Roadblock

So my neurologist is refusing to write a letter saying he is okay with me getting ECT.  From what I gather (from his nurse), it has to do with my medications.  

I take three anti-seizure medications daily.  The whole point of ECT is to initiate a seizure, so Dr. A (the neuropsychiatrist doing the ECT) wants me to stop taking those medications for 24 hours.  Dr. H (my neurologist) says it wouldn't be safe for me to discontinue my seizure medications so he won't write the letter or advise me on how to titrate them down.

Without that letter or titration, Dr. A won't do ECT.  So I am stuck.  

I called Dr. A's office and explained the situation.  So they are going to have Dr. A talk with Dr. H and see if she can't explain things better than I have.

If all else fails, I have an appointment with Dr. H on July 5th.  I feel like if he knows how bad off things are, he will help me to reach a solution.  He is a compassionate man and I know he is probably in a tough spot, too.  

I haven't had a seizure since March.  So it does seem a little counterintuitive to stop taking my medications, even for a brief period.  

But I don't know what to do next if this doesn't happen for me.  I am afraid that I will be sucked into a deep mire of hopelessness if this can't happen.  I know I should keep my mind open to other possibilities for treatment. I just feel as if I have tried so much.  And I am tired of waiting for things to get better on their own.  

Memories...

I have lost many of my memories.  I cannot remember many things day to day.  Words to complete sentences.  Words to describe something.  My address.
And when I say forget, this isn't a brief lapse where I stutter for a moment and come up with the right answer.  There is no right answer, it is lost in the fog of my mind.
Then there is my longer term memory.  My childhood is gone.  I can't remember it at all, but brief and blurry glimpses, things that I know more from stories my parents tell me, then actually remembering it myself.  My twenties are a similar blur, with even things like my wedding and buying our first house having fallen away like dried scattered leaves.  I know I did these things.  I just don't remember doing them.
The biggest side effect of ECT is memory loss.  I am trying to prepare to lose even more of my memories; possibly chunks of time around when I get the procedures done.  That's also part of why I want to post here.  It will help me remember this part of my life.
It is also possible that my memory can improve with time.  Depression causes memory problems, so as I am less depressed, it is possible that it might be easier to remember things and not embarrass myself at the pharmacy when I can't remember my own address.  That would be nice.
****
Yesterday, I went to the doctor for a pre-op clearance appointment.  They won't do ECT without making sure you are physically fit enough for the procedure.  I had an EKG (normal), brief exam (normal), and some bloodwork (I assume it will be normal, but I don't actually have the results yet).  Once they have all of that, they send it on to the new psychiatrist.  I also have to get a letter from my neurologist, saying that he is okay with the ECT.  After I have those things done, we can go ahead and schedule the procedures.
My doctor's nurse was funny yesterday.  She kept telling me that I was "so brave".  I don't feel brave. I feel like a coward; I feel like a braver, stronger person would be able to pull themselves up and get back to the living of life without needing to turn their lives upside down and get their brain shocked!  Logically, I know that depression doesn't work that way.  But emotionally, it's a whole other ball game.  I feel a lot of guilt for how much my depression takes over our lives and impacts my children.  I try hard to protect them, but it's getting harder and harder to hide the way I am feeling.
I think the thing that scares me the most about ECT is that it won't work.  That I'll be the 10% it doesn't work for.  But I have to be positive.  Also, I am the ideal candidate for ECT, with a fairly "straightforward" depression (their words, not mine).  I just have to focus on that 90%.

The Darkness

Perhaps you can tell by my past posts, but things are dark here in my world.
It didn't used to be this way, and I hate it.
Even during the infertility years, I was sad, I was stuck, I was angry, I was all sorts of feelings, but I didn't go to bed and stay there.
Things are dark here.
I stay in bed as much as I can.  Sleep is my escape.
Yesterday was a hard day.  I was either sleeping or crying.
The anxiety was bad.  There is no reason to be anxious.  No reason to be sad.  And yet.
Each moment is a struggle. Getting dressed seems akin to climbing a mountain (I do get dressed every day).  Showering seems like too much of an effort (I do try and most days I succeed at getting showered).
Getting the kids dressed and off to school is about all I can handle.  I do make dinner some nights, but my MIL (who stays here to help with the kids Tuesday-Friday) makes dinner the nights she is here.
This makes me feel like an absolute failure as a human being and a parent.  Which makes me even more depressed.  And the cycle continues.
While I am not actively suicidal, thoughts of death are comforting.  I cannot imagine living life feeling this way for fifty more years.
All of this while I have so much to live for, so much to be excited about.  I have three beautiful, healthy children; kids that I wanted so badly.
And now all I want to do is sleep.  Sleep away this life that has become painful to live.
****
I've tried counseling.  I have a psychiatrist and a counselor.  I did a six month DBT course.  I take a high dose of antidepressant.  I take an atypical antipsychotic.  I take rescue medications for the anxiety.  Too many pills when you add in the three I take for my epilepsy (which are also mood stabilizers). 
Last month, my psychiatrist recommended something different.  Something a little scary.
Something called ECT.  From the Mayo Clinic, this is ECT:

"Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) is a procedure, done under general anesthesia, in which small electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a brief seizure. ECT seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental illnesses.

ECT often works when other treatments are unsuccessful and when the full course of treatment is completed, but it may not work for everyone.

Much of the stigma attached to ECT is based on early treatments in which high doses of electricity were administered without anesthesia, leading to memory loss, fractured bones and other serious side effects.

ECT is much safer today. Although ECT still causes some side effects, it now uses electric currents given in a controlled setting to achieve the most benefit with the fewest possible risks."

My initial reaction?  NO FREAKIN WAY.  There was no way I was going to give myself seizures on purpose.  Plus one of the main side effects is short term memory loss.  My memory is already compromised from all of my seizures, the concussions from falling during a seizure, and, of course, depression causes memory loss.
But the depression this time is debilitating.  I can't live my life this way.  If there is an option, something to try, I can't justify locking myself in this cave of darkness.  Not if there is a way out.
So I started researching ECT.  And I read a book written by Kitty Dukakis, who uses the treatment regularly and feels like it has changed her life.  She and her husband, former Massachusetts governor Michael Dukakis, have become evangelists for the procedure.  And once you start researching, a lot of people have experienced ECT.  And it works for them.  It has a 90% success rate.  90%.
I have always used this blog as a way to process what is happening to me.  I also fully believe that we don't talk enough about mental illness.  And we definitely don't do enough about it. 
After doing my research, doing my reading, and getting more depressed, I have decided to take the leap.  I am doing ECT.  And I plan to write about my experiences here in the hopes that someone else might read it and feel less alone.  And if it works, someone might read it and take the same leap.
Am I scared?  No.  Surprisingly, I am not scared.  I might get scared closer to the actual procedure, but right now? Right now, I am just READY.  I just want to feel better.  I want to be a better human, a better mother, and a happier me.
So today, I do the first step, which is having a pre-op appointment with my primary care physician.  We have to ensure that I am healthy enough to have ECT done.  I have to have an EKG, a physical, a round of bloodwork, and (ironically) a pregnancy test.
I also have to secure a letter from my neurologist, who has to okay me having the procedure done.  He also has to help me with medication changes, as I cannot take my anti-seizure medications for 24 hours prior to the procedure.
So.  I am in a pit of darkness, but I do see a pinpoint of light.  It's there, I know it. I just have to be brave and hang on.

Update

Bloggers disappear.  This is a fact of the blogging world.  In my case, I had my beautiful babies and the reason for my writing in the first place no longer existed.

But I always hated finding a blog that I enjoyed and then just have the blog END.  I mean, lives go on after blogging, right?

In my case, life has most certainly gone along.  My children are practically teenagers!  Okay, perhaps not.  But Will is nine you guys, almost ten!  I can't believe how fast he has grown up into this little person, but he has. He is in third grade and doing all sorts of things, like writing book reports, doing division, and getting up in assemblies and giving speeches.  He enjoys playing Minecraft (it's an obsession, really) and is a purple belt in Tae Kwon Do.  We still enjoy snuggling on the couch for a movie or tv show, but when we put our hands up together to measure, his thumb is bigger than mine.  He delights in this and I want to cry.

Emma Drace.  Seven years old and so sweet, smart, and silly that she just makes me smile.  She is obsessed with a youtube personality (JoJo Siwa) and wears her hair in the same side ponytail, complete with large, borderline obnoxious hairbows, which she is collecting.  She has a best friend (known as a BFF) that she loves to pieces.  She recently tested into the Hi-Cap (highly capable) program at her school.  She always brings home little notes that applaud her behavior and her teacher loves her.  She has been easy from day one, and I now am not afraid to say it.  I'm really lucky God blessed me with this amazingly precious little girl.

Andrew.  My gosh you guys, he has so much personality that I don't even know where to begin.  True to third child form, he is my little comedian.  He makes me laugh on an almost hourly basis.  He loves anything army-related and loves playing with little green army men and tanks and trucks.  He is in pre-school and will (gasp) start kindergarten in the fall.  I am still his #1 girl, although he has a "girlfriend" at school and they tell each other they love each other every day as we leave the parking lot.  SO. CUTE.

My kids are healthy, happy, and growing up way too fast!  I miss their baby days so much it hurts sometimes.  My mom asked me why I hate them growing up when the alternative is no good.  God forbid that anything happen like that!  I just loved being a mommy to small kiddos.  I knew how to fix boo boos and clean up spilled juice and change a diaper.  I can read in silly voices, build a tent fort, and generally just know how to be a mom to little kids.  These big kids are a puzzle, a challenge that I feel ill prepared for.  I always wanted Real Life Babies, and now I have Real Life Kids.  I want to be the best mom for them possible and sometimes I realize how I am not quite up to the task.  It's a big job.

I am still working parttime from home.  I enjoy what I do and who I do it for.  I am truly blessed to be able to work at home as I still cannot drive.  That's right, nearly three years since I sat behind the wheel of a car.  Wait, that's a lie.  I sat behind the wheel a few weeks ago as we were just sitting in the parking lot.  I put my hands on the wheel and it is amazing that feeling of power that you can get just from driving a car.  I know it's an easy thing for you to take for granted, I know I always did.  Just be grateful if you can drive yourself to the grocery store or anywhere, really.  But I really miss just running to the grocery store for milk or juice or whatever.  I miss the independence that driving brings.  Since I am still having regular seizures, there is no driving anywhere in my near future.

How am I, really?  People ask me that, knowing we are going on three years of dealing with chronic illness and managing three young kiddos.  The truth is, I am very lucky.  We have been surrounded by family throughout this time.  I am rarely alone with the kids, which is hard, but also a blessing when I have seizures or days when I don't feel well.  The medications that I take are sedating and I am tired a lot of the time.  I also have insomnia, which doesn't help the constant fatigue.  So it is nice that my mother-in-law makes dinner most nights.  My kids have been surrounded by love and care have seen how family pulls together in times of need.  I see the compassion in them that shows they have been handled with that same compassion.  We do what we know, right?

I am also very depressed.  Mental illness is something that I think we are all getting better about speaking out about.  I wrote about my post-partum depression with the kids.  This is the same beast that I know so well.  It is an overwhelming monster that eats away my joy and eeks out my life.  There are days when I get out of bed, only to stumble back into it once the kids are at school.  I am seeing a psychiatrist and counselor regularly.  I have been to support groups and done a six month seminar on handling anxiety and depression.  I take two very strong medications to help address the depression itself.  I do everything that I can to fight this monster from taking over everything.  It's a daily battle.  But my kids are worth it.  I'm worth it.

From time to time, I check in here and I almost can't recognize the girl that once wrote all of these words.  I had so much energy, so much joy for life.  Even when things were crappy, I still felt blessed.  I still feel that way.  I have been so fortunate to have the help that I have had along the way.  But I just want to be ME again.  I just want to have energy, joy, and a zest for life.  I want to live my life, not just survive it.  I am trying very desperately to make that happen.

One Clawing Step

Well.  

That was a "fun" year a half.

After getting diagnosed with epilepsy, I spent nine months on a terrible medication called Depakote. I'm sure for some people, it is a miracle drug.  For me, it almost killed me, and I am not being dramatic.

Depakote is a drug that can cause toxicity.  Though my neurologist watched my blood levels (and had to reduce my dosage twice), he stopped monitoring them when I was on such a low dose, that he didn't think it possible that I could be toxic.

Well.  I was.  I heard ringing in my ears, vomited constantly, felt as if I had fallen into a black pit.

One time, I lost three days of my life.  Three days that I can't remember, during which time, I went on a $700 shopping spree (not like me at all), and met my new neurologist, whom, I vomited all over.

Lovely.

So.  Two neurologists, two psychiatrists, two counselors, a week-long hospital stay (in-patient epilepsy monitoring unit) which included a neuro-psychological evaluation (make that three psychs, and it's at a teaching hospital. so I lost count of how many docs rounded on me), thousands of dollars, and testing later, it was determined that Depakote was making me sick and also not controlling my seizures.  So I was finally switched a different medication and things have been somewhat better since.  I say somewhat, because I still have seizures; about once or twice a month.  I can't drive, haven't since June 2, 2015.  I can't really be alone with Andrew, since my seizures leave me unconscious for awhile.  So while the big kids are in school, I have a nanny, which we can ill afford. 

In the middle of all of this, I had a seizure and fell on (then two year old) Andrew and BROKE HIS ARM.  I broke my baby's arm.  It was decidedly the lowest point of my motherhood journey. Accident or not, knowing that I hurt him was excruiciating.  And I was so out of it, I couldn't even comfort him afterward.  It was awful.  Fortunately for me, Andrew was a trooper.  He only cried when they took the cast OFF.  He loved being the center of attention with his little cast and proudly told everyone that "mommy fell on me and broke my arm".  Also fortunately for me, no one believes a two year old when they say that.

Oh, we almost lost our house.  I mean, I couldn't work when I was Depa-drunk.  I could barely walk a straight line.  

I got depressed.  I got a little suicidal (one of the medication side effects was suicidal ideation).  I hated life, I hated myself.  The ONLY thing that kept me hanging on...

Will.  Emma.  Andrew.

They deserve so much better than the mom I have been these past 18 months.  I haven't been all shitty.  There have been moments when I have managed to pull my act together and be a decent mom. But I also spent a lot of time in bed, a lot of time hiding, a lot of time feeling sorry for myself.

It's only in the last few months that I have finally started to really poke my head out and about of my self-imposed prison and looked around.  And I still have terrible-awful-no-good-very-bad-days, like after a seizure.

Will is 8.  Eight years old, you guys.  He has turned into such a compassionate little guy.  I hate that my illness has impacted him so, but our pediatrician says that children of parents with a chronic illness usually grow up to be in the medical field or some sort of caregiver.  I could live with that.  He is in second grade and KILLING it in school.  He reads like a champ and behaves so well.  Not a single complaint from his teacher. 

Emma is 6.  SIX.  She is sweet and fiesty.  She started kindergarten this year and has two best friends, loves riding the bus, and lunch.  She still loves her stuffies (stuffed animals) and only has about 556 million of them and counting.  Unfortunately, she caught a bad cold the second week of school and it ended up turning into a raging case of sinusitis which she can't shake.  We visited the ENT yesterday and they are recommending taking out her adenoids.  Yikes.  We are seeing an allergist first and will go from there.

Andrew is 4.  This one really blows me away.  How can my BABY be FOUR?!?  It's just ridiculous.  HE is just ridiculous.  He is funny, sweet, cuddly, stubbon, and makes my world complete.  I can't describe how much I love that kid.  I don't think I've ever really had to discipline him.  Not that he isn't ever naughty, but he is so eager to please, and when he does do something bad, he instantly knows it and apologizes or puts himself in time out.  That kid.

I started working again in July.  I was blessed to find a company that allows me to work from home most days.  I even get to go into the office somedays for some social time.  Working has been GOOD for me. I was drifiting for awhile.  I love being home with my kids, but having the nanny there, and family all of the time, made me feel unnecessary.  I am good at what I do, and feel appreciated.  And since I mostly work from home, and am only parttime, I am able to still be there for them most of the time.  And since I am working, we are able to hang on to our house, by our  fingernails.

I feel as if we are scratching our way up from the bottom of a deep, dark pit.  I still get knocked down from time to time, but I am climbing, here and there.

I hope all of you are doing well.  If anyone even comes by here any more.  But if you do, this is where we are at.  One day.  One clawing step at a time. 

Sidelined

Well.

This is embarrassing.

Ever had one of those friends?

You know the type... They are too busy for you for months until something happens and they need you once again?

Luckily, this is a blog, which I think means its feelings don't get hurt. Which is a good thing, because it turns out my sadly neglected little corner of the internet might now get some more attention from me. At least for the next six months, that is.

The reason for my sudden reappearance? I can't drive for six months and lost my job as a result of the fact that I was diagnosed with epilepsy after having two clonic-tonic (formerly called grand mal) seizures in the past two weeks.

Fun times.

So, stick around for kiddo updates, pictures, and stories of (literally) being trapped in Suburbia.

Covered In Kid

I want to make sure I keep this space somewhat current.  I am not sure how many readers are left, beyond the loyal few, but I also know that when I was dragging myself through the worst of my infertility days, it was the blogs like these that gave me hope; blogs like these, that began in such despair, and yet ended with such happiness. 

I started this blog in 2006.  EIGHT YEARS AGO.

I'm going to be real honest here.  When I came to this blog, all of those years ago, I was one hot mess.  I was barely making it through each day.  While I tried to make light of my insanity, I was probably hovering uncomfortably close to the DSM-IV definition of street rat crazy.

And adding honesty to brutal honesty? 

This blog saved me.

It was a turning point of sorts.  It was a place for me to vent.  A place for me to receive support.  A link to others out there with stories like mine.  Or maybe not like mine at all, but yet all too familiar.  Perhaps we all had somewhat different stories, with varying degrees of tragedies, but we all had a similar theme.  We were all mothers-in-waiting, families incomplete, broken-hearted, empty-armed, and searching for reason amongst insanity.

Before I started this humble blog, I felt alone.  Most of my friends had abandoned me in search of more cheerful pastures.  Looking back now, I cannot say that I blame them. After all, most conversations with me centered around the rather uncomfortable topic of death.  I was either miscarrying, pregnant-but-about-to-miscarry, or recovering from a miscarriage for two years.  TWO YEARS.

And, unlike some people, perhaps more stoic than me, I refused to remain silent.  I would not let my precious babies slip from my womb with no more than a plop in the toilet and a rift in my heart.  NO.  If you were going to know me, if you were going to walk that path with me, you would know about my babies.  About my nine angels and their all-too-short, difficult-to-define lives (difficult for others to define, I had no issue with defining them).  They didn't have birthdays.  They had empty, meaningless, never-fulfilled due dates (meaningless to others, yet with all of the meaning in the world to me), scratched out ultrasound dates on a calendar. 

The agony of infertility is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  It was my waterloo.  It altered me forever, defined me for years, and, even today, when with my three RLBs piled on me as I type this, it has shaped the mother that I am.

These babies are here today.  They are five, three, and one.  They love me with a ferocity and purity that humbles me to my very core.  I love them with a ferocity and purity that they will not understand until they are parents themselves.  They are miracles, as are all children.  But I do sometimes wonder if my foray into the dark world of recurrent miscarriage hasn't made me just a bit more aware of the true wonder they are.  It certainly has made me a grateful Mama and at times, when my patience wears thin and I find myself longing for just one moment to myself, I remember all of the countless moments that I had to myself, where my heart ached for just one moment of this.  And I dig deep within me, and pull out just a tiny bit more patience.  Not that I am perfect, mind you, in fact, far from it.  There are times when even recalling the dark days of infertility can't bring out an ounce more patience, Mama is DONE.  And I have learned to accept that is okay, too. 

Parenthood after infertility is a bizarre world.  I am certainly no longer what you could call an infertile.  Nope.  I have been a "melon belly" three times over.  I have had three births.  Three newborns.  Three infants.  Now I have two preschoolers and one toddler.  My arms are stuffed to overflowing, my heart exploding in love.  Yet I still feel the ache of those precious babies that I will never hold in my arms.  I wonder, too, about the embryos we will never use.  My babies are all very similar in appearance (though very different in personality), so I feel as if I almost know those babies I will never hold, because I am graced with the opportunity to hold the ones that I do.  It is at once a comfort and a bit of a heart ache. 

I am also done with having babies.  I will never again have another pregnancy, newborn, sweet nursing session, or a first birthday party, or all of the moments in between.  And although three is definitely the right number for our family, there is a wistfulness in knowing that the baby years are behind me.  I waited so long and so desperately and now they are over.  I am very excited to see what the future holds, as each day brings some new adventure.

Being a mother is everything I thought it would be and nothing I imagined all at once.  It is all encompassing, all consuming, uplifting, and humbling.  I learn from them far more than they will ever learn from me. 

Whenever I sit or lay down (which is actually a rather rare occurrence) these three babies of mine gravitate toward me as the moon pulls the tide.  And I have a rule.  There is always room in my heart and on my lap, and we all shove around and get comfortable, our limbs and hearts a web of love.  Then I say it out loud, "I am covered . . . "

And Will and Emma chorus with me, "In kid."

I am blessed, grateful, amazed, and humbled, to be covered to be in kid.