G is for...

Okay, this one took a while...not to think of something for the letter (that came fast), but to really commit to writing it out. In our letter-a-day series today: G is for Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

Looking back, I've always been pretty high-strung. But, for the most part, if I kept myself busy, I didn't have enough time for that inward thought that brings on the anxiety. Big exception would be my senior year in high school, as the year was winding down, and those things that "should have happened" weren't really happening. Add with that a car accident (I wasn't driving, but did have whiplash, a neck brace, and lots of chiropractic), and I had some rough months. Included in this were events like chopping all my hair off, having tantrums when my sisters wouldn't go to my plays, and quitting my job for the summer before going to college.

Determined to be a different person in college, I pretty much succeeded. Not too many problems there, though my next episode came after I graduated, and at the end of my first semester in grad school. A lot of that frustration came with re-taking two classes I had just finished in my undergrad school, since my advisor was on sabbatical until the day before school started, and taking on a fairly full-time job as an assistant manager with an incompetent staff hired by my manager. THAT was a fun breakdown. But, I bounced back from that, and things were pretty much on an even keel, until I had Ethan.

For those of you who don't know, Ethan was born 2 months premature, due to some last minute, pretty severe pre-eclampsia. (High blood pressure that occurs during pregnancy.) It was really last minute...up until week 30, I was pretty spot-on perfect with my pregnancy. The blood pressure was up a little at week 30's appointment, I had proteins a week later, when I was admitted to the hospital. I was supposed to be on bedrest for the last 8 weeks, but Ethan's heart rate started dropping the next day, and I had an emergency c-section that night.

Oh, and to make things worse, this was the beginning of November. Generally speaking, boys will stay in the NICU until their due date, meaning that Ethan was in the hospital for his first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's. He came home January 4th, the day after his due date. At the same time he was "concentrating" on eating, growing, and learning how to breathe, I fell apart. My anxiety shot right up to full-blown post-partum depression, and my midwife put me on Zoloft to "get me through" Christmas, Ethan coming home, and me returning to work. ("Get me through" was my expression, not hers.)

Finished off the school year, got through summer home with Ethan, then entered the Year of Hell. I had the worst administrator ever, who did nothing to back me up with my disciplining of the students. I also found out that November was going to be a terrible month for me, as it began reminding me what a failure I perceived my pregnancy to be. Ethan was also going through a long series of ear infections (genetic more so than prematurity related...his father had four sets of tubes and is still mostly deaf in one ear), and I felt that I would always have a medically fragile child. If I remember correctly, one of my sisters babysat Ethan the night of his birthday so Jeremy and I could go out to a movie, we saw The Incredibles, and I completely lost it, crumpling into a crying wreck in the car.

So I started seeing a psychiatrist. I was now on Lexapro...at my worst as high as 25 mg a day. To answer the common question every mom with post-partum depression is asked: No, I never ever felt the need to hurt Ethan in any way. Myself, on the other hand...yes. I don't think I was suicidal for long, but I did develop some self-destructive habits. I did finally start to see the bright end of the tunnel, but it took lots of drug therapy, talking therapy, and finally leaving teaching a quarter before the end of the school year on disability, as my anxiety attacks just walking into the building were so bad. While teaching remains my "backup plan", it would probably take a LOT to get me back in a classroom.

For Ethan's second birthday, we seriously started moving out to Vegas. In addition to all my therapy, I really needed the change of scenery. I also really needed to be successful at something. I got into HR, and seem to be pretty good at it. With the change of scenery and occupation, I continued to let go of a lot of the baggage I've been accumulating. For Ethan's third birthday, we went to Disneyland. Some of the anxiety started coming back with the season, and I saw a new psychiatrist. She was happy to have me back on Lexapro, only on 5 mg a day. I've continued the dosage, as she was also happy to over-prescribe it for me, so I have plenty of reserves.

While I feel more stable now, I also feel that edge there as well. Keeping the low dose going helps me to keep focused, and allows me to concentrate more on what is actually going on, as opposed to what I fear might happen. It's really a fine line, and I know that I'll need to go about the frustrating process of finding another psychiatrist here as well soon enough. Plus, November is always just around the corner... We shall see what this year brings.