Today was our big 20 week scan. These are always a bit nerve wracking, more so today than with my first. I think I had talked myself into the notion that something must be wrong. After all the stuff I’ve been up to, and with depression and meds etc, I was just worried. I’ve also not been feeling any movements which I certainly should be by now, given it’s a 2nd baby.
Well the first thing we saw was a very active little baba, punching away and kicking, and pouting. It is certainly moving. Then we did the usual; heart, head, kidneys, spine etc and I’m happy to report that all looks as it should. What a weight lifted!!
Now the big reveal…………………………………….
It’s a boy!!
Mum and sis are just a little disappointed, but I’m delighted to be honest. Anyone who knows me, knows that I’m far from a girly girl, more content with footballs, tools and nerf guns!!
I’ve been out on leave for the past 4 days, but today I was officially discharged. It’s weird, but this always comes with a little sadness on my part. I think you get so used to being wrapped in a 24/7 blanket of care, that leaving it makes you feel vulnerable and a little alone. The staff were generally great. They wouldn’t usually tolerate patients who behaved as I did. Any self harm over here gets you shipped immediately to a PICU, but covid stopped that, and they managed me as best they could. They even took my wardrobe, the actual furniture away.
I now have a clearer picture on what my priorities must be.
1. Get help for my PND. 2. Get help for my eating issues and drug use, although since leave I have reduced my zopiclone down to 7.5mg only. 3. Seek support or at least clarification regarding my BPD traits. 4 Learn to like myself again and accept my emotions in a more positive way.
You can only tackle these one at a time Loopy, but you can do it!!
I tried, but i fell short. This evening I locked my bathroom door, tied pj bottoms around the shower curtain rail, and threw some knots around my neck. I’d almost got it perfect. But then the cavalry arrived. I though I’d have more time. Checks here are scarse at best. Now my clothes have been removed and cupboards cleared. I’ll try again, I’m sure of it.
I’ve come to the very sad realisation that it’s not OH and little man who’d be better off without me. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me who needs to go. I can’t continue any longer pretending to be smashing life when in fact it’s crushing me….
That little voice in my head, “run fatty run, puke fatty puke, burn ugly burn, your a failure, your a waste of space, you difficult and selfish and horrid. Die damn it, do us all a favour and die!!!
Today for the first time ever, I got to spend time with S, outside the confines of a hospital visiting area. Today was the first time, we both basked in freedom, drank mochas and laughed from the pit of our bellies. She has not yet been discharged, but her progress has been such that she is allowed accompanied leave. In her words; “It was boss!!”
She continues to inspire me, and although those days in a psych ward were some of my darkest, they brought me a friendship that was unexpected, and a friend who makes me stronger.
31%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!; That’s a scary number when it relates to your body fat mass. I had my gym induction today and I swear I could hear my organs weeping under all that fat. My visceral fat has definitely increased since my hospital admission but oh dear lord!!! Then I’m told my BMI is 23. This is the highest my BMI has ever been (I like to stay around 20). O.k lets be honest BMI is a pretty useless measure but when you combine it with such a high body fat percentage, lets face it, I’m on the fast track to cardiovascular disease.
It’s not exactly what you want to hear, when you’re already feeling rather vulnerable but I guess my life needs to be goal orientated this next few months, so lets add that one to the list. By Christmas my BMI will be back to around 21 and my body fat will be in the mid 20’s. On the bright side, despite the devastating news for my arteries, the gym did boost my mood a little.
I will however miss the hospital gym, as I had it all to myself, but more importantly I could wear whatever I wanted without shame. The scars on my arms didn’t much matter in that environment. I almost forgot myself today, and only just rememberd to pull on a long sleeve T-Shirt when I clocked myself in the mirror, just before leaving the house. I hate these scars just a little more now that I’ve been released but I shouldn’t. They are my battle scars and despite their ugly appearance they served an important purpose, and in a weird way played a role in my recovery. Let’s just try not to create any more.
You’re out now Loopy. Make and keep those goals and you WILL start to feel better.
Today I had my last cup of lunchtime soup in the psychiatric hospital. I have officially been discharged. I’m so grateful to my nurse and psychologist for today, because I almost bottled it.
I was teary and terrified before returning to the ward, and I really wanted someone to say: “Just stay a couple more nights”, but these amazing professionals know what they are doing. I needed them to be strong for me today. I needed them to be realistic and hold some optimism on my behalf and that’s exactly what they did for me.
“So are we going for discharge”; asked a lovely psychiatrist (whom I’d met with for the first time today).
“Reluctantly yes”; I mumbled. It was the reassurance from the staff that gave me the strength to say those words, and sitting here now at my kitchen table; watching my little man being mischievious and knowing that I have the support of my OH, I’m so glad they did.
It’s a long road ahead but just take it one step at a time Loopy.
Alot has happened today and I have begun to tick important things off my list in the search for better mental health. I’ve had my brows and lashes tinted, booked a haircut, deleted work email from my phone and joined our local gym.
The day didn’t get off to the best start, with me forgetting to take my morning meds (oops, although I remembered around lunch time.) and then my CPN not showing up when I was expecting her (it was maybe because I’ve not been officially discharged yet, or also highly likely that I’ve mixed up the times). Both little events left me feeling low. I’ve realised that I’m still very depressed and everything takes huge effort.
I did however decide to brave town today (I figured with the rain it may be a little quieter). I felt a little anxious and uneasy on the train surrounded by glaring eyes again, however a little debit card abuse (new clothes for little man as he has grown so much during my absence) cheered me up a little.
When I got home, I forced myself to go out on my bike (who’s name is Ariel by the way). I need to shift this quetiapine weight!!!. For the first time in what seems like forever I could feel the sea breeze on my face and the freshest of air in my lungs. It definitely beats the tobacco stench of the psychiatric hospital yard.
I must promise to myself that I will continue to cycle. It was gusty and extremely difficult to pedal against the breeze (and my legs are still aching from bashing Wilson everyday) but it was also the tonic for my mental health that I needed today. Coming back to the house I felt uplifted, more positive than I had been this morning, and more determined than ever to be discharged officially tomorrow.
Today only one thing is occupying my thoughts; My little man. I’m going to see him tomorrow for the first time in around 4 weeks and I should be feeling excited but my heart is filled with dread.
What kind of mother fears seeing her own child? I’m worried that he won’t come to me, that he’ll have forgotten me or worst still that I won’t be able to tolerate his company. This is the first time seeing him, since my family reaffirmed my ASD suspicions. My mother had his hair cut in a style I do not like and he has changed so much since I last saw him.
He’s a proper little heart breaker though; blond hair, chubby cheeks and a cheeky little face. How do I stop myself looking for symptoms and just enjoy the company of my beatiful little boy?
How will I cope if he has one of those tantrums that he often threw on our commute to work?
I’m consumed with guilt for abandoning him this past few weeks and for not missing him this past few days.