And What is Your Reason for Visiting the E.R. Today?
This post is about as vulnerable as it gets. But it’s time to tell you about my experience after having our second child, Andalucia. We were living in Maryland and I had opted for a repeat c-section because the first kid couldn’t fit through my pelvic bones (I have a very dainty bone structure) so the second kid probably wasn’t going to either. The delivery went well, the hospital stay was fine, and I went home with a beautiful baby and a good disposition.
Ten days after giving birth my disposition had changed drastically. I found myself worrying about the baby all the time. Now, some worry is normal but what I had was frantic and irrational. I also had started to have a lot of pain coming from my ass. Hemorrhoids that were lighting my butt on fire. Everything came to a head when one night Joe started to share his worries about me. He may have used a phrase similar to “you are acting crazy.” So, I did the obvious thing: I punched him in the face. In my defense, he was REALLY irritating me and my anxiety was as high as the Sears tower and the hormones raging through my body plus the lack of serotonin in my brain said: HIT HIM. Also, I said, “maybe it would be better if I wasn’t alive...I shouldn’t be a mom to two kids.”
Now, Joe can be a cold-hearted jerk to a lot of people. He’s been kicked out/banned for life from a public library and a Blockbuster Video. He’s from New Jersey and has the East Coast Attitude. But when it comes to me he treats me like a beautiful butterfly; he is also the best problem solver I have ever met. So he heard my sadness and depression and anxiety and immediately called a friend to come over and watch the kids and took me straight to the E.R. But my brain wouldn’t let a sitter watch the baby so I made him take her with us. (My brain wasn’t worried about the two-year old so she stayed home with the sitter.) Anyway, the three of us get to the hospital and I’m still pretty pissed that we are there for my suicidal comment so at the check-in desk under ‘reason for visit’ I say: “I have SEVERE hemorrhoids.” (which, in fact, was totally true.) Joe says, “...and…”
I remain quiet but he writes down “Post-Partum Depression.” Great. Whatever.
So here we are: an infant, a worried husband, and a woman who can’t sit down because her ass is filled with firecrackers. They take us into an exam room where Dr. Most-Handsome-Ever walks in to check out my hemorrhoids. He says it’s probably nothing to worry about...that there isn’t much they can do for me, 9/10 times they just go away on their own. But he’ll ‘take a look.’ So I get ALL of my 10 day post-partum body up on that table and show Dr. McDreamy my naked ass. This wouldn’t be that bad...I mean, we have all had to go to the doctor and show our derriere--but this is going a bit further---Beloved Readers: we are talking about the anus. It’s humility at a whole new level. He takes one look and is like, “Whoa: you’re that 1/10 case I mentioned. We are gonna need to do a small procedure here.” No shit, Sherlock. I’ll save the details. But let’s just say it requires a scalpel, three nurses, a whole lot of towels and a comment from me, “Hey...so if you ever see me walking around Target or something...no need to make eye contact.” Hemorrhoids. Check.
I have to stay in the room to wait for Dr. Not-As-Handsome come in and talk to me about my anxiety and depression. He’s been on call for probably 1,276 hours and isn’t terribly impressed with me but he does offer me some good advice and some even better meds. PPD. Check.
Go Home.
That night, in the middle of a serious, serious storm I basically can’t even move because the hemorrhoid issue that we just talked about has come back raging in a brand new way. It gets so so bad that I leave Joe and the kids and drive myself to the hospital (dodging downed trees and debris) and check back into the E.R. I get seen pretty quickly-maybe because I’m the “crazy new mom with hemorrhoids” from earlier. The new doc that sees me says, “This is the worst case I’ve ever seen. You need surgery.” I call Joe to come to the hospital with the baby (my brain isn’t totally fixed yet and I’m still scared to leave the baby anywhere-even my own house) because I’m going in for surgery. They show up, I am put under general anesthesia (no one needs to be awake for what is about to go down), and the thing you think probably happens in a hemorrhoidectomy--happens. I wake up to Joe and Lucia and they take me home. I basically sleep for two days straight and at some point my in-laws come down from Jersey to help take care of things.
If you or someone you love is recovering from surgery, call my mother-in-law and get her quiche recipe. I promise, it will be the best decision you ever make. It was the only thing that got me out of bed. Slowly, my ass started to heal. It was a VERY difficult recovery and I understand why they very rarely do that type of surgery, but over time I healed. Time also helped me heal from being so anxious and worried about the baby. The medicine started to do its job and that let me be able to do mine.
I want to be clear here. I went to the Emergency Room because I had severe Post-Partum Depression and because I had Hemorrhoids that were so awful they had to be cut out of me. My brain and my butt were failing me. It is humbling every time I think about my discharge sheet and how it says, “treated for…” But here’s my PSA: if you know someone who may be struggling with PPD or if you, yourself are struggling...there is help available. And most people who are treated for PPD won’t also have to undergo ass surgery---so you’re already winning in my book!
Phone Number: 800-994-4PPD (4773)
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