My Bout with Postpartum Panic Disorder

Postpartum Panic Disordertook hold of me the day I arrived home with my newborn baby girl. By all accounts, she was strong and healthy. I was a different story. I remember sitting in the kitchen, watching her sleep. Her tiny chest rising and falling and thinking "My god she is so fragile" That was the very thought that threw me into a tailspin of anxiety and fear. A nasty cycle of thoughts, which would terrify me, consume my every waking moment. None of my thoughts were rational or had any roots in reality. Most of what I thought and felt was based on the irrational and illogical. My worst fears all flooding to the surface.

After my husband left for work in the mornings. I felt very alone and isolated. My older children were in pre-school and day care from morning until afternoon. I was alone with my baby for most of the day. I would just sit and watch her breath - terrified that she was going to stop breathing. Some days I would look at her and she think she looked sick or different. Before long, I became convinced that something was wrong with her. When I took her to the doctor for her well checks, he would tell me how healthy she was and that I had nothing to worry about I was sure he was lying. I knew something was wrong and that they just were not telling me. Perhaps they were waiting for the right time or until they were sure.

Soon I became convinced that I had contracted a fatal illness and that I was passing it to my children. Making them sick. What if they did get sick? What if they died? I was horrified and frantic. I performed my functions as a mother mechanically and as I did, my fears got worse and worse. What if I didn't cook the food well enough? What if the baby wasn't eating enough? I was breastfeeding at the time, which only added to the host of things my baby could be getting from me, germs virus infections. Three or four times a day, I was unable to catch my breath. I would go in the bathroom and run the hot water and the steam would help me be able to resume breathing normally. What if I was spreading germs around by doing that? What would happen if I did die? No one would be there to take care of the baby - no one would find her. I was all alone, the door locked, and no one could get in.

I did not know what to do. I was acting like a lunatic. I knew something was wrong. I felt totally out of control and terrified every waking moment. I was sure I was sick and making the kids sick. Even if they had no symptoms yet. My husband said I was acting crazy. That only served to make things worse in my head. If any of the kids so much as sneezed, I took them to the doctor. Day after day, I worked myself into frenzy. I checked the kids for fever twice a day - convinced the fever would show up at any moment. We were dying - all of us. I was sure of it. It got so that I would look at the kids throats and they looked abnormal - swollen I ran around checking everyone's throat I knew to compare to the kids. Two or three times a day. One day I worked myself into such a state that I dragged the kids to the local emergency room. I told the doctors their throats looked swollen. After checking, each kid over thoroughly they told me the kids had colds and that everything else looked normal and sent me home. After that, I began to realize that the problem really was me. The next day I called my mom and described all of the things I had been experiencing. She said two words to me that made it all click in my mind. "Panic Attack" It was as though I had been standing in a dark room and suddenly the light flooded in.

When I hung up, I felt a huge sense of relief. I was so tired of suffering. Having a name for the mysterious and elusive problem made it look so benign all of a sudden. Simply knowing what was wrong with me - helped me get it under control. After that, I began telling myself that "Everything is OK" over and over in my head. Things did not get better overnight. I had to consciously manage the panic with self-talk day after day. I just kept repeating to myself "It's just a panic attack" I also began to manage my symptoms by breathing in and out of my mouth slowly and counting to twenty. I did this every day until eventually the panic attacks became less frequent and eventually stopped all together. By the time, my daughter was six-months of age they disappeared completely. This disorder crept up on me. I was not even aware such thing existed. The only person I can credit with helping me was my mother for recognizing it. Everyone else just thought I was crazy - including my health care provider. I can say that looking back now I realize that I was not entirely wrong. Something was wrong with me. I just did not know at the time what it was.

Thanks for reading!