Prenatal wellbeing

I had a prenatal check up this morning. Twenty-three weeks along and grateful for the sound of his strong, healthy heart and for a healthy self.

I always look forward to these appointments. I love my healthcare provider and the ultimate comfort and support she provides. And, we have a lot of laughs.

At my last appointment, four weeks ago we were to go over my 19-week detailed ultrasound report and to find out the gender of the baby. She pulled up my records and told me they weren't able to determine the sex. It was too early at only 12 weeks along. 

Confusion caught me speechless. She then said that perhaps in the beginning when I thought I was pregnant I must not have been yet, and that this can happen.

A couple of things ran through my mind. Firstly, was the dissolve of the "half-way there!" happiness replaced with the doom of being pushed two months back. Secondly, was the worry that maybe our baby wasn't growing at a healthy rate and at 19 weeks was only as far along developed as 12-weeks. These thoughts only hung in my mind a very short while because, wait a minute... Everything added up right from the start and I had been in to the centre to confirm the pregnancy right away and even had a couple of prenatal appointments in between.

She wrapped her head around the words that came out of her mouth, we looked at each other and shook our heads to say, "That can't be right".

As soon as we figured out that she had brought up my 12-week ultrasound record instead of the most recent, I burst out laughing. Relieved that I have a good sense of humour, she joined in and we had a good laugh.

She got her hands on the latest report and we read through it to find that everything is just right and learned that Ryker would be welcoming a baby brother into the world.

We proceeded with the check up and as we listened to the baby's heartbeat, something else came through and she pulled away the doppler. We stared at each other shocked and almost frightened. We both heard it. A child's voice. The baby spoke! 

Then we both laughed so hard we cried. We concluded that it was obviously anything but. I concluded that Bryon and I have yet created another genius.

Our visits weren't always this kind of kicked-back fun.

Today's appointment was much less wild. How could it get more wild than the last? But, still a great one. She really looks me in the eyes and monitors my mood when I come in to make sure I'm OK. Our time together focuses a lot on my wellbeing, mentally.

When Bryon and I found out we were expecting, I went off of the anti-depressant/anxiety medication that I started on after Ryker was born. I was worried about the negative affects they could have on the baby and I was feeling good so didn't think it would hurt. (The infamous, "I was feeling really good so I stopped taking my medication" some of you reading this might have said or heard yourself). My healthcare provider didn't foresee a problem as I'm on a low dose and seem like I have "everything together".

I quickly spiralled into a dark tunnel. That darkness robbed me of the joy a newly expectant mother should feel. I fought on, wanting to sleep my life away and giving depression the excuse that this was the "typical" hormonal blahs and exhaustion of the first trimester.

The disconnect and irritability I felt toward my family, blowing off friends, the motions of numbly floating through daily tasks and blankly answering, "Yes, I'm just tired" when my husband would ask me if I was OK.

She saw it in me the moment she greeted me at my next appointment and we had to do something about it. We sat together and researched and discussed the affects the medication could have, if any, on my baby and I knew what I needed to do. I couldn't raise the son we already have in the state I was in and I couldn't take care of myself for the baby I was growing inside of me.

The reason I give this healthcare provider the utmost kudos is because once I learned on my own what has been attacking me most of my life, it's been brushed off by a couple of doctors as well as by someone on the other end of the Mental Health Hotline mid panic attack, all who recommended I go for a walk. I was too many years in that any fresh air and exercise could cure.

It wasn't until after Ryker was born and my first panic attack threw me into a horrifying meltdown that the way I had been feeling was taken seriously. I'm grateful to that doctor for being there for me, helping me to understand and recognize what was going on and showing me how to cope. And for my current healthcare provider who rids me of any shame with her resources and understanding.

With the tight grasp of hopelessness that depression has on people, and the blindness to its severity by so many healthcare providers and support systems dedicated to just that, it's incredibly frightening to think of so many others who need someone to listen and that someone is few and far between.

Never leave that office or hang up the phone without feeling some sense of hope. 
Fight to be heard. 
Your best you is in there. 
Fight for her.

Nov. 26, 2014