I haven’t posted in quite some time because I’ve been writing and re-writing so many different drafts of this post, unable to figure out what is too much and what is too little, trying not to sound totally “woe-is-me” but also trying to relate the fact that we all go through struggles as new moms, and this past year has been no exception. I feel like I’ve had a block because I want to get this all out, but I have had such a hard time putting it into the right words, so I haven’t been able to sit and write anything else, either. So I am again sitting here with my laptop trying to put into words my own experience as a new mom, and all the struggles I went through compounded by the Covid-19 pandemic. As someone who advocates for mental health, I feel it is disingenuous for me to not share my own struggles, and the truth is, I haven’t shared the depths of my experience with many people. So, here I am, laying it all out bare; this will probably be long, and I thank you in advance if you get through the whole post.

If I am being honest, the struggle first started for me in the delivery room; I had a planned c-section due to having a myomectomy, or fibroid removal surgery, a few years prior to getting pregnant. I was told that getting pregnant would be difficult with my fibroid, which was 1 MILLIMETER below the limit for laparoscopic surgery. If I had waited any longer or it had grown any faster I wouldn’t have been able to have laparoscopic surgery, however they still advised I have a c-section due to the size of the fibroid and the expected scar tissue that would form after I healed. So as they were sewing me up after my c-section I asked about the scar tissue, and I was told there was barely any. While I had accepted the fact that I would be getting a c-section prior to it happening, hearing this made me feel like I had missed out on something with not getting to experience labor. Now, hear me out, rational me knows that for safety reasons, I did what was best for myself and my baby - all evidence pointed to c-section being the safer option. But part of me, of course, still thinks about that what if. I know there could have been complications that wound up in a c-section anyway, or worst case scenario, a uterine rupture. I KNOW this, but I was still so disappointed that I was advised not try.

We got one night home with Jack, saw his pediatrician the day after discharge, and were immediately admitted to the hospital for hyperbilirubinemia (jaundice). As a nurse, I logically knew that he would be under the bili lights for a day or two and come home just fine. But as a new mom, being told I couldn’t even take my newborn out from under the lights to hold him & feed him because his levels were so high was devastating. I barely slept, and cried most of the night - I just wanted to hold my baby. I was so stressed and so upset, and I feel this is where my struggle with breastfeeding/pumping began. Jack had immediately latched at the hospital after birth, but I was so stressed and upset during this period I could barely pump anything with the provided pump (which I had no idea how to use and wasn’t given any instructions for). While we were only there for one night, the struggle with nursing continued and Jack dropped into the 8th percentile for weight, he was on the verge of being considered failure to thrive. I was sore, stressed, exhausted, and already feeling like a failure as a mother because my body couldn’t provide for my baby. I of course started supplementing with formula - we actually started the night he went into the hospital for the bili lights. But of course this was a weird level of upsetting to me because it was not part of my plan. Again, rationally and logically I KNEW this was what was best, but I still felt like a failure.

Supplementing with formula worked, and Jack began to catch up on his growth. I am lucky have been living & working in a state that has VERY good maternity leave, and I didn’t have to go back to work until the end of December 2019. We found a wonderful daycare, and I braced myself for going back to the Emergency Department. It was very nerve-wracking; right before I left the entire management team quit, so I was coming back to all new management and I wasn’t sure what to expect. They also converted to a new EMR system while I was on leave, so I had the stress of having to learn a brand new system while being thrown back into the whirlwind of the ED - because as always with nursing, we were busy and understaffed. Which is why my struggle to nurse & pump continued; while the new management was certainly supportive of my goals, it was very difficult to find time to get away to pump. A patient would be discharged or admitted, and a new ambulance would be waiting at the door while the room was being cleaned, our patients were very sick, and the other nurses were just as busy as I was, it was SO hard to get coverage to leave the floor. My supply dropped quickly, and I would often sit and cry as I pumped getting barely anything - another blow to my new mom ego. I also later found out that the instructions for the particular pump I had were incorrect and the cycles were backwards, but it was too little too late. I tortured myself for months (I didn’t actually stop until April or May) and once again felt inadequate as a mom.

And then January happened.

In January Jack got a cold, which was to be expected considering he was an infant in daycare. But then he began having retractions, or accessory muscle use. If you don’t know what that is, we could see the muscles between his ribs and below his ribs helping him to breathe - this is NOT a good sign. I told my husband we had to go to the ED RIGHT NOW, so off we went.

I could write another novel-length post about that experience, but I’ll narrow it down to the fact that the only reason we were admitted was my insistence that I was not taking my infant having retractions home, it took over 10 tries to get an IV, with all that work of breathing he wasn’t even given high flow oxygen until hours later, and at change of shift the new attending came in, walked out, came back in with a nurse silently rolling the crash cart in behind him and saying Jack was being put on bi-pap and we were being transferred to the ICU of the closest children’s hospital. I can’t even tell you the sheer terror I felt seeing that crash cart come into our room. I thought I was losing my baby.

Thankfully the crash cart wasn’t needed and Jack improved quickly once we were at CHOP - we spent 4 or 5 nights there (honestly, the whole experience is just a terrifying blur), and we were then discharged home with the knowledge that due to bronchiolitis and RSV at such a young age, Jack would be at risk for potential reactive airway disease for the next couple of years any time he got sick.

February was relatively uneventful though we watched the news with intrigue as word of this unknown new virus spread. And then in early April, when so many things were still unknown about Covid-19 (and as they still are), I was the lucky nurse to get the first covid patient & intubation in my ED. Luckily, the charge on shift that day knew me well, and when I got back down from bringing the patient to the ICU, she had locked that room and asked another nurse to cover my other patients - I went to the locker room and cried. I was terrified I was going to bring home covid and Jack would get it; that he would die because of his history, and because of me.

The next few months were a struggle; dynamics and flow in the ED changed so much because of the pandemic. Some days were ok, and some days were just so overbearing and stressful - I felt like I was a terrible nurse and felt like couldn’t keep up with all these sick patients. There was a day when there was a pediatric code and I was in the hallway when the transfer team rolled the patient by to be flown to the pediatric hospital - a coworker saw me and I guess could see the terror on my face. I was having a flashback to rolling down that hallway with my own baby and the transfer team, past my coworkers, not knowing what would happen. My coworker said they’d watch my patients for me, and for what felt like the billionth time throughout those months, I was back in the locker room crying.

At the beginning of June, a former coworker reached out to me and said there was a nursing position open in clinical research. I was a research coordinator while I was in nursing school and always knew I wanted to go back to research as a nurse eventually, I just didn’t think it would be so soon. But, I knew it was not normal to cry every time I went to work, and with Covid, research was now partially remote so I felt like it was a sign that it was time to go back. July 3rd 2020 was my last day in the ED. This switch, however, did cause me to have more feelings of being a failure; I felt like I was a failure that I couldn’t stick it out in the ED. I felt like I was failing my coworkers by “giving up.” Just felt like such a failure as a nurse for moving on, even though rationally I knew it was the move I needed to make for my own well-being.

After being in my new job for a month, and still dealing with the bizarre (to me) fact that I no longer had to have major anxiety when going to work, I decided to reach out to a local wellness center for some counseling. I knew I had been through a lot and thought maybe talking about it a bit and trying to process my feelings would help me. I went to my initial intake appointment and they referred me to their psychiatrist, and in August I was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety.

It still feels weird now to say that I was diagnosed with PTSD. The anxiety is understandable, and I think it was a continuation of undiagnosed post-partum anxiety, but at times I still feel like I didn’t go through “enough” to be diagnosed with PTSD - which really, how silly is that? Everyone’s threshold for dealing with things is different, and apparently my limit was two hospitalizations for my baby before he was 6 months old, one with him winding up in the ICU for respiratory compromise, and then being terrified that I was going to bring home and unknown respiratory virus that would kill my respiratory-illness prone baby. I mean really, when I disconnect myself from the events and try to look at it with an outside perspective, yes, it is traumatic. But I have all these crazy expectations of myself that I should be able to handle anything, and I am still dealing with the feelings of being a failure, not strong enough, not good enough.

The psychiatrist I saw was great, she suggested some books on mindfulness for me to read, and I have been reading them and trying to practice mindfulness every day. I was started on medication as well. I know there is still a stigma against medications for mental health, but as someone living through it, I can say I honestly feel like it has helped me. I became more motivated, I started working on projects around the house again and projects for myself. I started focusing on self-care. The mindfulness has really helped as well; I know some people see things like that as “woo-woo” but taking the time to really focus on the things around you puts things into a different perspective. I’ve also been practicing being grateful and tracking good habits. Taking a moment to stop each day and realize how many things there are to be grateful for makes you realize all the wonderful things around you, and cultivating good habits helps you become not only mentally, but physically stronger as well.

Some days are harder than others, that’s the truth. I still have days where I feel like I’ve failed my prior coworkers, failed as a mom and a partner, though it’s only my standards I’m not living up to. When I take a step back and look at things objectively - I removed myself from a job that was causing me a lot of stress in my life to one that is truly family friendly & fulfilling, I have done and still do things every day to try to provide the best life for Jack and a happy , comfortable home for our family. I have also gotten back into working out regularly, reading regularly, and doing things for myself and my well-being, which is so important for being happy.

If you have read this far, I truly appreciate it. I am such an advocate for mental health care, and I have been trying so hard to put these things into words to share here. I feel like I can’t truly move forward with sharing things from my life without sharing my truth and being honest with how hard this past year has been for me. Every day is a work in progress; I am a work in progress. And I hope if you are reading this and have any of these feelings that you reach out to someone - whether it’s just a friend or professional help, it is worth it to do the work. We will grow from these experiences; I know I certainly have.