TBH- I’ve spent a small eternity dwelling in bitterness that I didn’t get the help I so obviously needed: until I realized one day that I never actually asked for it.🤦🏼♀️
At least that’s what I remembered; And then one of my dearest friends reminded me of the literal next day…
………………………………………………
I had slipped into a sort of catatonic state and didn’t even have the will to lift a glass of water to my lips.
My dear sister held the glass up for me and tried to coax me to drink just a little water from the straw.
But I just sat, stared and wept.
Mom declared that we were going back to the hospital, but I didn’t have the will to walk or even sit in a chair so they wheeled me in to a room with a bed and I curled up and cried inconsolably
Now… One would think that this behavior would be a sign to a medical professional that something was terribly wrong….but in walked a lactation consultant that had clearly never felt an ounce of empathy a day in her life.
“What’s wrong? Why are you like this?” She asked militantly.
“My life is over. I murdered my marriage!” I sobbed.
“What does that mean? Exactly?
“All we had is gone now!”Delusional thoughts plagued my troubled mind. My life was just beginning. My marriage was being fertilized and in the process of growing strong, like an oak whose roots run deep. All that we had before was insignificant in the miraculous light of what we had gained.
“ My heart won’t stop racing. I can’t breathe. Please help me!”
Her response was a bit of a shock:
“You’re right. You made the choice to have a baby, now things will never be the same. Those days are over. You made your choice, now you have to live with it. Now get up and get yourself together,” she “encouraged” with the tact of a Black Widow Spider.
Shock. Devastation…Complete hopelessness. My life was over. As we arrived back home in silence, I turned, looked up, and saw myself clear as day, standing at the top of the tall, wooden staircase that led up to our front porch.
Isaac was in my arms…until they just gave out and I watched in horror as my newborn infant went crashing down the stairs and landed dead at the bottom.
But no- Isaac was in his car seat safe and sound.
I tore my eyes away, my heart beating like a bass drum. Was it possible that my brain would let my arms just fail me like that? I would have the same vision 100 times over the next two years, and I would never once carry him up the stairs.
I had just had my first postpartum intrusive thought. More would show up quickly after that, blurring the lines between being stuck in a horror movie and reality.
What is an Intrusive Thought?” More on that next time.
We will adapt. 