Post Natal Depression

You don't need to suffer with Post Natal Depression.

Suicide Isn't painless...

Back in January I posted about my own battle with post natal depression and how I very nearly killed myself. Tomorrow, May 5th is the 18th anniversary of the day that changed my life forever. Its always an odd day for me. It doesn't get easier with each passing year but actually more painful as I move closer to it being half a life ago.

Of course I wasn't the only person deeply affected by what I did and today I have a guest post, written by one of my best friends, Kirstie.

Kirstie was a very big part of my life during that time and I know now how painful it was for her to see me crumbling before her eyes, knowing that she couldn't do anything to help me. 

Here's her story...

18 years ago I experienced a life changing experience, one that nobody, no one or any book could prepare me for, an emotional roller coaster or just 'life?

Let's just say that it was one of those experiences that you never, ever expect to happen to you, you know, the type that you see on the front of those shitty magazines in doctors waiting rooms on the front of 'Bella and Chat magazine', and on occasion one that has been mirrored in an episode of casualty or Corra, the far fetched ones that you watch in that fictional mindset that isn't real!

I was 21, and through a friend grew very close to someone, a mate that was relatively new in my life, she was a fresh energy, an enigmatic person that drew me in immediately and connected something somewhere for some reason, someone who would become poignant in my journey of life and naturally unbeknown at the time to me, a soulmate, a new best mate, Sian, some described her as bonkers, to me she was just a funky Smiths fan, dancer, mother of the cutest little boy you ever saw! 

To this day I have still not understood fully with the sight of hind why our paths did cross back then, and why now, randomly, and not as often as our lifestyles permit, we will hold that unique bond we have been blessed to experience.

Anyway, 18 or so years ago i moved out of home and into a little box room with Sian and her little man, situated within close proximity to my workplace, it seemed like a perfect solution, independence, helping a mate out, you know the score, coming and going as you please, no hassle from the parents. It was like being a student without the escapism of real life and bills!

As time went on I felt like I had become an auntie, bezzie and housemate quite easily. To this day would like to assume that i am right. I loved having a little man wander into my room and on occasion looking after him was like having that little brother that didn't annoy you etc.  

Time went on and we were best mates, there was no doubt about it, we were inseparable, like sisters almost and I will, to this day, having never had a sister, and having little, if any involvement in Sian's life would say if I could at the time have chosen one it would have been Sian.

I remember the day 18 years ago like it was 18 seconds ago... Just a normal day until the phone rang.  "she's jumped off the Haymarket" it was Simon, Sian's one off boyfriend at the time, "it's Sian she's in hospital".  Temporarily paralysed in shock the were no words, I couldn't talk, naturally assuming the worst panic set in, frozen in shock, my best mate, my housemate, mother of little man, nah, she couldn't, she wouldn't. Why? So many thoughts and scenarios flashed in front of me, the laughs we shared, and she does this, totally unexpected, incomprehensible, why, how!

Leaving work in the drizzle, one of those shitty days, crappy fine drizzle, horrible fine rain that drenches you, if my memory serves me right I went straight to the hospital, the drive seemed to take forever, tears flowing and adrenalin pumping me through the traffic, a drive which seemed like the longest drive ever, after arriving at the hospital I lied saying I was her sister so that I could see her, moments before she had been bought out of surgery, she was in the room, battered, dried blood surrounded the silhouette of her feet that i must say in no way resembled feet in any way shape or form, she was alive, but just, was it fair that she survived, a desperate unpredictable act that previous to her no one had ever ever survived , by a miracle, thankfully she did.  

As my eyes focused and through wiping my tears upon focussing I realised the extremity of what no magazine, book or episode of casualty could ever ever emulate, never ever had I seen anyone in such a battered shell, nor did I ever contemplate that in my 21 years I would, before my eyes i saw a sad sad, once strong, beautiful woman who I adored as a now frail, vulnerable ,desperate hopeless bed bound cripple, completely broken, splintered and shattered like a bag of sugar.

The worst aspect for me, as well as the obvious was telling Sian's mum, lying that she was in hospital and that she had a broken leg to protect her, as per Sian's instruction.  Months went on and a long rehabilitation was inevitable, hours or surgery, operation after operation, numerous surgeons rebuilding that body resembling a dropped bag of sugar, a once confident dancer facing facts that she would never walk again.  Being dependant on others kindness and diligence in the long painful hours ahead.

As a bestie on the receiving end my life was consisting of running around, hospital visits until like running at full pelt into a brick wall, I was smacked head on by an emotional train, Sian said she didn't want anything to do with me anymore.  By this time I moved out and we lost contact for a long time, exactly how long my memory fails me.... That to be honest bares no relevance in the present light of day, we are still mates with a unique undestructable bond, there for each other although we speak sporadically if at all, those days are not forgotten because once again she has defied all expectations, three more kiddies, numerous businesses and a very respectable mom, business woman and home maker, not only walking but more recently dancing again!

How can you tell someone you are so happy for them and proud of what they have achieved by themselves through hard work, grit and determination?

One thing is for sure her story sits within my soul every where I go, helping others to comprehend their situations of despair, inspiring those whose path crosses mine, and when I walk past the spot a shudder hits my spine.  I came out of it ok, bruised mentally and a dented pride at the time, but as the years pass I appreciate and understand the dignified and painful decision that was made to cut all ties in a protective way to recuperate independently and becoming nobodies burden, the guilt she felt eating her emotions back then is deep under the surface of what is exposed at face value that is, an inspiration, that is today to all Sianie To.

Love you like you will never know 'sista'x

Blog Theft

I don't tend to rant (too often) on my blog but I'm making an exception tonight because I'm pretty peeved.

A Google Alert landed in my mail and when I clicked on the link I was quite taken aback by what I saw.

Last week I re posted what is easily the most open and emotional thing I have ever written on my blog. I did so because everywhere I look (including in the mirror) I see people struggling with the weight of the world and sometimes a shred of hope is all you need to get back on track.

Below is a screen grab from the source of today's Google Alert, PlayPennies. They have reproduced my post on their site without my permission. 

To add insult to injury they did add the following at the end of my post.

"Are you the owner of the blog above? Click HERE for our resource page for “PlayPennies loves” badges and banners."

I don't want to come across as rude, or ungrateful for not graciously accepting the honour of 'Blogger of the Week' but it really isn't cool to lift someone else's copy and then try to palm them off with a badge that gives a back link to your site.

Not cool at all and given the nature of my blogpost, it's actually pretty distasteful. 

People from PlayPennies, please remove my content from your commercial site and can I suggest that you actually attempt to make contact with your lucky bloggers of the week in future?

Walking for Water Aid

Just over fifteen years ago as I lay in intensive care, I was told that I'd never walk again. I've been on a pretty amazing journey since then but this Saturday 10th September I'll be well and truly stepping outside of my comfort zone as I join a group of friends as we take part in Water Aid's Coast Along.

What we're doing, really is no big deal.... a five mile walk around the beautiful scenery of The South Downs, but I haven't actually told anyone (my own children included) that in reality I'm not sure if I can make it, that I haven't walked five miles since 1993. 

I'm pretty good at masking how much it hurts to just put one foot in front of the other but I am determined to make every single step of those five miles. 

I will be tweeting and Instagraming along the way and any support you can give us will be greatly appreciated.

NB.

Especially if you live around the South Downs and I need rescuing.
You can donate here.

Post Natal Depression suicide and me....

Mine is not a standard birth story but it is one that I have been trying to write for the last fifteen years, unable to know where to begin.

For the people who know me now, as a wife, mother and successful business woman my words may be even harder to take in but after fifteen years of procrastinating here is the story of my battle with post natal depression, suicide and the birth of my new life.

The morning of Thursday 5th May 1994 began like every other day except that was the day I was going to die.

I had suffered in silence (mostly) with an illness so sever that it was about to erase me whilst at the same time leave an innocent little boy without a mummy.

Of course with hindsight – I know that I had been suffering from sever post natal depression for the three and a half years since I gave birth to my son when I was little more than a child myself.

I had travelled along a dark and unhappy path in those three and a half years. Littered with excess excess and fraught emotions. Living on tinned tomatoes and toast so that I could support us both.

But it was too much for me. Even though I was in constant contact with my family I was living on a fragile deserted island and I couldn’t take anymore.

That Thursday morning I dropped my boy at my sister’s house explaining that I had a few errands to run. I kissed him, held him and willed him to be strong.

I drove my fathers car into the city and parked it where I knew it would be easily found and made my way to the top of the car park.

The fine rain had turned into that horrible wet drizzle and the street below me was mostly void of shoppers. I stood there looking, thinking, crying for an age. I was so angry with myself, with the world, with all of the people who should have helped me, that should have made me better.

I felt weak, useless and pathetic.

One side of my head was screaming JUMP, JUMP, JUMP but I was scared. Really scared, really, really scared.

I realised that I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have it in me. I was so useless that I couldn’t even do this - that I couldn’t end it.

And so I jumped.

The irony is that I didn’t manage to end it. I have since been told that I am the only person ever to survive jumping the 75ft from the top of that multi-storey car park. It happens a lot more than you know.

I was conscious and able to give next of kin details to the paramedics that came to save me and then things get a little fuzzy. I remember the pain and oddly I remember a floaty feeling as I looked down seeing myself lying on a trolley, as I was shocked back to life.

Then it was a week later. I had spent 20 hours in theatre as the surgeons tried to put me back together again. My leg injuries were explained to me by a doctor;

“If you hit a Crunchie Bar with a hammer,” he said. “That is what you have done to your feet.”

I was numb.

Then came the spinal surgeon – totally lacking in bedside manner.

“Well young lady, what a totally selfish and stupid thing to do. You do realise that with your injuries, you will never walk again.”

I was devastated.

Irony number 2 – I was a dancer. I had been dancing all my life. I danced through school and on to a post sixteen dance training. I won a coveted place in the National Youth Dance Company. I was a dancer – full stop. That was me.

So here I was. In hospital and not only wasn’t I dead, but I was now facing life in a wheelchair too.

For the record, I smashed both of my feet into a million pieces, and my right ankle too. I landed so perfectly that my spine did its primary job as a shock absorber and crushed four of my vertebrae in the process. (All those hours of ballet training kicked in when I least expected it!)

Of course I should have been dead. But I wasn’t and it took me a long time to see this chance for what it really was for me.

It wasn’t my day to go. I did have another chance and although my progress has been slow and painful I have come through my self inflicted misery and built a better life for myself and for my boy.

Over the years journalist friends have tried to coax my story into print but my fear of being judged and condemned for what I did has always ensured my silence.

In truth, I have been selfish by keeping my story because do you know what?

I can walk. I can cycle, I can swim, I can work, I got married, I had babies (3 of them!), I have a business, I have friends, I have love and more than anything I have hope.

My recovery has been long and painful. I have screamed and cried and I live with the pain of my injuries and the pain of not being able to dance every single day. But if I did have the ability to go back to that morning, I would take the very same route.

I know now that I was given a chance that day to right all of the wrongs.

Sure this is a condensed speed blog version of my story but in its brevity or entirety the result is the same. A personal triumph over adversity – my rebirth.

If you know anyone who is suffering from PND, please, please try and reach out to them - they could really do with your time and attention. And if you think that you have PND, please, please, please tell someone how you are feeling. It may just save your life.

Me dancing

After months in hospital I'd dropped from 10st of muscle to under 6st. I was like a bag of broken bones.

Please do leave comments on this post. I really didn't know if writing it was the correct thing to do. But I know now that it was. I have had emails and tweets from people with PND and people who have friends with PND and if I can be of any help please do let me know.

Your comments (good or bad) really show the support that is out there for this dreadful illness.

thank you.

xx

Feature in Mother & Baby Magazine