The Day I Admitted I Needed Help

6 months ago, this would have been a really hard blog post for me to write. I still feel vulnerable posting about such a personal issue, but I really feel like it’s important, too. My postpartum journey after bringing June into the world was far from perfect, easy, or fun, and yet, somehow looking back, it has been a beautiful one, too. Delivering a baby during a pandemic, plus four other kids relying on me at home, plus some postpartum medical complications and the inability for any of my family to come and help me led me to the hardest, scariest, and lowest point of my life. But let me back up a little before I really dive deep.

June Parker, our fifth baby and third girl, was born in the middle of June on a breezy, sunny San Diego day when the purple Jacaranda trees were in full bloom. I had a relatively uneventful pregnancy and delivery with her, despite Covid being rampant and me spending the majority of our time at home with all 4 kids trying to balance remote learning, a Marine husband, and my part time job. We transitioned home seamlessly after her birth, and the older kids, Rich, and I enjoyed every sweet second having our final newborn in the house. The real struggle for me came a few weeks after delivery, when on the 4th of July, I couldn’t kick the feeling that something was off. I was having terrible headaches and despite taking 800mg Ibuprofen regularly, they were just getting worse. Finally, I called the Covid nurse line thinking perhaps I’d been infected while at the hospital (since we hadn’t had anyone around the other kids or June since returning home) and needed to get tested, and thank goodness an angel of a nurse put the headaches and being postpartum together and asked me to take my blood pressure. Sure enough, it was in the 190/105 range, which is stroke level, so I was immediately sent to the ER. And that’s where this journey really begins.

After an overnight stay in the crowded ER hospital alone, two weeks postpartum, pumping milk for my newborn (who wasn’t with me) every hour, and watching my blood pressure remain shockingly high despite the magnesium drip and several different medications they had me on to try and bring it down, I broke. Everything I treasure and love suddenly felt shockingly close to disappearing and I realized how fleeting this life could be. Not only was I scared mentally, I physically could not stop shaking like a leaf and felt like I couldn’t take a deep breath. I didn’t want to sleep for fear I may not wake up and kiss my husband or babies again, and yet, my nerves and anxiety were working completely against me, driving my blood pressure up when I desperately needed it to come down. After 12 hours, an MRI, a chest Xray, Covid test, and full blood panel, I was officially diagnosed with postpartum hypertension. Eventually my blood pressure evened out to a point they felt comfortable with (but was still shockingly high), I was given a prescription for high-dose nifedipine, told to be on bed rest for two weeks, and discharged with orders to follow up with my OB the next day. To the ER doctors and my OB, I was out of the woods. But to me, my journey was just beginning.

In the coming weeks, I experienced fear, embarrassment, denial, feeling like a burden, and crippling anxiety. I couldn’t care for my kids and Rich had to take emergency leave for a few days until we could hire a full-time nanny (paid for by my parents because they felt awful they couldn’t come down and help due to Covid restrictions) for the immediate future. I was on maternity leave to care for my newborn child and I simply couldn’t do anything more than stay in bed. Every night was sleepless as I tossed and turned praying I would wake up the next morning. I was terrified and couldn’t seem to get over the fear. To put it simply, I had PTSD from my hospital stay and medical emergency and the anxiety that ensued was crippling. As someone who has always prided herself on “being busy” and having a full plate, to be suddenly locked up in bed not knowing how to “fix” what was wrong was the worst possible nightmare. Every coping mechanism I had for clearing my mind and relaxing was taken away and I couldn’t force my body to stop freaking out. I distinctly remember keeping June on my chest in bed each night just to have the warmth of her body and monotony of her breathing to focus on rather than my fears so I could fall asleep. Looking back, I can safely say that snuggling June close and being able to hold Rich’s hand each night as I fell asleep praying was what got me through this awful time. I’m not sure what I would have done had I not had those two physical things to focus on, as my mind and body were riddled with an anxiety I’d never even come close to experiencing before this.

As time went on after my hospital stay, each day was spent calling my OB to ensure my blood pressure stayed within normal range, and eventually, around the 4 week mark, my care was transferred to my primary care physician. At this time, we had addressed my postpartum hypertension, but I was still terrified each night and had tightness in my chest leading me to believe I was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Thanks to the amazing support and encouragement of the few in my closest circle of family and friends, and especially my dear friend (and an incredibly experienced and thoughtful nurse) Beth, I setup an in-person appointment with my PCM to talk through some of the worrying symptoms I was still having. I cannot stress enough how crucial it is to find a doctor you can trust and talk to. I saw a PA at my clinic, Chelsea Cavignac, and immediately felt like she was someone who not only cared deeply about the situation I was in, but also took a wholistic approach to my health. She put my mind at ease by running an EKG and checking my heart. She ordered full labs, reviewed my recent blood pressures in detail, and discussed my medication plan with me, AND she addressed the fact that I was uncontrollably worried about relapsing with my blood pressure and ending up back in the ER alone and terrified. She didn’t rush me and really supported my desire to try and work off my blood pressure medication, if possible. After reviewing everything, Chelsea made a diagnosis I had a feeling was coming, but I never expected to receive. My chest pain and shortness of breath were due to anxiety. WOW.

Here I was a generally healthy 36-year-old mother of 5 and my anxiety was so bad it made me feel like I was having a heart attack. Questions of how and why ran through my head as I processed this diagnosis. I’d never been an overly stressed out person, and yet, as soon as the words Panic Attack came out of my doctor’s mouth, I knew she was right. I had felt it building but chocked it up to being postpartum and had tried to work through it by doing things like taking a bath, praying, going for a walk, or taking a nap. And yet, none of those things helped. I needed more.

After talking through everything with Chelsea, she recommended several things to start to address my anxiety. First, she recommended we become more proactive in my approach to treating my blood pressure. She recommended a plant-based, high omega 3, low-sodium diet, which I took to heart and adopted immediately. I took it a step further to cut out caffeine, alcohol, and as much as possible, sugar. Additionally, my doctor suggested I get 30 minutes of exercise every day, starting slowly and working up to strengthening and cardio workouts. This may sound easy, but after nine months of pregnancy and then 4 weeks of bedrest at this point, I was starting at square one. I was also having to ensure I pushed hard enough, but not too hard so that my blood pressure stayed within a normal range. Each day I added a little mileage and a little speed, but every day felt like a challenge and I was just thankful to be outside and alive!

The second aspect Chelsea suggested we needed to address was the mental side. She recommended I find a therapist I could talk through some of the fears I’d been facing with, and she also suggested that perhaps I needed something more to help me get through this rough patch. The suggestion she made was that I start a low dose of an anti-depressant drug called Lexapro. She explained how it worked and the benefits of using it, and ultimately, wrote the prescription but left the decision to fill it up to me. At the end of the appointment, for the first time since I’d been in the hospital, I felt heard and like I had a solid plan to help me. It felt so good!

I took it upon myself to immediately find a therapist, and with a solid recommendation from a couple friends, I found one who took my insurance and seemed like a good fit. I also talked a lot to my closest friends and family to tell them what was going on. Rather than feeling embarrassed or judged, I was humbled by the outpouring of love, support, and honesty about their own experiences I received from each person I shared with. After a few days, some of my own research, and talking it over with Rich, I decided to fill my prescription for Lexapro and see if it helped. I cannot tell you how thankful I am that I made that decision. I’m now five months out from starting Lexapro and I can honestly say it has changed my life and helped me SO much. Where previously the littlest things, like getting out the door with all five kids dressed and fed, would leave me feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, and at the brink of exploding, suddenly I felt a sense of calm I can only attribute to the Lexapro. It made everything that previously felt impossible feel so much more manageable and just took the feeling of “boiling over” out of my days. It was absolutely the right decision for me! I don’t plan to be on it forever, but am so thankful it has helped me feel like myself again. I do believe it was the Lexapro coupled with the therapy, prayer, exercise and overall changes I made that has helped me get a handle on my anxiety, but I don’t think I could have gotten there without the extra help of medication.

So there it is! What I feel like has been a “dark secret” these past few months is now out. Where I previously may have been embarrassed by this, now I just hope to reach others who might be feeling the same. At this point, now six solid months from my postpartum hypertension diagnosis, I am happy to report that I’m totally off blood pressure medication, have maintained the life changes I made, and feel better than ever physically and mentally. There are absolutely days where I still feel that creeping sense of anxiety building up in my chest, but I’m now able to be rational about those feelings and find ways to communicate how I’m feeling to Rich so that I can step back and take a break. I’m still on 10 mg of Lexapro a day and talk to my therapist about once every three weeks and will continue with both until I really feel like I can manage the day-to-day without getting overwhelmed. What has been one of the hardest trials of my life, I finally feel like I’m digging out of, one day at time.

Through all of this, I think the biggest lesson I’ve learned is how much I need to release my pride and rely on the kindness and generosity of others when things get hard. Rich has been incredibly supportive through everything despite the fact he’s insanely busy with work himself. He always finds a way to hear me out and make it happen to ensure I have what I need to work through this, but I’ve also had to get candid with him and communicate exactly what that is rather than relying on his mind reading skills. My parents and siblings, as well as my “chosen” family have been there supporting me every step of the way whether by dropping off a meal, sending an encouraging call or text, or just cheering me on from afar. I wouldn’t have gotten through this without the help of my Mom and Dad, even though I know they felt pretty helpless trying to be there for me through this from Canada. All I can say on that front is that that first hug from them and introducing them to baby June after all of this is over is going to be the BEST! And then there’s my neighbors. God knew exactly what he was doing when he put us on this cul-de sac. The few neighbors I’ve shared my burden with also happen to be some of my best friends. They’ve helped me with the kids so I could get my 30 minutes of workout time in, gone on walks with me, anonymously dropped meals and treats on our doorstep, and just loved on our family. I know they say it takes a village, but gosh I feel like mine has been lob-sided in the needing help front these last six months during a time when everyone is struggling through a pandemic, and I’m just so thankful for the incredibly selfless people God has blessed us with in our lives. All this to say–find your tribe, share your trials, and I promise they won’t resent you for it and will be happy you asked for help! As someone who previously always said I’d rather be the giver than receiver, I now understand that there’s a time and a place for both.

While I’m not exactly sure how to close this, I think the thing I want to say the most is this: Pay attention to your body, advocate for yourself, and don’t be ashamed of needing a little extra help when you’ve done everything you can to help get back to “normal” and still don’t feel like you’re there. I’m not superwoman and none of my life experiences thus far could have prepared me for this past year. A few friends bravely shared their anxiety and mental health journeys with me, and that’s what made me feel like I needed to share mine. Their strength gave me the courage to talk about this and really helped me to seek the help I needed and feel like I wasn’t failing by doing so. Whether it be hormones, medical issues, a global pandemic, or just the pace of life, it’s okay to acknowledge that things aren’t feeling right. Talk to someone, reach out, and figure out what works for you to address those feelings. If anything, lets make talking about our mental health just as normal as talking about our physical health. And if you’re in that place of overwhelm right now, I promise to be someone you can talk to without judgment or even an answer, but rather just a listening ear so that you know you are not alone!

And now if you’ve gotten to the end of this obnoxiously long blog post, thanks for being here. That probably means you are part of my tribe and I can’t thank you enough for loving me through this. xo