Growing Pains

“No!” I shrieked, “I don’t want another child. I can’t go through that again.”

Don’t get me wrong. I loved my son, Shawn, more than life itself. I didn’t even have much trouble with childbirth. But, after we got home, I went through a long period of severe depression.

At the time, I didn’t want to take care of Shawn. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t even want to look at him. I didn’t want to be with anyone. I had no appetite, and I couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time. Frankly, I felt suicidal.

My husband Jake pleaded loudly, “Lisa, snap out of it! Your children need you.” He looked down at our son in his arms and lowered his voice. “I need you. Why can’t you see that?”

“I do. I know.” I sobbed and pulled the covers over my head. I yelled to be heard through the blanket, “I’m trying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Leave me alone for a while, please.”

That’s when Jake finally took my condition seriously. He found out online that postpartum depression (PPD) is real and can be serious. He got me the help I so desperately needed. With hormone therapy and psychotherapy, I was able to claw my way out of the depths.

Before long, Shawn was a healthy, vibrant 4-year-old, full of energy, kind, and smart - though sometimes difficult, as boys tend to be. I had no intention of giving him a brother or sister. We were a happy family of three, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Then, Jake and I got careless with our birth control.

I didn’t believe in abortion, but I knew that women who have had PPD are more likely to experience it again. So, there I was, 32 years old and having the nerves of a first-time mother.

I decided since I was going to do it, I was going to do all that I could to avoid any problems. I drank lots of water, ate lots of healthy food, I swam, and I sang to my unborn child.

A couple months in, we chose to learn the gender. We were having a girl, and everything was on track.

I spent lots of time with Jake and Shawn. We had game night every Tuesday, movie night every Thursday, and Jake and I had a date night every other Saturday.

My cautiously optimistic attitude was leaning toward outright optimism.

What could go wrong?

The answer is premature labor.

At seven months, I started getting contractions in the middle of the night.

Jake rushed me to the hospital with a very sleepy Shawn in tow. His mother met us and took Shawn to her place to sleep, with the promise that Jake would keep her informed.

After some tests, the ER doctor chose to administer a tocolytic drug called Terbutaline to slow or stop my labor. It actually stopped the contractions.

But, I was put on bed rest, which felt like torture of the worst kind.

Three weeks later, labor pains began again with a vengeance. This time, they let it happen.

Six hours later, Laurie was born. She was six pounds - small, but a healthy enough weight to avoid long term medical complications.

I was so happy she was healthy, and so tired, that I didn’t even think about PPD. Just to be sure, I was put on hormone therapy again.

Now, we are a happy family of four. I can’t imagine life any other way. I’m proud of Jake, Shawn, Laurie, and myself. This second pregnancy made our family whole.

Still, I don’t want another child…

Author’s note: Although this is a fictional story, my daughter experienced PPD. She didn’t say anything until after it had passed with time. Please, be communicative with your family members about any depression. You CAN get help.