Stewart Asher Macbeth

True to form, by trying to be prepared and together, I end up doing something really stupid. I packed the car with our necessary hospital supplies and wanted to make sure our most precious supply, the camera, was very safe, so I placed it in the trunk and then locked the trunk. Durham isn't this countries safest towns and break-ins are fairly common (I can say this now that I'm soon to be leaving and my mom won't freak out for the next two years). My brilliance proved to be my undoing. Upon arriving in the hospital room I realized we had forgotten to retrieve the camera from the trunk, since all of the unvaluables were up with us. Russ ran down, realized he needed my key because the trunk was locked, ran back up and then back down and then spent a good while trying to unlock the stupid trunk. Meanwhile I'm being tortured by a novice student nurse. I'm not good with needles to begin with and then I get to be test dummy. She fished around and then fished some more, all the while I'm trying to breathe, not pass out and act the model patient through the pain and terror of her torture. That bit was by far worse than the next six hours of labor. She extracted some tubes of blood after what seemed like hours, only to come back twenty or so minutes later, to tell me that the lab had let her know that she had not gotten enough of my life force. I should have refused her vicious services this time, but I'm far too accommodating. Russ phones me to tell me that the trunk is unequivocally good and stuck. My brain is foggy and I let him know I'm about to pass out. He keeps talking to me and checking in, to make sure I'm still with him and gives up on the camera and hightails it back to the torture chamber. Luckily, our friend Kathy came to the rescue and let us borrow her camera.  Thanks to her, Stewart will have more than just an iphone pic to document his birth.

On the advice of the more experienced nurse, I wait on the epidural. Apparently the magic can wear off, if you take it too early. Hannah's birth was amazing, but I still remember the end and that part was out-of-body painful and I wasn't up for going natural again. So I knew I was wanting the sweet, sweet juice this time. I still labored for a good six hours and got the epidural before they broke my water. Good thing, since everything went quickly after that. About and hour and a half later Stewart made his appearance. I felt him hanging out and crowning, but was a little unsure if that was really what I was feeling and almost didn't call for the nurse to come back and check me. But, sure enough, she came in and told me not to push, because he was right there. I was mentally hurrying the doctor, because I didn't want to give birth to an alien, coneheaded child. I pushed a few times, tore to a two and he came out "with a very lusty cry" according to the OB. She and the nurses both told me that they'd love to deliver my babies anytime. Russ cut the cord and I got to hold him right away. I fell in love immediately. They let us spend a lot of time cuddling him, before they weighed and examined him. He was 9 lbs. 1 oz., 21 inches long and I'm pleased to report, came out with a perfectly round head. He was a perfect angel in the hospital and everyone loved holding him and feeding him. The girls couldn't get enough of him and spent hours in my tiny little hospital room, switching off snuggling Stewart. My mom was so sweet to also spend hours with the girls and us at the hospital and then feed and take care of them at home.

Stewart's first name is my maiden name, plus I just think it's a pretty cool, old school name that has some fun nicknames. We plan on employing Stew and Stewie on a regular basis. Asher is one of the lost tribes of Israel and means, blessed/happy. The tribe itself was blessed with smarts, good looks and wealth. Mostly after Genevieve and her notorious colic, what we desperately hope for is a calm and happy child, but the other traits couldn't hurt. 

So far Stewart is mostly living up to being a happy baby. He is completely content as long as someone is holding him and I swear he's smiled at me and Russ a couple of times. Hopefully he'll soon learn the fine art of sleeping for long periods of time in his bassinet, instead of the cat naps he currently seems to prefer. Luckily, he saves those for the day and usually gives us some good stretches of sleep at night. The girls are being excellent big sisters and most happily the drugs are working their magic and I feel SO much better than I did around this time, with the other two, postpartum. My improvement could also be greatly attributed to the fact that I'm not nursing this go-around, but don't tell the Le Leche Nazis I told you that. And now to what you really wanted to see-- pictures.

Easter

Help is Here, Baby is Not

When I started having irregular contractions a month and half before my due date, I began to worry and think this baby was for sure coming early. These sorts of contractions had only visited a couple of weeks before my due date in the past and so I figured something new was afoot. So it's come as quite a shock and been a bit of mental torture that all of these contraction have landed me late. However, my mom is now here and we've been able to do some fun things that I thought weren't going to happen. She got to spend a whole day at the best museum in the whole world, come to Fuqua Friday and we got to hang out and tour Duke with my Aunt Jan, Uncle Kevin and cousin Katie. Oh also, another plus, Russ didn't miss the birth of his child when he flew across the country to interview for a job in Seattle.

Genevieve's Kindergarten Program

I have no idea why I have such shy children. It's probably because I thought I was going to have just the opposite problem and I was secretly very excited about that prospect. Genevieve has given me a lot of grief and anxiety over her past dance and other public performances. She's hidden behind a flag for a good forty-five minutes before a dance performance, sat with head down for her entire dance dress rehearsal and categorically refused to give her talks in church. While all the other parents are having a good time enjoying her shy antics (I just wish I could be one of them). I'm dying. Consequently Russ and I didn't know what to expect when we showed up at her Kindergarten Program. I think Russ and I practically fell out of our seats when not only was Gen singing and dancing, but she was close to one of the most animated kids up there. She was SO into it. Wow was it ever fun to watch. Maybe we've turned a new leaf, but I know I'll probably still be holding my breath for awhile every time she performs.

Spring in Durham

 I absolutely LOVE the weather here in Durham. The falls and springs are lingering, beautiful and full of the perfect temperatures and conditions. Spring starts up in February and Fall ends at the beginning of December.  The winters are incredibly mild and you only have to hibernate for a couple of months in the summer. Although, that is just my preference since I really don't like the heat unless I'm swimming. Here is just a taste of the beautiful spring we've been enjoying. Happy Spring!

Boone

Very last minute, we decided to chance an early entrance into labor (ha ha)  and head to the mountains during Russ' spring break. The scenery was beautiful and we were happy that the Campbell's could join us for all of the soaking, gorgeous fun.

Leprechaun Gem and Jewel Hunting

A Lesson Where You Least Expect It

I've been teased about my TV viewing selections, so I get a little apprehensive about sharing what shows I'm watching. One of the shows I watch is American Idol. Last week, I learned a good lesson. I know, you say, what could you possibly have found redeeming about a silly, singing, contest show? Well I'll tell you. Last week they had people to help the contestants not only with their singing, but also with their appearance. In a world where beauty and fashion seem to reign supreme and have great influence over what we think about ourselves and others, what place is that more apparent than in Hollywood and the celebrity world? The show unashamedly talks about how the music business is a tough place and it will chew you up and spit you out. It will change you and if you can't adapt and follow what makes you popular and brings in the money, you will be out of the biz faster than a minnow can swim a dipper. So Mr. Tommy Hilfiger and a stylist for American Idol were advising Phillip Phillips (I guess his parents REALLY liked their last name. So weird.)  about his fashion sense. The first thing out of Mr. Hilfiger's mouth is "I don’t want to be rude, but you need help." They showed him what they considered the perfect attire and when he didn't want to wear that, well they said, whatever you do, don't wear gray. Gray looks horrible on TV. So what does he do? He doesn't wear the wardrobe choice they selected and he wears not one gray shirt, but two. They also advised him to loose the guitar. He sang with the guitar. Even though he was told by multiple "advisers" that his look would loose him the competition and he can't continue to balk at what is required of a musician, he explained that he's there to play music and he can't be anyone but himself. My faith in humanity and the world was restored in this humble, but stoic kid who just wants his music to speak for itself. He gave me an added bit of courage to really figure out who I am and be that person despite what the world is telling me. I think we could all learn a little from Phillip, even if some of it is wisdom in naming your child :). Who knows, maybe our next child will be Beth Macbeth. 

True Light

Nakusp- Heaven on Earth

In the darkest days and the times where I felt utterly alone, amazingly I found comfort from a loving Heavenly Father. I would pray and beg to feel better and although none of it would go away, there was a feeling of peace, love and empathy that would come. I was beyond feeling much of anything but utter despair. However, knowing and feeling that Christ was aware of me and my pain gave me hope. There were also many times where a thought would come to me about some way in which I could act in recovering. I would think of trying out a new avenue that had never occurred to me. I remember one night in particular I couldn't sleep once again and felt totally miserable. At this point I hadn't considered that I might be depressed and not just merely unhappy with life because it was unbelievably hard. And with a jolt of clarity a clear idea "your depressed" came to me. I have no idea why I couldn't figure this out on my own, but I definitely needed this idea to come and come with unequivocal certainty. And although there have been times I've been horribly miserable and frustrated with feeling alone and like no one was there for me, including God, but I know He has been there for me. I know He has placed people in my life who have helped me get better and saved me at crucial moments. And I know that I have felt Him with me. I know He knew and I believe He was quite possibly as miserable about my situation as I was. Trials suck and it's possible this one will always be lurking in my life, but I have hope and peace because I know that Heavenly Father and Christ will not forsake me. I believe that all of us have that promise. We are loved and we are never alone. 

*I think I just may be done with this saga of a story for awhile. I'm sure something will come up that I'll want to hash out, but until then, a return to the usual. Thanks for your support and kind comments. I hope you all escape experiencing anything that I have described, but if you have or no someone who has, I would be happy to chat or help in any way I can.

The Problems with Therapy

Gimmelwald

Therapy has some difficult hurtles to to leap over. First off, when your depressed you don't even feel like doing the things that you once considered fun, so the idea of a depressed person taking the initiative to get into therapy is pretty far fetched. There is also finding the money, finding the time, getting over the stigma, admitting you need therapy, getting yourself to go every week and most of all finding the right therapist to go to.

There are some real crazies out there and guess what? They are therapists. There are some types of therapy that have limited studies about whether they are effective or not and there are some types of therapy likes psychoanalytic (think Freud) that have plenty of research which shows they are not effective at all. I went to a therapist who was very kind and I liked her personally, but she was obsessed with one therapeutic technique that I found somewhat effective, but mostly just uncomfortable and didn't really help all that much (EMDR). Despite her enthusiasm for the practice, I've since learned that there is very little research about EMDR and so their is no proof it helps. On the other hand, the interpersonal approach as well as behavior/cognitive therapy has been shown to be as effective as medication. Still even with all of this evidence, there are many people out there who weirdly persist in there own little favorite techniques.

Before I went to the above mentioned therapist I had one visit with a guy who drove me crazy. He was like that hyper man on Home Make Over and so fakely happy, that I really couldn't take him seriously. So after one session I realized working with him, was not going to help. But it is so hard changing to someone else. I didn't want him to feel bad and I also didn't want to go over "my story" all over again. With this latest bout of therapy I've had to tell "my story" three times. Rehashing becomes really exhausting. Mix that with the fact that all of this ground work won't result in a long term relationship because we will likely be moving and I found it hard to go in.

When we first got to Durham and after a few months of getting insurance squared away, I sought the help of therapy. once again. The woman I saw was cold, unfeeling and a little hostile. She was convinced that my depression and anxiety (as well as extreme fatigue stemmed from the possibility I had hypoglycemia. This seemed absolutely ludicrous to me based on the fact that none of my blood tests had ever shown me to be hypoglycemic, nor did her little diagnostic quiz show me as having low blood sugar. Still she persisted in insisting that this was my one and only problem. She recommended I got a certain book and refused to help me with therapy or with investigating my medications. Another practitioner blinded by her pet project. I was so discouraged from this experience, that it took me until now to actually find someone who is working.

I still don't like going to therapy. It's difficult to motivate yourself  to go and spill your guts to a complete stranger and bring up hard and painful things. But I want to get better. I want to find ways to change my thinking, my behavior and figure out why all of this is happening. I want to be me again. I want to be happy for me, for Russ, my kids, my family and my friends. And I'm doing everything I can to get there and I know it will be worth it. Maybe someday I'll come up with a way to make effective therapy easily accessible to everyone. As well as a way to match the right therapist with the right person.  

Switching Meds

Where the Green meets the Colorado River

Awhile after being on Celexa, I started having a bizarre twitches, especially in my legs. I started worrying after I saw a commercial suggesting to see your doctor if you experienced twitching, because it might become permanent. Awesome. My doctor suggested switching to Lexapro which has the exact same chemical composition, except the molecule is flipped and is supposedly a "purer" drug. The nasty bit about changing meds, is you have to go through the whole waiting period and hope the next drug works as well as the last. Luckily, I switched over pretty well and didn't have too many "bad" days. We decided after a month or so to switch back to Celexa to make sure the Celexa was causing the twitching (Celexa has a generic, Lexapro does not). Celexa again had the same twitching side effect and so I switched back again to Lexapro. After being on Lexapro for a few months and feeling mostly normal and able to get good sleep again, I was disappointed because I still felt very tired. I went back to the doctor and explained my fatigue and he ordered some blood tests which didn't show anything too abnormal and he gave me a sample of a drug used to treat narcolepsy. I was pretty uncomfortable about trying Nuvigil so I decided  not to take it and keep it on reserve. I suffered through the fatigue for awhile after that, just hoping it would go away. After visiting my OB a few months later she asked me why I wasn't doing therapy in addition to my drugs. I told her I didn't know who to go to and I had asked a couple of doctors for recommendations, but none had any to offer. I felt a little chastened because being in psychology I knew that studies had shown better results when both drugs and therapy are used in treatment. She had a recommendation, Wendy, and she was awesome! (more on that later) I went to Wendy and she suggested trying to add Wellbutrin in addition to the Lexapro, I noticed somewhat of an improvement, so we tried a higher dose. By the time we had tried all of these different combinations, Russ had been accepted to Duke and we moved.

Switching to new insurance, finding a doctor and getting a new appointment took forever. By this time I was horribly sick and tired of being so tired. I felt like a newborn with how much sleep I needed to function somewhat normally. Most of the time no matter how much I slept, what I ate, how much or little I exercised, I was still exhausted. I hated being so tired and physically not being able to take care of the household needs or be as good of a mom as I wanted. My kids watched entirely too much TV and I really hated myself for it. The next nine months were spent trying Prozac with Wellbutrin, Bu-spar all by itself and then finally Zoloft with Wellbutrin. Those nine months were absolute Hell. There were days or months when switching left me back in the horrible, dark hole of depression. I cried uncontrollably several times a day and worried about everything constantly. I couldn't fall asleep many nights and on top of it all I was finding no relief from the horrible fatigue.  Being on Bu-spar was the worst switch. I felt like I was back off of the medicine, which realistically I probably was. Bu-spar looks awesome on paper and has none of the usual side effects of SSRIs (like fatigue), but in practice does very little to actually help with anxiety. I was ready to try anything though, to get rid of this debilitating fatigue. In addition to the drug experimentation we also tried looking at blood tests again as well as a sleep study. Towards last April I tried Zoloft, which both helped my anxiety and depression and didn't leave me as crazily tired. So currently I am on both Zoloft and Wellbutrin. I still feel quite tired, but it's not as bad as when I was on Lexapro. I also got pregnant soon after starting on Zoloft, so I also don't know if the current fatigue is entirely pregnancy related.

Next: The Problem with Therapy  

Dark Abyss

Canyon Lands, Utah

I should have gotten therapy when I was pregnant with Hannah. I should have gotten on medication right after Hannah was born. I can only think that not knowing where to go to with therapy and becoming insanely busy with a newborn and a two year old, kept getting help and taking care of myself far from my mind. I slogged through day after day of just making it through. Being miserable, crying all the time, not wanting to do anything and never being able to fall asleep or stay asleep or nap became the norm. If Gen or Hannah had a tantrum, got sick or did any of the normal complications that come with children, I had a meltdown of my own. I was either too vigilant and immediately burned myself out until I felt crazy or I would be paralyzed with fear, guilt and the feeling that I couldn't handle it. If Russ had to stay late for work, I felt like I was going to have a conniption. There were several times where both girls would be crying at the same time and I would break down with anger and extreme sadness. I would run into my closet, shut the door and have a toddler tantrum of my own. All the while I would be hating myself. I felt like the worst mother on the planet and the biggest failure humanity could find. Sometimes I would get so low, that I just wanted to die. I didn't want to kill myself, I just didn't want to exist anymore. I felt like I was no good for my children, Russ or anyone else in my life. I wondered if everyone would be better off if I'd just disappear. But then those thoughts would scare and shame me and I would feel even more low and more alone. I felt like no one understood how I felt and I had no idea how I was going to go on day after day like this. I knew that nothing was going to ever change and that I was going to have this torturous and monotonous life for the next twenty years. I felt so trapped. I wanted nothing more than to change my life. But I knew that thought was so wrong and looking to other women in my same situation only made me feel worse. They were doing it. They were loving it. What was so horribly wrong with me? Not only was I a bad mom, I was also a bad Mormon woman. Yet through all of this, I hadn't realized I was depressed. I just thought that what I was going through and feeling, was a result of my situation and my inability to be good at it. On one of my many sleepless nights I suddenly had an epiphany. The thought came very strongly, clearly and powerfully that I was depressed. The next morning I took a depression quiz on WebMD and sure enough I was answering yes to all of the symptoms of depression. I'm still dumbfounded that with my psychology background and all of the times I must have read through the symptoms of depression, that I couldn't recognize it in myself. I told Russ later that night that I thought I was depressed and that I was going to go to the doctor again. I'm not sure going to the doctor was any easier this time than the first. I didn't want to admit that I had gone off of my meds on my own, nor did I want to talk about how depressed I was. I don't think anyone relishes the idea of crying in front of their doctor. I don't like crying in front of anyone. I went back on the same medication I was on before. I also asked about any recommendations the doctor might have for a therapist. He sort of blew me off and I got the feeling he didn't "believe" in therapy. So no help there and I let it go and started the pills. Once again they were magic and I was brought back from a horrible place of darkness, despair and loneliness. Best of all I could sleep again. That in itself was miraculous. Suddenly where sleep was the ultimate battle and the thing that constantly eluded me, now simply because the medication had kicked in, I could fall asleep.

Next: The special piece of Hell finding the right medicine can be.   

You Think I'd Have Learned By Now

Me with my Dad's Family-You've got to love my mom's hot, pregnancy dress.

Three months after going on Celexa, I decided to wean myself down and off. I was feeling better, Gen had stopped having such horrible colic and despite the miraculous difference I had seen personally and among some close friends and family, I wanted to be "normal" again and not need the meds. Can we say stupid! Let me say though, you find out pretty quickly that you weren't "addicted" like you had long ago felt. I didn't notice any physical or emotional withdrawals and I was better than I had been before going on the medicine. I think the changes in Gen as well as the nice reprieve from anxiety and depression helped me be ready to face life without the help of Celexa. But if I'm being honest, I should have stayed on the medicine. I think it would have been best in the long run. I did ok until I got pregnant with Hannah. I think the change in hormones sent me spiraling back to that dark, torturous place again. There was a return of anxiety, but more pronounced this time was the depression. I think I was so tired and worn down from all of the anxiety that it finally gave way to bleak depression. My pregnancy with Hannah was harder than with Genevieve. I was more sick and more tired. I think part of that was the fact that I had Genevieve to wake up with and look after. I spent a lot of time on the couch and I felt like crap. I fought hard to get up and take care of Genevieve's needs and take her away from the babysitter that was the TV. But some days I just couldn't and I would spend the whole day loathing myself and feeling horribly guilty that instead of nurturing Genevieve like I good mom should, I was immobile and crying on the couch. I think my friend Tiff was a huge part in getting me through that time. We would go walking every Tuesday and Thursday and she was my therapy. She got me off the couch, got me walking and talking. Russ also was amazing. He did crazy amounts of loads of laundry, cleaning and making meals. He listened to me, loved me and did all that he could to help me. I knew I didn't want to take medicine while I was pregnant. I was so worried that it would hurt Hannah and when I tried to get some advice on therapy and who would be good my midwives were surprisingly unsupportive and unhelpful. Besides my wonderful husband, family and friends, I had to go it alone. Depression makes you feel oh so alone.

Hannah was a sweet baby and as long as she was being held she didn't cry. I can't tell you how wonderful that was. I think 9 months of constant crying created something like PTSD with crying. I still feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin and fly out of the door screaming when my kids whine and cry for a prolonged time. It still took me a long time to get some help after Hannah was born. I think that whole "must breastfeed" and keep meds out of the milk kept help far from my mind.

**Next: I go lower than ever before until I finally re-see the light and get help.  

Magic Medicine

Nana (my grandma), my mom, Acie (my great-grandma) and me

I really didn't want to take medicine. I felt like I was giving up and giving in. I felt like going on meds was admitting that I couldn't solve this problem myself. I was worried that once on it, I'd be forever on it. Meds are tough because it takes at least two weeks for them to kick in and to know if they're going to work. Sometimes results can even take up to six weeks. I think it must be like having horrible, debilitating pain and having the doctor give you a prescription and then telling you, the pain killers will start working somewhere between two to six weeks. Luckily for me, Celexa was prescribed and started working about two weeks after I began taking it.

I was so nervous waiting to see the doctor. I felt like I was going to him to confess some horrible and embarrassing sin. Luckily, he was so gracious. I took a couple of quick assessment quizzes, one about anxiety and one about depression. I was very high on the anxiety scale and also over the threshold on the depression quiz as well. He patiently answered all of my questions and reassured me. I left feeling something I hadn't in a long time, hope.

In two weeks my whole life had changed. Feelings, thoughts and behaviors I had beat myself up over and felt horribly guilty about, because I thought they were my fault, magically disappeared. I suddenly knew that there was something physically wrong with me. Somehow the chemicals in my body had betrayed me and turned me into something I wasn't. The medicine was balancing those chemicals back again where they should be. The medicine didn't turn me into a zombie, didn't make me out-of-control giddy, they simply returned me back to something that resembled my old self. I still had some work to do, because you can get into some negative patterns after being anxious/depressed for so long, but I was so much better. My life was a night and day difference compared to two weeks ago. If you suspect you might have anxiety or depression, don't wait. WebMD has some pretty good quizzes. Visit your doctor. The worst/best they can tell you is that you are fine, but if you are suffering, I'm telling you there is no shame in medicine. Would you refuse medication if you had an infection? I'm guessing not. Many times anxiety and depression is a result of something chemical/physical going on in your body and has a strong link to genes. Sometimes it's because something really horrible happened and that messed you up chemically. Whatever the case, some sort of medicine will help you. Sometimes one doesn't, but there are lots to try. If medicine doesn't help, certain types of therapy can be just as effective. You will feel normal again, you will be happy again and not only will it greatly bless your life, it will help all those around you.

**Next: The relapse--Will I never learn?