[I recently blogged in response to my first reader request- conceiving Anna after my struggle with infertility. It turned into a long post, and was harder to write than I’d anticipated. After a little break, I’m finally ready to continue! Here’s my SECOND content request – my pregnancy with Anna.]
Pregnancy with Anna was not easy. My body had gone through a whole lot of physical changes with my recent weight loss of 100 pounds. I struggled emotionally with the hormonal changes that come with typical pregnancy, but also learned about the mental side effects of drastic weight loss.
I went to my doctor in the beginning of my pregnancy after a large-scale breakdown. He informed me ( for the first time ) that as fat burns, it can release hormones like a time capsule. Because I gained most of my weight in my childhood and teenage years, I was releasing hormones that had been stored during puberty. It caused some major mood swings, especially with my underlying bipolar disorder. I also had some crazy acne and BO. Flashback to high school misery- but releasing the stored estrogen gave me the boost my body needed to conceive Anna. At the end of the day, second puberty was totally worth it. I got my baby, and that’s all I really cared about.
Unfortunately, my physical health wasn’t the only thing flashing back to my teenage years. In March, just weeks into my pregnancy, there was a bridal shower that needed to be thrown. My sister is the most important person in my life, aside from my children. She deserved the best shower in history, and I was obsessively stuck on it. My OCD reared its ugly head, as I became fixated on certain tasks and struggled to release any responsibilities to the other bridesmaids. I fought with the other girls constantly, then called my sister in fits of rage. On a 1-10 scale of mental stability, I was at negative 60. I couldn’t pull myself out of it, especially since I’d given up my rescue anxiety medication for the safety of the baby. I tortured everyone during the planning stages- including myself. Unfortunately my actions can’t be undone, and have left some permanent marks on those relationships. Obsessive compulsions can literally destroy lives, or in my case, destroy friendships.
My body struggled to keep up with the changes, and I developed orthostatic bradycardia. I lost consciousness several times daily, fainting when I moved positions, got active or even took a hot shower. I was in and out of cardiologist offices, tests, and emergency rooms for weeks straight. I even had to wear a holter monitor for a few days (which was absolutely miserable. 0/10 – would not recommend.) Soon my heart rate even triggered fainting with drastic mood shifts. Not ideal for an untreated bipolar.
By spring I was slapped in the face with multiple big events. We had my sister’s bachelorette party, friends visiting from California, her wedding, and our cruise to Bermuda. Nothing went smoothly. I was physically sick all the time, either passing out or throwing up. Again, I could not keep up with the major events. My emotions prohibited my enjoyment, and I managed to dig myself deeper with my troubled friendships. The depression and loneliness consumed me.
It was around this stage that my doctors began getting concerned. I was struggling with my weight. I monitored the scale daily, and went out of my way to make sure I wasn’t gaining. On the other hand, I melted down on a regular basis because I was not gaining the weight my baby needed to thrive. I fought mental and emotional eating for my whole life, and I just wasn’t able to put my feelings on the back burner for pregnancy. I was being torn in two different directions, provide for the baby or restrict to stay thin. Mistakes were made. I obsessively refused to finish meals, stayed busy to avoid eating all together, fasted, and meticulously counted calories. It didn’t help my bradycardia or my depression. I couldn’t provide nutrients to my baby. I felt like a failed mother already, and I wasn’t even in my third trimester yet.
By the fall, my body had been through so much. My abdominal tissue had changed drastically with the weight loss and pregnancy, and the ligaments were fatigued. I developed a massive hernia. It was super painful, and definitely limited my mobility. I felt worthless as I was able to do less and less around the house. I was so sick, all the time. I flew off the handle with every mild inconvenience, and sunk into rock bottom depression every night. My poor family went through so much with me and supported me until the bitter end, despite the terrible way I treated them.
We were leaving a party one night in October, about a month before Anna was due. I had one leg inside the car, the other still on the pavement. When I sat down, there was a pop. On the way home, Mike and I laughed about it- I thought I had peed myself a little. We really didn’t take it seriously. I watched throughout the night, and there was a bit of fluid every few hours. I called my doctor and debated going to the hospital. I still had a little over a month to go, so he told me it was unlikely my water broke. I felt stupid, and stayed home. This was Saturday night. I spent Sunday feeling depressed and disgusting. I was appalled that I was peeing myself continuously, and wound myself up into hundreds of small anxiety attacks throughout the day. I took the kids to a theme park and tried to stay busy. It seemed like that day went on forever, that I felt every single minute go by. It was an exhausting day, but I still found myself unable to sleep that night. Again, I watched every hour on the clock tick by.
It was about 4AM when I had enough. I jumped out of bed, turned on all the lights and cranked my ‘cleaning playlist.’ There was a fireball of energy in my chest, and I was compelled to get everything baby-ready. I woke Mike up, and demanded he go install the car seat immediately. It was one of the only times in our whole relationship that Mike said “no.” He went back to bed. I turned my music up louder, started the washing machine, dryer and dishwasher. I slammed doors. I opened the bedroom door and yelled at Mike to get up and help me. I did everything I could think of to wake him up.
At one point, I left the bedroom to get more cleaning supplies. While I was out, Mike jumped up and locked the bedroom door. He put earplugs in, and tried to ignore me. He had to work in the morning. (This is when things get real embarrassing, and really emotional for me.) There’s no doubt in my mind that I had been experiencing a manic episode- the energy, the obsession, the outright insanity- but the moment I heard the door click to locked, my brain flipped the switch from manic to rage. I found super-human strength and became violent.
First came the most awful, hurtful words I could think of. I went right for the kill shot, insulting Mike’s relationship with Arielle and his parenting. Then came the actions. I banged on the door as hard as I could, even when I felt the side of my hand start to bruise and swell. I screamed so loud that the dogs woke up, and barked along with me. The older kids woke up and came down to investigate. Unfortunately what they saw when they rounded the corner was my all time mental low.
There I was, eight months pregnant. Face so red, it was practically purple. Tears soaked my face, neck and even my chest. Snot ran everywhere, and I spewed spit with every word I screamed. I held a bar stool in my hand, and used it as a battering ram to break down the locked door. I got several holes busted into the wood before I realized Jacen was watching. I sent him back upstairs without even slowing down. With one final swing, I hit the door hard enough to really do some damage. Mike unlocked the door, and wrapped me up in a bear hug until I calmed down. With my arms pinned to my sides, I couldn’t hurt him or myself any longer. I had no choice but to calm down. I listened to Mike tell me over and over again how much he loved me, and instantly felt like the dumbest person on the planet. How could I have done all of this? How could I treat my family like this? My house? My unborn baby? Myself? My energy plummeted, and exhaustion finally hit. I remembered what Jacen had witnessed, and literally vomited out of shame. Then I realized the small “leaks of pee” had turned into much more during my outburst. My pants and the floor were all wet. It never was pee, and my amniotic fluid had now been leaking for 36 full hours.
There are major concerns regarding infection after your water breaks. Ideally, a baby is to be born within 24 hours of the rupture. I was far past that by the time my OB office opened. Things moved pretty quickly after my 9AM appointment, and soon enough I was being wheeled into the operating room for my emergency c-section, a whole month early. I hoped this was the end, that I could close the chapter of my miserable pregnancy and start fresh with a happy little fairy tale and my new baby. Unfortunately, the end was quite farther away than I’d thought.
..Part III coming soon!