Day 6
All I did was have a baby - a beautiful little (well big, actually) bundle of noise and puke - and my body went absolutely crazy. So did my mind, for that matter. They call it Post Natal Depression when it should be entitled a 'life-destroying, marriage wrecking journey, into a hell you never knew existed'. I'm not exaggerating, truly. The words 'hormone' and 'balance' got a bitter divorce and moved as far away from each other as possible. For the first year the NHS tend to offer anti-depressents and the looney ward at the hospital, which (surprisingly) doesn't help everybody, then - if you don't recover - they really don't know quite what to do. So then you enter a new profession called being a Guinea Pig.
In this new role, you should be prepared to travel - from one cure-promising expert to the other, and have a flexible attitude towards possible treatments, because you will be expected to try out a great many. You should develop good editing skills about your symptoms as no expert wants to hear the whole story, only what pertains to their specialist field. And while all of them are well-meaning and wanting to help you, their disappointment when they fail to will leave you with the guilty feelings, not them.
Your partner will be bombarded with newspaper articles about miracle cures, and pressure from friends whose wives had something absolutely the same, guaranteed, and they took a pill or had an injection, and it went away. So you will go along with it all, for the sake of your marriage, your children, the life you once knew, and the desparation you feel in the wee, small hours that is becoming overwhelming, (even though you know in your inner being, that what you need is a more holistic alternative). But you're a one-income family now and the NHS is what you can afford.
Roll forward many years and to some extent, you are still paying the price for all that messing around with your body. I've now had some kind of nerve damage in my feet (or a problem in the pain recognition centre of my brain - nobody knows) for about sixteen years, and walking is difficult but standing is worse - I can manage about ten minutes before the pain really kicks in. So when I say that the 'useful thing' I chose to do yesterday was TO STAND UP for over TWO HOURS and do THE IRONING - well .... I think you get what an achievement this is, especially when you consider what I think about ironing. So today, I am a hero to myself, which is nice.
The 'fun thing' I chose, was to play with my karaoke until 12.45 in the morning - all the oldies and lots of Karen Carpenter and Billy Joel. Bliss. I used to be able to sing quite well, once upon a time, but if you don't sing, the muscles don't get exercised and then, one day you try and you've turned into a croaky old bag who can't stay in tune. Which is perfect for karaoke so happy endings all round.
Will commit to finishing my lovely Inspiratioon Book today, but other than that, I'll see how it goes. When Insomnia visits she likes to make sure you get your money's worth, and stays a few days at the least, so am feeling on the ropey side. The trick today will be to turn negative moods and thoughts into positive ones, so I am not a drag to my family and to myself. I will count my blessings as often as I can - it may be an old cliche, but I find gratitude humbling and uplifting. I may be tired and hormonal, but that is small potatoes, as they say, in the grand scheme of things. (Am noticing that I am beginning to ramble on in an increasing number of old sayings and platitudes, so will stop now before I burst into a rousing chorus of "Always look on the bright side of life").
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