What does it take?--Part 6

I've mentioned my therapist before but I don't think I've ever really talked about him. Since the day I woke up in the ICU medical professionals had been trying to diagnose me with post-partum depression, or just plain depression and have tried shoving pills down my throat or sending me to a support group. But in all honesty, when it comes to getting help it's only good when you are ready to accept it. When we moved it took a big toll on me and my husband and I dipped into an even bigger depression than I had before, my heart seemed to be under control and I now had to face the loss that we had suffered. I would have nightmares of waking up in the ICU and holding my lifeless child, I would be doing everyday things like shopping and have a flashback so real that I swore I was still living those early days and only dreaming of a less painful future. Of course those flashbacks would result in a horrible panic attack where I would have trouble breathing, I would start hyperventilating and would curl up in a ball and be unable to move from there. Eventually it all became too much to bare, what was worst is that I could see how much it would hurt my husband to see me go through these and not be able to fix me. So I went to my primary care manager (PCM) and asked for a referral to a therapist. I told him what I was going thru and told him I was ready to talk to someone about it.
A few days later, I met my therapist. I was overwhelmed by just how much stuff I had been holding in. It was an amazing experience to be able to talk to someone who had no stake in my situation, that wasn't affected by tears, someone who I could drop the mask for and I could just be as I felt at the time...broken. I realized that I had been too preoccupied with helping my family not hurt that I hadn't allowed myself to heal and the cut my soul had encountered had festered. That I had allowed the doctor that had neglected me to break me and that I was no longer the strong, independent woman I had always seen myself as. Slowly, we worked thru my pain and my fear and after each session I would recap it to my faithful husband who would always take some time off work to be there for me if I needed it and surprisingly it helped him too. And slowly we began to heal. That doesn't mean that it no longer hurts, I think it's always going to hurt. But it's manageable pain, I can now reserve time to cry if I need it and I know why I'm crying (which is so important). I can also allow myself to be happy without feeling guilty or out of place while doing it. All of this is thanks to my therapist. When I went to him to let him know that my cardio had given me the all-clear for having another baby he was beyond excited for me (no longer completely detached from my situation)and he was able to prepare me for what I could possibly feel as I tried to conceive, and when I got pregnant. And I still see him for "maintenance" lol.

The next step was to get a referral to a perinatologist (high risk OB) and that was an adventure in and of it's own. I felt like a hurdle jumper! I had to see my PCM (where all military referrals start!), then I had to go to a bigger military hospital to see an OB to get my annual exam and push the referral further, and after 3 months I finally got a referral....to a doctor that is no longer in the area lol, so I had to research local doctors then call my insurance to change the provider and I had finally set an appointment to meet up with the peri and see if she would take my case. And that was just another millions stepping stones on my trip down Mommy Lane...

to be continued...