The Early Days: Happiness Hijacked by Hormones

Unbeknownst to me, those tears of joy (shown here) would soon be replaced by a different sort of tears.

Hormones are definitely one thing I underestimated or didn't expect -- at least to the extent of their actual impact. What I had experienced of hormones prior to post-partum was mild. I can think of only one time I got super-teary during my pregnancy. It was during an HBO Sports story on Bill Johnson, the former Olympic downhill skier. Let me tell you, what happened to him after his head injury is some seriously sad stuff. I get a little misty just thinking about it, even now!... During my monthly cycles, I rarely had what anyone would consider an stereotypical episode of PMS. I was given to occasional bouts of crying during Hallmark commercials, but that was about it. Maybe that's why I was seriously blindsided by the impact of post-partum hormones.

Right after I had my baby, life was perfect. My child was perfect. The pain meds were perfect. Without the exhaustion of labor *, we were on the phone within an hour, calling everyone we knew to tell them about the birth of our son. Nurses and doctors came and went. My baby was too busy trying to sleep to be interested in learning how to eat. I was patient, though, and accepted logically that my baby would lose weight because of this. No worries! Nearly all babies lose weight. When I wasn't staring until I was cross-eyed at my new son, I focused on trying to get some sleep.



I can remember the moment this blissful bubble burst. It was in the wee hours of the morning, my third (and coming upon my last) day of the hospital. The nurse brought my baby from the nursery to try to eat. She told me in a warning tone that he had lost nearly 10% of his body weight -- the magic number when some nurses start to freak you out and try to convince you to give your baby a bottle of formula (which elicits the fear in wannabe-breastfeeding mothers that your baby will never look back, preferring only bottle/formula thereafter). Before, I knew that 10% was the magic number, but I wasn't worried. Now, though, I had this overwhelming sense of panic and dread. Truly, it was like a blanket of paranoia. I sent my baby back to the nursery like I always had, only this time, I was ensconced in fear. As I pushed the button to get the nurse to take my baby, I was gripped with the feeling that I was a bad mother for sending him to the cold and desolate nursery with scary nurses who clucked their tongues over babies who didn't gain weight. Only the worst mother in the world could be so heartless as to send her baby back to the nursery!



The daylight hours of the morning brought no relief. The morning nurse confirmed that my baby was going to die, and it was my fault: He had lost 10% of his body weight! (This is extremely comical in retrospect because by the time he was three months old, he was gi-normous even in clinical terms.) When she left the room, I dissolved into tears. My Rational Self knew that my Emotional Self must be "in charge" now. My hormones had staged a coup and ousted my Sanity. My mother and husband were concerned and supportive, and I explained to them my suspicion that I was no longer steering this boat.



A friend of mine had just given birth as well and was a few doors down from my hospital room. I went to visit her and meet her family, including her newborn daughter. I hadn't met her family before, and they all asked about my baby as I met theirs. I'm sure I made a great first impression!... What I told them meant to come out matter-of-factly. However, my sunny disposition cracked, of course. Instead, the information came out choked and sputtering, as I told them about Rowan's tragic weight loss. I followed up, still teary-eyed, that I knew he would be fine and all babies lose weight and please excuse the hormonal outburst.



When the nurse came back to attend to me, again I burst into tears upon sight of her. Her eyes grew wide and she became sweetly maternal, confessing to me that she didn't think it was a big deal when the night nurse told her that he had lost ten percent. She even gave a little eye roll in response to that news, saying, "I thought to myself, how many times have I heard that before? He'll be fine." I also told the nurse my rational explanation about my hormone-induced reaction.



It continued like that for the rest of the morning, as the pediatrician came in to give our baby one last check up and give us one last lecture about newborns before we all left the hospital. He quickly confessed, as tears streamed down my face, that he couldn't imagine exactly what I was going through, and his specialty was the babies. (Fine, then, doctor, you're off the hook.) Then, the OBGYN on duty came and spoke kind, knowing, grandfatherly words to me as he passed me a brochure on post-partum depression.



It would go something like that for a long time, even after I was home. Well, especially after I was home. (There are many blogs to come about those first days.) I felt like I was doing a lot of bad acting when people showed up to visit and meet our new little person. I overcompensated with happiness, I am sure, because that's what I figured people expect of a new mother, and I didn't want someone to "come and take me away" if you know what I mean. Having never spent lots of time around a new mother, I thought maybe I was freakishly hormonal. Thank God that during this time I was able to spend time around other new mothers, when I was able to witness for myself that other people fall apart, too. Oh, how misery does love company. I also had a supportive OBGYN who said the minute I said "Go," she would write the script for anti-depressants.



This is how I knew I was going to be okay: One day, I was able to sing "You Are My Sunshine" to my baby without collapsing into tears. Seriously. When I could listen to all of a bittersweet song without losing it, that's also when I knew. (For me, it was Shawn Colvin's "Fill Me Up," if you care to know.) It took a while, certainly the whole fourth trimester, but eventually I made it back to the other side.

*See my post In Defense of Modern Medicine