A promise

There have been many ups and downs in my life since being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder six years ago. Thankfully, the past few years have included significantly more highs than lows, mainly because I've been stable and have made a commitment to myself and my family:

I promise to always take my medication, see my doctor and therapist, and get good sleep.

This promise stemmed from the fact that, at 5 weeks pregnant with my daughter, I spent almost a week in a psych ward to bring me down from the most extreme psychosis of my life. It came about because I was so incredibly happy - over the moon, really - that we were pregnant after trying month after month for almost a year that I didn't make sure I was getting enough sleep. I remember the nights leading up to the hospitalization where I would just lie in bed wide awake, my mind racing with baby names while my husband was sleeping soundly beside me. You see, when I knew I was ready for another baby, I wanted it like, that second. To have to live my life in two week increments for so long, and to have waited almost a year to see those two pink lines, both of those realities had driven me mad. Quite literally.

I count my lucky stars that I was able to get help. I took the medication I needed with my doctor's close supervision, in order to make it through the pregnancy. And my wonderful husband took over many a night feeding during the first month or two so that I could get the sleep I needed at night and the naps needed to catch up during the day.

In the waiting room before my trial to be released from the hospital {yes, there was a trial due to the fact I was involuntarily committed}, my husband and my dad sat with me. I was in handcuffs. Don't ask - we have no idea why they would cuff an almost 6-week pregnant woman who wouldn't hurt a fly - but we think it was because they had to treat all the patients the same. My hair was a disaster, I had on mismatched sweats and the sticky-bottom hospital socks and I was just dying to get out of there. I can't remember why I didn't have shoes on.

This is where the promise occurred. My dad took a picture on his phone of me sitting on the small sofa in that tiny room. With cuffs on.

So I would always make good on my promise to keep taking my medication.

That was two years ago. And I have no intention of ever breaking that promise.

My family means too much to me to ever put them through that again.

Thank you to my dad, for thinking to take that picture. Now, Dad, it may be on your old iphone which has a shattered screen, but maybe you could find a way to email it to me so that I can crop it and Instagram-it so that I could add it to this post?

{Don't hold your breath since he's not that great with computers and he's presently on a golf trip in South Carolina. But I'll try to add it. For posterity.}

Two years ago today

It's been two years to the day today that I was last hospitalized for a manic episode.

And what a storm it was. I had just found out I was pregnant and thus was so excited I couldn't sleep for a week. You see, it had taken us ten months to conceive the little lady and being the impatient, total Type-A person I am, that was just way too long.

When I don't get enough sleep, it leads to mania. My thoughts race out of control, I start talking in circles, and I lose touch with reality. My husband knew the signs all too well. He knew what needed to be done.

Within thirty minutes, his mom was here to help with our 18-mo old son, and the EMT's and two police officers were standing in our bedroom trying to talk me into going with them to the hospital. When I wouldn't consent, my husband signed some papers, and they cuffed me and put me in the squad car. Luckily this time it was pitch black outside and they didn't have their flashing lights on. So hopefully the neighbors didn't see and think I was being arrested.

Crazy how far I've come in those two years. I've learned so much over these past six years living with bipolar disorder. I've learned how important my family is to me, I've learned which friends care enough to actually talk with me about what I've been going through, and most of all I've learned that I can overcome this "mental illness" to make my dreams a reality.

Six years ago I was so crippled by depression and anxiety that at times I didn't want to go on. I was being so selfish, but I saw how my condition was affecting my family and I hated that I kept bringing everyone around me down because of my mood. I felt like I had lost my identity because the career I had worked so hard to build over the past four years came to a screeching halt after my second hospitalization. I couldn't handle the pressure at work any longer - the pressure that had pushed me to work harder and smarter over the years was now causing panic attacks and driving me deeper and deeper into depression.

Ultimately, I had to resign from my job and with that I felt like I was a nobody. I was worthless. I was sad. I didn't feel like there was anything worth living for.

Looking back, it basically took me all of 2006 to pick myself up again. I went through so many weeks of crying hard every.single.night. It's hard for me to think about what my parents and husband went through during that year. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to stay positive and supportive to someone who was so incredibly sad.

But they did. And Thank God they did. I am eternally grateful to them.

I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today without the love and encouragement of my dad, mom, and husband. Along with my in-laws, brother, two sisters-in-law, and a handful of close friends, I trudged through 2006 and made it into 2007. I made it to see another day.

And now I know that there is so much to live for.

I am so thankful to have found a medication that works for me. I know that I am lucky. I take my medication religiously and stay on top of my moods to make sure I continue to stay stable. I have too much going for me to end up in the hospital again. I don't want to miss a second of this life.

Because it really is too short when you think about it.

A risk worth taking; a list worth making

Back when I was first diagnosed my dad had what turned out to be a genius idea: to journal about my illness. Every day he wanted me to write down four things: the date, how I was feeling, what meds I took that day, and any side effects I was experiencing. He was determined to figure out what the heck was happening to his little girl, and this little idea was one of the only things he could get me to do which in the end would help in more ways than we knew when I started. After my most recent hospitalization (which was right after we found out I was pregnant with our second child) I had a very hard time bouncing back. It is true that I respond very well to Lithium, but at the time I was adamant about not going back onto Lithium until I was past the first trimester because of the risk of Ebstein's anomaly. In reality, my risk was only about 6% if I had used the Lithium during the first trimester, but I refused. And I am very stubborn. And determined. And I got my way.

But looking back I wish I would have just used the medication which I so desperately need flowing through my bloodstream each and every day. Lithium to me is like insulin is to a diabetic. I know this now.

So instead of using Lithium during the first trimester, my psychiatrist agreed to use Haldol to treat my mania. It is the drug that they inject into my backside when I am hospitalized because I reject all oral medications when I am manic. Lucky me. They would have to use three people to hold me down while the fourth administered the drug. It would start working within fifteen minutes - by that point I'd have been walked back to my room and tucked into bed to sleep and let it work its magic. Once I was discharged from the hospital, I had my oral prescription for Haldol filled and continued on it for a few weeks.

Those weeks were such a huge struggle for me. Mentally I felt as though I could not put my thoughts together in sentences. Simply speaking a basic sentence was so incredibly difficult. I barely went out in public for three weeks because I was so afraid of not being able to hold a basic conversation.

I also had a very hard time writing. I found it hard to journal then, mainly because it was so hard to think let alone use a pen to write down those thoughts on paper. My family blog which was normally filled with descriptive paragraphs of what I had been doing with our son each day, were now filled with just little video clips and some pictures here and there. I felt paralyzed to an extent. It was almost as if I could feel the neurons straining so fiercely to fire off some kind of signal. But the neurons were back-firing. Badly.

The chemicals in my brain were so completely off and I wanted more than anything else to just turn them back on.

My dad had another brilliant idea during this difficult time. He told me one morning when we were talking, to make a list of 10 things I wanted to accomplish that day. They could be as simple as unload the dishwasher, make the bed, fold the laundry, or bake cookies with my little man. This way, I could look back on my day and see all the things I was able to get done. This simple method of goal-setting worked like a charm for me.

I still use this tactic to this day. I love to sit down in the morning and jot down the things that I want to accomplish that day. The weeks that I do it, I feel like I get so much more done around the house. For my family and myself. It's such a great thing to build into your daily routine.

Around week 10 of my pregnancy, fed up from the daily struggle with my malfunctioning brain, I decided to do something about it. I distinctly remember the day I called my high-risk OB-GYN to ask him if I could just go back on the Lithium right then, instead of waiting until the end of week 13. I was pretty much in tears on the phone and he said that I needed to do what was right for me. And that it seemed like I needed it. It being the Lithium. I said yes, and felt an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders when I hung up the phone.

After about a week back on Lithium I began feeling like myself again.

It was a well-calculated risk and one that I was glad that I took. Having to choose between taking a medication while pregnant or struggling with a mental illness that causes you physical stress and trauma is one that I wish no woman would have to make. But sometimes we have to make hard decisions. I was very scared and felt an enormous amount of guilt for having to subject my unborn child to a potentially harmful substance while she was growing inside of me, but if I had to do it over I would do exactly the same thing.

I'm forever grateful that she was born healthy and today is a thriving toddler who pushes the limits every single day. And I'm thankful that I have such a supportive husband and parents who were right there with me every step of the way encouraging me to make the best decision for me at that moment.

Opening doors

Life has been very busy lately. The last time I posted was three months ago, although I've thought many times over the past three months about logging in and typing up a new post. The holidays came, I got wrapped up in everything, then we traveled south to visit my family and I just haven't set the time aside to blog. Shame on me. Definitely feeling guilty about it. This whole project is overwhelming sometimes when I think about my end goal: to publish a book which will be a resource to other women who live with bipolar disorder but also want children. However, when I step back and try to see it as smaller pieces, baby steps towards the bigger picture, I can jump back in. I have to remind myself that over the past few months I have taken some small steps towards moving things along, even if I haven't made any further progress on the actual page count of the draft.

I recently stumbled upon the blog of an inspiring person: meet Ashley of Lil Blue Boo. I was immediately captivated by her life story so far, her writing, her sense of humor, and most importantly, her outlook on life. Her "about me" section mentioned that she loved reading memoirs, of famous people and not famous people. So after writing and deleting four or five versions of an email, I finally just went for it and emailed her asking if she'd be open to reading what I have written so far. She wrote back within 10 minutes. I was shocked. And giddy. She said she would love to, and she'd be honored. Wow. That was so cool.

The most incredible thing about her is that she is has so many things going on in her life right now. She's in the midst of a fierce battle with cancer. She runs a super cool sewing/crafting company. And she has her own family to enjoy and take care of. But she offered to read something I wrote. I feel a little guilty about asking her to read it during the whirlwind of what is going on in her life, but I can only hope that it is a tiny little escape for her as she reads the 57 pages I sent.

I just read a post on a blog that a close friend of hers writes about how they are holding an auction to benefit her medical expenses next month. I immediately emailed the fundraising chair after I finished reading to see how I could contribute in some way. I know this will be huge, and I am excited to be a part of it. It is unreal what people can do when they put their minds to it, even if it is all online and they don't get a chance to actually meet in person. The magic of the internet amazes me sometimes. Doors open.

My daughter just turned 13 months. A few weeks ago I noticed she had this fascination with closing doors. She's a short little thing, so of course she cannot reach the door handle to open it back up once it's closed. But she doesn't seem to mind. She just walks over to the next door, with a big smile on her face, and closes it, giggling. Makes me smile every time. But in the back of my mind I couldn't help but think about how it reminded me of the last time I was in the hospital - right after I found out I was pregnant with her.

I was only 5 weeks pregnant when I suffered a manic episode brought on (as it had been the three previous times) by lack of sleep due to my excitement over finding out that we had become pregnant finally with baby #2. I remember bits and pieces from my hospital stay. One thing that I remember vividly though is opening and closing doors as I wandered around the ward in my psychotic state. I think I became even more and more confused each time I opened another one, trying desperately to figure out where I was and what the hell was going on. Until the meds finally kicked in, I was left to let the mania run its course. And man, did it. Luckily for me, the doctors all tell me that I "respond beautifully" to medication. Not that I think having to be on medication is beautiful. But whatever. I'm just glad that it brought me back to reality, and that miraculously my daughter was born healthy.

This is what it is like living with a mental illness. Yes, I manage it well and have become a model patient in that I take my meds and go see my psychiatrist and therapist at regular intervals. But I will always live with the flashbacks from my episodes and they sometimes emerge from current events in my life which are unrelated at the surface level. I guess they are just God's way of reminding me to stay on track since I am in charge of my own mental health. I've decided to adopt Ashley's mantra of "Choose Joy". She's one in a lifetime. And I am so grateful to have been impacted by her story.

National Pregnancy Registry

My daughter turned 8 months old yesterday. About two weeks ago she started crawling and just yesterday she started babbling non-stop. I am continuously amazed at how quickly she is growing and changing. And I am intensely grateful that she is a happy, healthy baby. I was hospitalized for bipolar mania when I was just five weeks pregnant. My husband and I had been trying to conceive our second child for seven months and it had finally happened, only to cause me such excitement that I couldn't sleep which lead to my mind racing beyond belief forcing him to sign me into a psych ward for four days. I had been working closely with my psychiatrist to come off the Lithium for the first trimester once I found out I was pregnant and then once the mania took over from the excitement of finally becoming pregnant, I continued to refuse medication because I thought I was doing what was best for the baby growing inside me.

Looking back now I know how very wrong I was.

The main risk that the baby faced if I stayed on Lithium was Ebstein's anomaly, a heart defect. The general population has about a 3% chance of this particular congenital heart condition, and the risk increases to around 6% for a person taking Lithium during pregnancy.

In my case the benefit of staying on medication greatly outweighed the risks of me becoming manic and needing hospitaliztion, and I definitely knew this having done a ton of research beginning back before I became pregnant with my son. But with his pregnancy I was able to somehow stay medication-free throughout those nine months and one month after his birth. And I think I was feeling some mommy-guilt in wanting to give this second baby the same drug-free environment in which to grow and thrive. It only seemed fair.

After spending four nights and five days in a psychiatric facility near our house, I was finally released to the care of my regular psychiatrist after being stabilized on Haldol via injections because I was very resistant to oral medications at the beginning of my hospital stay. They also used Zyprexa since historically I responded so well to it. Of course I was scared to death about how these medications were affecting the baby's development, especially because there is so little research out there on the use of a-typical antipsychotics during pregnancy.

This is what lead me to find the National Pregnancy Registry via an online search. They are collecting information from women who have taken certain antipsychotics during pregnancy and after childbirth to hopefully shed more light on the safety of these medications during pregnancy. They also need women who are currently pregnant and NOT taking these medications, to serve as the control. If you know someone who is willing to participate in this on-going study, please direct them to the site to sign up to join.

It is easy to participate - just a series of brief phone interviews and some completed paperwork releasing medical records is all it takes. They do a baseline interview during the beginning of the pregnancy, a 7-month interview, and a postpartum interview. Simple. Once you finish it will give you a good feeling knowing that you are doing something to help improve the quality of healthcare for pregnant women in the future.

My inspiration for this blog

Bipolar I is my diagnosis but I try not to let the label get to me too much. I definitely think about it on a daily basis, but I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of it anymore like I was back when I was first diagnosed. Sure, the stigma is still there, but it's beginning to fade. I hope that by putting it out there and by telling the world that I am living with this illness, and living a very fulfilling life I may add, I may inspire other women to seek the help and support they need in order to be able to have a family of their own if that is what they are wishing for. I was at an extreme low and was so devastated by the state of my mental health that I had convinced myself that I may never get the chance to become pregnant to start a family with my husband. But once I found the right medication and the right doctor, I was able to make my dreams of an amazing family come true and it was worth all the struggles and heartache, the four hospitalizations and the recovery time, to get where I am at this moment right now. Lately at night when I am drifting off to sleep, I find that I am reminding myself how lucky I am to have an incredible husband who loves and supports me, two beautiful healthy children, an amazing family surrounding me in my parents, brother and his wife, and in-laws and sister-in-law in addition to an extended support system of loving friends whom I trust so much. It sometimes doesn't seem real. But I am living proof that just because a person is living with a mental illness doesn't mean they can't work hard to manage it well and this blog is my way of giving back. I want to take the past six and a half years and share what I have learned from my journey to somehow help other young women who may have been feeling the way I was feeling back at the beginning of when it all started for me.

If you like what you are reading, and know someone who could benefit from my experiences, please, pass on the link to my blog. Over 5 million Americans live with this illness, so chances are within your family, friends, work, school, or church you probably know someone who may be suffering. They may find comfort in reading a story of someone who is doing better than average at managing it. I know I always do.