Nicole on having PTSD, postpartum depression and anxiety after giving birth
![Nicole on having PTSD, postpartum depression and anxiety after giving birth mom kissing her baby in the NICU - essay on anxiety after giving birth](https://ens3xeax5jd.exactdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/mom-kissing-her-baby-in-the-NICU-essay-on-anxiety-after-giving-birth-768x384.jpg?strip=all&lossy=0&webp=80&avif=80&ssl=1)
Motherhood Understood
"I went to my room and looked at my empty bed, and the empty bassinet and realized this was the first time I had been alone since my delivery. This isn’t how it was supposed to be, and so the first breakdown happened."
![Nicole on having PTSD, postpartum depression and anxiety after giving birth mom kissing her baby in the NICU - essay on anxiety after giving birth](https://ens3xeax5jd.exactdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/mom-kissing-her-baby-in-the-NICU-essay-on-anxiety-after-giving-birth.jpg?strip=all&lossy=0&webp=80&avif=80&ssl=1)
Motherhood Understood
I had a very long and very hard labour, and although I should have had a C-section because my baby was so big (and just couldn’t come out), the OB thought I just needed to push harder.
After over six hours of pushing, my baby got stuck and I had blacked out shortly before the nurses and doctors started pushing on my stomach to try and get him out. I’ll never forget the panic in me when I came to and saw five people on top of me all pushing and pounding on my stomach. I knew this wasn’t going to end well.
They then flipped me over hoping a change in birth position would help. When I yelled out in pain, the OB told me she didn’t want to hear it and I need to push. I wanted to tell her, “I’m pushing as hard as I can!” but I couldn’t get a word out. That’s when I felt the episiotomy and was flipped back over.
Related: How to overcome—and heal—from a traumatic birth
A few minutes later they finally got my baby out, but there was no sound from him. I couldn’t see him because they had to take him immediately to revive him. All I wanted to hear was my baby cry. Instead, the only noise I heard were my own strangled sobs, begging to know where by baby was, and if he was OK.
After I was taken to my room, he was wheeled in, in an incubator. They were taking him to the NICU at a local a children’s hospital. I remember looking at him, intubated and motionless, and then looking at the faces of my family and nurses. I knew what they weren’t saying. He wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t believe that though. I needed to be the one to stay strong and believe that he would be OK.
My husband went with our baby to the hospital. I could see him falling apart. “He’ll be OK,” I remember telling him over again. “Look how big and strong he is. He’ll be OK.” He couldn’t be strong so I had to, for him and for our baby.
Related: Dear mama sitting in the NICU: Sometimes you’ll fall apart and that’s okay
My mom stayed with me at the hospital so I wouldn’t be alone, I had a few other visitors here and there, and I remember them all looking at me like I would fall to pieces at any second, but I didn’t. I remember my sister-in-law telling my brother she thought I was in denial, and maybe I was. The breakdown did eventually come, when I was released from the hospital and went home (we live with my parents).
I went to my room and looked at my empty bed, and the empty bassinet and realized this was the first time I had been alone since my delivery. This isn’t how it was supposed to be, and so the first breakdown happened.
When I woke up the next morning, I had more energy than I should, but I was finally going to get to see my baby. The doctors did their rounds and it was the first time I heard it directly from them. He was without oxygen for about ten minutes, he was being cooled to keep the swelling in his brain down, he’d had three seizures, they think he’ll live, but don’t know what that will look like.
Related: How my baby’s NICU journey changed me as a mom
I tried to tell myself, it doesn’t matter what happens, he’s alive and that’s all that matters, but I could feel the depression sinking it’s teeth into me. The next few days were a whirlwind or various emotions and the next breakdown came a few days later. I got to be with my baby but I couldn’t hold him, which made pumping difficult.
That’s when a lactation consultant at the hospital told me I should just imagine holding my baby, like that would help, like I hadn’t done that nonstop already. I was also called by the hospital where I delivered and asked to rate my experience. Did they not look at the patient history before they made that call?
We were told although he’s still not really awake or moving as much as they’d like, they think our baby is out of the woods for any serious damage, but we won’t know about extensive damage for a long time. When we told our family, the rounds of hugs came.
Related: I’m a survivor. I’m a NICU mama.
Queue the next breakdown. It was in that moment I realized I didn’t want to be touched—not by anyone—even the thought caused me to panic. It went this way for the next three weeks. We would get good news, and then bad news and another anxiety spiral would happen. I figured it was normal. My baby was in the NICU, so of course I would have these feelings.
After three weeks, he was doing well enough that we could take him to another hospital’s NICU, where we were told once he developed a suck and was off oxygen for long enough, he could come home, which was after just one week.
I was thrilled. After everything we had been through our baby boy was OK and was coming home, and I was going to be myself again, I would feel OK again! How little did I know? It didn’t take long to realize what was going on. I had PTSD, postpartum depression and anxiety. I didn’t want anyone to know what was happening though. I felt like a failure. What kind of a mother almost loses their baby and can be anything other than happy?
Related: To the mama doing SO much she feels like she’s failing at everything—I see you
After a few months of locking myself in the washroom at night to sob, and not being able to go a day without an anxiety attack, I finally admitted to my husband what was going on and decided to see a therapist.
My son is now almost 18 months old and is thriving. I love being a mom, however I still struggle. I feel better and more like myself but being a mom without any trauma is hard. Add that trauma in there and some days it feels impossible. COVID-19 definitely hasn’t helped, I was just starting to want to be around people again when the lockdown started, not to mention constantly worrying that every sneeze, cough or mark on my son’s body is a symptom of COVID-19, but I’ve learned to manage those feelings better.
Motherhood is hard and if you’ve struggled, please know it’s OK. We all go through our pregnancies and postpartum differently. You will be OK and there is nothing to be ashamed of. Please don’t try to hide your feelings like I did. Talk to anyone who will listen and do what you have to do to take care of yourself!