion, fear and depression, and where Mum and I were in a (minor) car accident immediately afterwards.
I started to feel nervous. I haven't been able to go near the place without feeling sick, but as it's somewhere I don't exactly frequent, I figured I might feel uncomfortable, but it would be OK.
My angel of a Mum drove me to the appointment and took Isaac to the local shopping centre while I was there. She dropped me off, I got into the elevator, the doors opened, and my heart began to race.
I pushed open the surgery door, went into the waiting room, sat down - and proceeded to completely freak out. I used to love going there. I would be so excited for my pregnancy scans. I was so ridiculously happy at that point in time. But this time, there were pregnant women surrounding me, or mothers with their little babies, probably there for their own six week check ups. They all looked happy and I wanted to scream at them. Super rational...
Tears welled immediately. I legitimately nearly walked out.
I started frantically sending my sister text messages, trying to keep calm, trying to breathe.
I could feel my right leg jiggling up and down uncontrollably, and people started glancing over at me, but I couldn't stop. The more I jiggled the more I seemed to be able to focus on that, and not on the tightness in my chest and the waves of panic that were overtaking me.
My doctor was running late, which wasn't a problem and something that I completely understand, but that waiting room was like a version of hell for me. I didn't know how I was going to get through the appointment, and I was biting so hard on my lower lip trying to distract myself I made it bleed.
I was called in to have my appointment about 40 minutes later.
I sat down, already feeling so tired, like I had run an emotional marathon.
The opening sentence from her was "I can see you've been having a tough time" - referring to the referral letter from my GP, and I was able to mumble something all the while feeling like I was having a strange out of body experience. Hearing her voice took me back to that birthing suite and I couldn't get that vision out of my head. She is a calm, wonderful doctor, but when she came in to deliver Isaac, she was authoritative, and at the time, I remember thinking she sounded slightly panicked, and then the most terrifying, painful moments of my entire life ensued. She got me through that time and I have had her on this pedestal in my mind I guess, and seeing her again, not pregnant, not trying to be pregnant - it was such an impossible situation for me to come to terms with.
She began drawing me a diagram, explaining that my brain/body struggles with the rush of oestrogen that happens just before, and during ovulation which explains the increase in my anxiety and the rapid decrease in my mood for two weeks of the month.
I physically couldn't hold the tears in anymore. Thank goodness there was a tissue box sitting right next to me as I burst into tears, no doubt completely shocking my doctor who was being nothing but scientific and helpful. In between sobs, I explained that it was really hard for me to be there, that talking about pregnancy/my cycle was so surreal, sitting in that room with her having the conversation about how I can most safely NOT get pregnant when I just assumed the next time I saw her would be when I was pregnant again - nothing had turned out the way it was supposed to.
My anxiety then kicked in and I started frantically apologising - she was already running behind and now she has this basket case in her office she's trying to help and I was falling apart. Shattering, right in front of her.
It was mortifying.
She was absolutely lovely and professional and I was able to eventually pull myself together to get through the appointment and we made a plan. She asked if we were planning to have another baby. I mumbled and shrugged and shook my head, all at the same time.
"I don't think I can". She smiled reassuringly - "and that's OK" she said.
Funnily enough, I will be going back on the pill. A full circle solution I was not expecting. The particular pill I took for nearly 10 years, should help level out the current oestrogen surges that I just can't cope with, and hopefully... I could start not struggling quite so much. It will all involve a bit of trial and error I believe, and I go back to see her in 6 weeks and reassess.
I have to go back.
I thanked her, apologised yet again, and left the office. My Mum and Isaac were waiting for me in the waiting room and he came running up to me which added another layer to the surreal feeling of the whole appointment. I sat there so many times with him in my tummy, talking to him and watching him on the ultrasound monitor, crying happy tears and now here I was, my three and a half year old in my arms as we walked out - my only child.
I was even more grateful that my Mum had driven me to the appointment (I met her at her work), and I strapped Isaac into his car seat, got in the front, clicked my seat belt, Mum asked how it went - and I sobbed. I'm talking heaving, almost hyperventilating sobs.
"It's OK Katy, it's grief" she said.
It's grief that my life is in this wonderful, yet unexpected place. Writing posts like this make me so paranoid about coming across as ungrateful, which is absolutely NOT the case. I am so grateful for Isaac and my life. I know how ridiculously lucky I am to have been able to conceive and birth a healthy baby boy, I absolutely know that and would never want to come across as trying to minimise anyone else's pain, I am merely sharing my own.
But, I am still sad.
I am sad that I won't have any more children, that I am too scared for myself and for Isaac and for Reid to even consider it. I am sad that Isaac won't have any siblings and my dream of having three children won't be realised. I grieve the loss of the part of myself that wanted a big family, and it had been such a defining part when I really think about it. This whole experience has shaken my sense of self to the core. It has made me reassess my values and readjust basically all of my long term life goals. It's a big freaking deal.
If nothing else, this experience has once again taught me that recovery isn't linear and setbacks can crop up unexpectedly. I know I have still come a really long way and I know everything will be alright, but for now, I need to acknowledge my feelings and sit with them for a while - it's OK not to push them down, it's OK to talk about these uncomfortable parts of life and be completely honest with yourself about any internal pain that you haven't come to terms with yet. I have a lot of healing to do, and I am 100% committed to it.
I'm still reeling to be honest.
When I was first diagnosed with premenstrual dysphoric disorder, it was recommended that I should see a gynaecologist to try to gain some more insight and a tailored treatment/contraception plan.
Straight away, I got a referral to the wonderful OBGYN who delivered Isaac and referred me to the Mother Baby Unit when I was so unwell after his birth, and who helped me validate that my experience was not normal - both the birth and the weeks after.
I had to wait nearly three months for an appointment, which is fairly standard for most specialist appointments and I didn't think much of it until about a week beforehand. The practice I needed to attend is in the same place as the hospital where I gave birth, and I hadn't been back since my post-Isaac six week check up where I was in a fog of exhaustion, fear and depression, and where Mum and I were in a (minor) car accident immediately afterwards.
I started to feel nervous. I haven't been able to go near the place without feeling sick, but as it's somewhere I don't exactly frequent, I figured I might feel uncomfortable, but it would be OK.
My angel of a Mum drove me to the appointment and took Isaac to the local shopping centre while I was there. She dropped me off, I got into the elevator, the doors opened, and my heart began to race.
I pushed open the surgery door, went into the waiting room, sat down - and proceeded to completely freak out. I used to love going there. I would be so excited for my pregnancy scans. I was so ridiculously happy at that point in time. But this time, there were pregnant women surrounding me, or mothers with their little babies, probably there for their own six week check ups. They all looked happy and I wanted to scream at them. Super rational...
Tears welled immediately. I legitimately nearly walked out.
I started frantically sending my sister text messages, trying to keep calm, trying to breathe.
I could feel my right leg jiggling up and down uncontrollably, and people started glancing over at me, but I couldn't stop. The more I jiggled the more I seemed to be able to focus on that, and not on the tightness in my chest and the waves of panic that were overtaking me.
My doctor was running late, which wasn't a problem and something that I completely understand, but that waiting room was like a version of hell for me. I didn't know how I was going to get through the appointment, and I was biting so hard on my lower lip trying to distract myself I made it bleed.
I was called in to have my appointment about 40 minutes later.
I sat down, already feeling so tired, like I had run an emotional marathon.
The opening sentence from her was "I can see you've been having a tough time" - referring to the referral letter from my GP, and I was able to mumble something all the while feeling like I was having a strange out of body experience. Hearing her voice took me back to that birthing suite and I couldn't get that vision out of my head. She is a calm, wonderful doctor, but when she came in to deliver Isaac, she was authoritative, and at the time, I remember thinking she sounded slightly panicked, and then the most terrifying, painful moments of my entire life ensued. She got me through that time and I have had her on this pedestal in my mind I guess, and seeing her again, not pregnant, not trying to be pregnant - it was such an impossible situation for me to come to terms with.
She began drawing me a diagram, explaining that my brain/body struggles with the rush of oestrogen that happens just before, and during ovulation which explains the increase in my anxiety and the rapid decrease in my mood for two weeks of the month.
I physically couldn't hold the tears in anymore. Thank goodness there was a tissue box sitting right next to me as I burst into tears, no doubt completely shocking my doctor who was being nothing but scientific and helpful. In between sobs, I explained that it was really hard for me to be there, that talking about pregnancy/my cycle was so surreal, sitting in that room with her having the conversation about how I can most safely NOT get pregnant when I just assumed the next time I saw her would be when I was pregnant again - nothing had turned out the way it was supposed to.
My anxiety then kicked in and I started frantically apologising - she was already running behind and now she has this basket case in her office she's trying to help and I was falling apart. Shattering, right in front of her.
It was mortifying.
She was absolutely lovely and professional and I was able to eventually pull myself together to get through the appointment and we made a plan. She asked if we were planning to have another baby. I mumbled and shrugged and shook my head, all at the same time.
"I don't think I can". She smiled reassuringly - "and that's OK" she said.
Funnily enough, I will be going back on the pill. A full circle solution I was not expecting. The particular pill I took for nearly 10 years, should help level out the current oestrogen surges that I just can't cope with, and hopefully... I could start not struggling quite so much. It will all involve a bit of trial and error I believe, and I go back to see her in 6 weeks and reassess.
I have to go back.
I thanked her, apologised yet again, and left the office. My Mum and Isaac were waiting for me in the waiting room and he came running up to me which added another layer to the surreal feeling of the whole appointment. I sat there so many times with him in my tummy, talking to him and watching him on the ultrasound monitor, crying happy tears and now here I was, my three and a half year old in my arms as we walked out - my only child.
I was even more grateful that my Mum had driven me to the appointment (I met her at her work), and I strapped Isaac into his car seat, got in the front, clicked my seat belt, Mum asked how it went - and I sobbed. I'm talking heaving, almost hyperventilating sobs.
"It's OK Katy, it's grief" she said.
It's grief that my life is in this wonderful, yet unexpected place. Writing posts like this make me so paranoid about coming across as ungrateful, which is absolutely NOT the case. I am so grateful for Isaac and my life. I know how ridiculously lucky I am to have been able to conceive and birth a healthy baby boy, I absolutely know that and would never want to come across as trying to minimise anyone else's pain, I am merely sharing my own.
But, I am still sad.
I am sad that I won't have any more children, that I am too scared for myself and for Isaac and for Reid to even consider it. I am sad that Isaac won't have any siblings and my dream of having three children won't be realised. I grieve the loss of the part of myself that wanted a big family, and it had been such a defining part when I really think about it. This whole experience has shaken my sense of self to the core. It has made me reassess my values and readjust basically all of my long term life goals. It's a big freaking deal.
If nothing else, this experience has once again taught me that recovery isn't linear and setbacks can crop up unexpectedly. I know I have still come a really long way and I know everything will be alright, but for now, I need to acknowledge my feelings and sit with them for a while - it's OK not to push them down, it's OK to talk about these uncomfortable parts of life and be completely honest with yourself about any internal pain that you haven't come to terms with yet. I have a lot of healing to do, and I am 100% committed to it.
Image via @enlightenedconsciousness Instagram
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