Bad, bad, laptop.

It's been a while since I last posted, the reason being that I am now terrified of my laptop.

Since being diagnosed with acid reflux, I have been trying to change my diet so as to not aggravate it  further. So I contacted my sister-in-law, a nutrionist. When we spoke, she began to tell me the dangers of all sorts of foods: meats, chemicals and the importance of eating organically. I jotted down every word she said and was amazed and downright frightened of all the foods I should've avoided, but never did. Healthy foods that I once thought were an excellent choice:  turkey sandwhich meat, chicken breasts, extra virgin olive oil (not good when heated, fine on salads and so on) and even innocent old peanut butter (apparently not so innocent after all). And those are my healthy choices. Never mind the unhealthy choices I've made over the years. Like my love for cream sauces and french fries.

Then she went on to fill me in on the danger of using cell phones too much. The radiation waves. It went a little something like this:

SIL - You know cell phones are very dangerous
Me - Hang on, i'm just writing this down. Uh huh, uh huh.... why?
SIL - Radiation waves. You should really limit your use. As well as your laptop. Never keep it on wireless unless you are traveling.
Me (Starting to sweat, heart beating faster, mind racing to thoughts of doom)
- Excuse me?
SIL - Not good for you.
Me- I've had a laptop for five years. It's been on wireless the whole time.
SIL- Not good.
Me  (Sweat gushing out, tears forming, staring at laptop in shock and extreme anger. Shameful thing.)
- Well no problem, I can fix that.

Then my thoughts went to how often I used my cell phone when I was living at my parents because my mother was constantly on the house line. I had marathon calls with my best friends. Oh please tell me this is a nightmare. I called one of my best friends M and told her all about this. It went a little something like this:

Me - OMG, OMG, cell phones can cause tumours. I've totally screwed myself, I am so sad and upset.
M - Yea, well, I probably got a few of those floating up there as well.  
Me - And the laptop. Can you believe it?
M - Whatever.
Me - And I never really ate organic meat.
M - I never eat anything organic.

I also drank water from the tap quite a bit after the baby was born.

Doom, doom, utter doom.

Anyway this is why I have not posted much his week.

I also keep my blackberry in a corner, behind piles of books as I am also terrified of it as well. Oh blackberry, how could you? You seemed so friendly with your endearing little name and your magical powers that would connect me to the people I love. And now to know that you have been stabbing me in the back the entire time. You sly product.

I am this close to deciding to live my life in a bubble. Ugh.

I love my baby daddy

An excerpt from a note from my husband today:

I just wanted to tell you that I love you very much.  I know its really hard to stay home all day with a baby that can't even talk, but cries a lot.  I don't know how you do it but you do - and very well I might add!!!  You're always so patient, especially when you are exhausted...I wish I could be like that.  I hope you're starting to feel better (mentally I'm talking now, I'll get to the physical in a moment lol)...you certainly seem much better in the last week to me.  But if you're not, that's ok too, just come to me and let me comfort you.  Whatever you need, I'm here for you, don't feel like you're in this on your own...even though I'm not always physically here, I'm always thinking of you and our little guy and am just a phone call away.
I love you mostest!

A new way of looking at pain

In searching for answers to what can so often be an emotionally crippling pain, I have come across the below by Rumi and thought I would share it. I am often fearful of fear itself, but I am starting to wonder whether it is in my life for a reason.


The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Rumi

Crying and Laughing

I couldn't help myself. I broke down and cried yesterday. A good cry that made my eyes burn and my nose run.  I was reading Lance Armstrong's "It's Not About the Bike"- an amazing book that my husband has urged me to read for years - and hearing his story, how he fought for his life, was supposed to lift me up and normally it would have. It was after all, a  touching book about beating the odds and the miracles that are out there in the world. Instead, I couldn't help but think about how fleeting life is. How scary it  is. I continued to read it and I was in awe of Lance Armstrong's recovery, of his will and his courage, but I was also shaken by his journey.

I feel so vulnerable after having a baby as if I am a sitting duck. I feel as if the stakes have never been so high. I adore my little monkey so much, I want to do everything in my power to protect him, be there for him. It scares me to think of anything separating us. I can feel the fear radiating throughout my body.
Things are easier for me when I'm surrounded by people. I went to parent's house today for a birthday celebration and being around my parents and my three sisters felt so amazingly safe. I was happy there. I really laughed. It's a wonderful feeling to laugh after being in a state of anxiety. You enjoy it more, you really savour it.  I love to laugh. I love a good hardy one, when you can't breathe and tears are gushing. TMI probably, but there are times when I have laughed so hard that I've basically peed myself a bit. Those are the best. Disgusting, but the best.

My sisters and I remembered a Mediterranean cruise the whole family went on twelve years ago, when I was just 18. The four of us were crammed into one ridiculously tiny bedroom with no windows and  with what appeared to be two very small single beds. This intrigued us being four sisters. We soon realized there were upper beds above the lower ones that unfolded from the wall. My younger sister Tanya noted if you dropped the soap in the shower and bent down to pick it up your ass would literally be nestling on the sink. My parents on the other hand had a very luxurious suite with an amazing view on the opposite end of the boat and they couldn't understand what the problem was with ours. We reminisced about almost missing the boat at one port and sprinting to catch it, only to realize we weren't even late. About how my other sister Kara and I were always looking for the "disco" the entire trip, only to find it on our very last night on our way to a movie. We ended up drinking beers with a bunch of newlyweds. How my dad practically scaled a small cliff in Monoco to get my mom's handbag that she dropped. How the staff often referred to us as 'the Spice Girls' and how one time while getting off a bus in Barcelona, we heard a mysterious voice amongst the crowd say 'bye Spice Girls'. We explored Rome, Spain, France and Monaco together. My first time in Europe. It was by far one of my favourite vacations.

So while at my parents, I was on the computer looking at this blog and my dad asked what I was doing and accused me of googling diseases. I laughed. I wasn't. It's a good feeling to know that people have your back.

I love my family.

Baby Brain

So my little guy is going through what I think may be a teething phase. Along with this and feeling extremely exhausted and sleep deprived as well as having to go to a zillion appointments on the day my husband is off, I am also dealing with baby brain.

My day consists of waking up between 6-7 am (depending on the day) and going downstairs to express my milk which takes roughly half an hour. My breasts are usually very big and hard with milk at that point, which is painful, so I cannot prolong it past that time. Then I usually cram a super fast breakfast down which has been difficult as inhaling food is apparently not great for acid reflux. An unrelated thought:  I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal slowly. It’s like a pie eating contest every day – minus the pie. Anyway, then I rush upstairs and hand off the milk to my husband to feed the baby and I take the dog out for his walk for thirty minutes. When I come back, I say goodbye to my husband, take the baby and go about my business.

Apart from feeding, changing, playing, walking and soothing the baby, these are my other daily undertakings:

1. Make bed; 
2. Neaten bedroom;
3. Laundry;
4. Tidy bathroom;
5. Let the dog know I love him via patting and hugs;
6. Make lunch;
7. Return phone calls;
8. Sterilize bottles, pacifiers;
9. Surf the internet for diseases that I could possibly have;
10. Inspect body for diseases I could possibly have;
11. Go back on internet to research any irregularities have found on body;
12. Go into panic mode about said irregularities;
13. Diagnose myself with the worst possible scenario;
14. Worry about who will love the baby as much as I do if something happens to me;
15. Breakdown and cry from all the worrying;
16. Pull self together;
17. Clean up kitchen;
18. Make dinner;
19. Run dishwasher;
20. Bathe baby;
21. Put baby to bed;
22. Pump milk; and
23. Shower etc before bed. 

And so on and so forth. By the time I get to bed it is usually midnight.

Lack of sleep and general exhaustion coupled with all the worrying does a real number on my brain. Sometimes I double-book appointments, misplace or lose things (like my mouth guard twice), completely miss what a person is saying, agree to do something and then forget (and then having a very vague recollection of it when reminded). It’s terrible. And I have to lay emphasis on the fact that I was always extremely respectful of people’s time. I was never late for appointments, interviews, what have you. I never lost my mouth guard. I was an extremely punctual employee and person in general.

Today I missed my appointment with my psychiatrist and it was not due to a lack of respect for her or her time. The baby brain made me do it! We had agreed to meet at 3:15 pm, so naturally I took that to mean 4:15 pm. And so I planned my day around it, thinking it was at the latter time. Imagine my horror on the drive over as I was innocently scanning through my agenda for next week’s appointments when I noticed the actual time it was supposed to be. I called Dr. E absolutely mortified explaining that I had mistaken the time. She rushed me off the phone insisting it was fine, but I got the distinct impression that she was displeased or aggravated, no.... pissed. It was all in her tone. I didn’t have the chance to explain how overwhelmed I had been these past few days with this new phase the baby is going through. As well as feeling so rundown mentally and physically, especially with these mysterious dizzy spells I have been going through, which is due to not eating enough calories while breastfeeding with new acid reflux diet in effect (of course in my mind the spells are actually the result of the serious diseases I have). Nope no chance to do so, she just rushed me right off as if to say “yea, yea,  heard it all before”.  So I felt like shit for screwing up the time. But the icing on the cake was my husband’s reaction as he was driving me to my appointment. Totally irritated by my baby brain although I don’t think he sees is as that, but more me just being a big old moron. I know it’s hard to truly understand a person’s situation unless you’ve been there. I have no idea what he is going through, truly going through. And as much as he tries, he does not know what it is like to be me, especially during my darkest moments. The headaches, the spells, the worry, the uncontrollable sadness, the tears, the hopelessness, the sheer helplessness. All he can see is me messing up yet another appointment. He doesn’t understand why I can’t keep it together. Why I did not listen to him and keep my mouth guard in its case instead of leaving it on my bedside for the housekeeper to throw out (in my defence, I asked her not to dust, only the floors) or in another spot for my dog Ralph to eat. And I know these things aren’t cheap. Why I forgot the baby’s bottles when I packed his bag on Sunday to bring him to my parents and only realized 10 minutes into the drive when we were already late to see a movie. And these are just the mistakes I can remember now. There have probably been a million more before that. I told him that I was never like this before and that it’s hard for me to remember things and that I really do try. He went on to say that it’s not the forgetfulness that he minds, it’s that I am nonchalant and dismissive when it comes to heeding his advice and that to him is the frustrating part. Maybe I am those things. Maybe I already feel like a failure and so my defence is to be nonchalant and dismissive when he advises me to be more organized and to take better care of my things. Maybe it’s because it makes me feel like I’m a child and that sucks since my self-esteem is already taking a hit.  It’s hard to be a stay-at-home mom in that you wonder about your identity. I see everyone else, including my husband, going out there in the world and being creative, managing, multi-tasking, making things happen. And here I am and although I am with the this little person that is literally my heart and soul, I sometimes look at myself in the mirror and see a nest of crazy, dirty hair, an unwashed and greasy face, overgrown eyebrows getting dangerously close to being a unibrow, leg and underarm hair, chipped nails, and 30 lbs of extra weight. And I wonder who that person is, where my old self went. The person that used to spend hours at a bookstore, utterly delighted. The person who felt alive when writing. Or the person who adored cooking, scouring markets for new ingredients and ideas. The person who would swear and guzzle a bottle of wine with her friends after a hard day at work. The carefree old me that would take a trip to Mexico with her best friend and just eat, laugh and dance. The person that would dream of going to India to explore and wonder.  I used to take immaculate care of myself and now I can barely distinguish the hair on my legs from my husband’s (kidding). The point is that I sometimes feel unrecognizable and invisible.  

And so my mind is not as sharp as it once was. And I know I have to step up my game quite a bit to keep myself organized. I wish Dr. E was not so curt in her response to me though. And that perhaps my husband might understand where I am coming from when it comes to my absent-mindedness.  But as I said, it’s hard to know exactly what a person goes through, what their experience is. The best we can do is try to communicate honestly and hope for a little compassion.

Le Malade Imaginaire

Last week was a better week. I was actually able to do some cleaning without thinking "what's the point?” And yesterday I whipped up some chicken schnitzel with veggies for my husband and me. I used to love to cook, but it's hard to do when anxiety is a guest in your home. I am almost afraid to say that things seem to be looking up because I know this sucker tends to come in waves. One day I’m good, the next day I’m hysterical. And the beat goes on.....

I think I'm a hypochondriac. I never was before I gave birth, I was very relaxed about my health. I started to worry when I caught a glimpse of my postpartum body when I got home from the hospital. I was hobbling around the house due to the pain of the episiotomy and could not believe the sight of my naked body in the mirror. I dare not even look in the southern region for fear that it was hanging on for dear life by a thread. I wondered if I would ever recover. It got better though after 6-8 weeks and that was that. Then at about two months pp, I started to get a mild sore throat. I immediately thought I was coming down with a cold and locked myself in a closet, crying and shaking and insisting my husband leave me alone. I was desperate, terrified and overwhelmed by an immense feeling of guilt. I thought I would get the baby sick, putting him in a dangerous situation, all my fault. When the sore throat did not evolve into a cold, I was relieved. Then my wild imagination wormed its way in and a million scary scenarios began to play out in my head. I feared for the worst. I thought, this is it, you're going to kick the bucket and who will love your baby as much as you do? And the fear took me down. I felt like every time I tried to get back up via positive thinking, the fear would give me one good jab and I would be back on the ground, utterly desperate.

I eventually decided to go to an ear, nose and throat specialist who after asking me many questions and looking down my throat with a scope, diagnosed me with acid reflux. This he said was the reason for the sore throat. And even with a specialist telling me what the cause was, I did not believe him. I began researching acid reflux all over the internet, surfing sites that no possible hypochondriac should ever surf. And the fear grew and grew. I began to notice all sorts of pain in my body. The roof of my mouth, my jaw (I do suffer from TMJ), my neck, my nose. Since yesterday it has been my eyes. They feel tired. I know, I know... tired eyes are probably due to a lack of sleep with a new baby. That would be rational. But what is reason to a hypochondriac? I'm practically allergic to it. So I am terrified that there is something wrong with me (non-mental, that is). Oh and i'm apparently a doctor now. I research, diagnose and treat myself daily. Armed with the medical  knowledge from the school of Google.

The good news is that I know I have anxiety issues. I am working on it with D. I was also referred to a psychiatrist that specializes in women's health to discuss anxiety medication. I saw her last week and will continue to see her. She will let me know whether medication is appropriate.

Besides all that, I am really enjoying my little monkey. He is just amazing and I adore him. He is getting bigger, more interactive and he makes me laugh so much. I just hope to beat rid of the postpartum depression soon.

Welcome to Pospartumville

I had a baby 3 1/2 months ago. He is the light of my life. Beautiful, sweet, enchanting. He is far more amazing than I could ever have imagined. But with great love, comes great pain, and as I ushered into my heart this most precious being, I also let in an uninvited guest by the name of anxiety. All I have to say to you anxiety is you do not rock. In fact, you totally suck and props to you for basically ruining what is supposed to be the happiest time of my life. But I digress.

I'm a worrier. I always have been. I can recall worrying as a child about things like killer bees, polar bears, kidnappers. And I carried that anxiety with me all the way into adulthood. I was always able to get a handle on it though and was more than able to live my life happily.

I went into therapy three years ago when my anxiety was skyrocketing. At the time, I should've been on top of the world. Freshly engaged to a man that I could not have loved more, surrounded by amazing friends, in a job that I was content with for the most part, just comfortable and at ease in the world. But the worry caught up with me and I spent the next few years battling it out in life and in therapy with D.

D is my therapist. She saved me.  When I came to see D three yearso ago, I was thin, anxious and had some serious doom on the brain. D showed me another way to live. She patiently listened to my fears and gently guided me through them. Through our many sessions, I cried and I also laughed too. I got to a good place and was able to work around the anxiety.

Then when I got pregnant, anxiety's little mischievous elves were already at work planting seeds of worry. I worried for my baby throughout the pregnancy and yet it was still the most joyful time. I worried about my blood pressure rising, the baby not moving as much, what I ate, what I didn't eat - this lasted to the very end.

Then I gave birth.

I felt like I was flying and no that was not due to the fact that I was pumped full of drugs thanks to the epidural. I was enraptured. There are no words for it, I doubt there ever will be. The immense love I felt for my baby came with a shitload of worry. I worried about EVERYTHING and to a point that I was going insane. For the first two months, I could not stop fearing for the baby. Then as he grew into a thriving, big baby, the focus shifted to me. The most terrifying thing apart from something happening to the baby was something happening to me and having to leave the baby. And so with that a hypochondriac was born.

And so I am fighting to get through what I know now is postpartum depression.

I hope to use this blog as a tool to do so.

So welcome to Postpartumville, also known as Crazytown.