What do you think of when you hear OCD? Do you picture someone washing their hands until they are raw? Maybe you think of someone lining up the labels on their canned goods? Maybe your head goes to a person opening and closing a door a certain number of times before walking through. These are the things that I thought of too. My clinical diagnosis was Post-Partum Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, (PPOCD) but it was truly Post-Partum Obsessively Checking Delaney. (PPOCD)
When I went to my six-week checkup with my Ob-Gyn, I filled out the paperwork (done on an iPad now! What a time to be alive) as honest as I could. I noted what I was feeling and left it at the discretion of my doctor. After physically checking me out, he asked how I had been feeling. I gave birth less than three months after my dad died, after being home for seven months with my other three kids during a pandemic, and had been homeschooling for two months. Just peachy, Doc.
At Delaney’s 8-week checkup, I told our pediatrician about my concerns with Delaney’s health.
“We see that a lot with parents who have more than one child. You know more. You have friends who have had things happen. It’s a hard time to have a baby right now. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself” she gently told me.
Not long after, I told my husband that something was off. I didn’t feel like myself and it went beyond the normal post-partum stresses. In two and a half months of being home, I had only walked up and down the steps in our house 3 times with the baby. I consciously would set her down if I had to run downstairs. I was terrified that somehow, we would fall. That somehow my sock would be twisted or a missed step would cause us both to fall and harm would come to my baby. The only reasonable thing to do, was to avoid taking her on the steps. And sleeping? Ha! That was another time when my anxiety would be at the highest. I would have to check to make sure the monitor was up all the way when I put her down and left the room. If my husband turned on the monitor, I would make him show me that he turned it up all the way. If I didn’t know for sure, I would be physically uncomfortable. I would fidget, my stomach would tighten, sometimes I would even be nauseous or light-headed. When it came down for me to go to bed, I would have to check to make sure she was breathing. Many moms do this in the beginning too, but I would visually check, use a flashlight to check because I never trusted my eyes, and then I would normally end up putting my hand on her chest to triple check. Even if it woke her up, I had to do it. I would rather get her back to sleep, then lay down and not be certain she was alive. Her bassinet was on my side of the bed so I could see her whenever I wanted. See and check her.
Once when my husband came home from work in the morning, he casually told me the corner of my blanket was near the bassinet. So, I stopped sleeping with a blanket because there was the tiniest chance that it would enter the bassinet and cause harm. As I changed her diapers and bathed her, I would check her body over. I don’t know what I was looking for, but I needed to be able to see any chance or difference that would hint at a health issue.
Car rides were awful when I couldn’t see her. When she would have crying fits, I would worry about her breathing. Everything revolved around Delaney’s health, as much of my anxiety during pregnancy did. Not the typical hope everything is okay type, but more so, I know something is wrong, it’s a waiting game to see what’s wrong type of anxiety.
As I started therapy, my wonderful therapist and I started just talking about certain things that had recently happened. I lost my mom, then our daughter, went through six months of testing to rule out cancer for myself, then the pandemic hit, and then my father died. Well, when you lay it all out like that, there were obvious issues with loss. The root of my OCD was trying to prevent any harm to Delaney. But, as we all know, there are things that often happened that are out of our control. The OCD tells you if you do these certain things, in this certain order, then it will be okay. So, you do. For a moment, it works. For a moment I could breathe knowing she was. And then the anxiety crept in with its friend “what if”. What if I don’t hear her cry and she chokes on her vomit? What if the sheets pop off of her crib and wrap around her? What if I’m holding her and I pass out? The list was never ending. The PPOCD was a tug-of-war between the rational side of me saying these things won’t happen and can’t be prevented beyond what I was already doing, and the irrational side of me that didn’t care. Here’s what I need you to know—
If you are feeling off, or not yourself, contact your doctor. Don’t let anyone else decide if it’s normal, or if you’ll get through it, or you just need rest. Tell a medical professional how you are feeling. I have been through childbirth multiple times before without issue, but this was different. Whether it’s your first time or fifth time (also if it is, bless you) each experience is individually its own. If you’re worried or are having you do “rituals” to feel relief, contact your doctor. There is more out there than postpartum anxiety, including postpartum psychosis, which can be very serious. Your physician can offer medication, or at least contact information for those who can further help you. Wait times can be lengthy, but get on all the wait lists and in the meantime have a trusted partner or friend who you can talk to. And if the feelings turn dark and you think about harming yourself or your child, please reach out immediately to anyone you can, including the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK.
I realize that obtaining quality healthcare and support services is, unfortunately, a privilege. Copays, transportation, childcare and many other obstacles can feel stacked against people, especially mothers, but there are also free and low-cost clinics that can help. You don’t have to suffer in silence, and you don’t have to suffer alone. You and your body have moved mountains and you deserve to enjoy this time Trust your body, trust your gut, and don’t stop telling people and reaching out until you are heard and helped.
Then Life Happened 