From Michele: In 2014, CBS found that 12 million Americans were misdiagnosed each year. And to be completely honest, I believe it. Given the limited amount of time that each doctor has with each patient, how often doctors are overworked, how highly specialized each doctor is, and insurance guidelines for testing…it’s understandable why it happens in the world. But with that being said, it’s something that we can improve. To put the health back into healthcare so that many including Maria, don’t have to be misdiagnosed.
So today, I’m sharing Maria’s story of what it’s really like being misdiagnosed with postpartum depression and how important it is to be your own best advocate. By doing so, she found what the true diagnosis was and took her own health into her hands.
I had just delivered my second son via C-section. Unlike my first child’s birth, this one felt very different. Although everything went as smooth as could be, I felt bad, sick and like something was very wrong. The doctors, however, said mom and baby were “healthy and good to go.”
A few days later I was back in the ER with sky high blood pressure. Still, they sent me home… blaming hormones.
Days turned into weeks and still, I felt much different than when I had my first son. I felt uncomfortable, ill at ease, very nervous and sick. I was dizzy, shaky and weak. I had severe stomach pain, restless legs, heart palpitations and many other terrifying symptoms I couldn’t control. My hormones were raging and I was in a constant panic. The doctors ordered test after test and ALL came back normal.
After what seemed like endless testing, one suggested that I see a psychiatrist for postpartum depression.
I felt sick, frail and I was convinced that I was failing at being a mother. I cried in the shower, not because I was sad but because I was scared. Not only was I scared, but I was angry as well.
I wondered…
How I could be so sick and yet have no illness?
How could I have postpartum depression?
I didn’t feel depressed and I didn’t feel disconnected from my children.
I buckled under the fear and was convinced in my heart that postpartum depression was not it. But in spite of it, I sought out help. The psychiatrist listened to me talk for about 7 minutes.
During this time, I explained my story and symptoms.
His response… a diagnosis of postpartum depression/anxiety disorder. So he wrote me two scripts and sent me away.
But before he did, I interjected with many questions…
If I’m depressed why am I not lying in bed crying all day?
If I’m depressed how am I still functioning?
Truth be told, I didn’t want to hurt my kids or myself . I didn’t roll over and quit. I was fighting to get better, fighting for my kids to have their mother back. I just wanted to have a clear-cut answer of what was wrong with me.
But in spite of my questions and my perseverance, he just looked at me and smiled. To him, I had a clear cut case of postpartum anxiety with depression. To him, my feelings were completely normal. So with his reasoning, he told me that I’d feel better if I just take the pills.
And so I did.
But after a few days of treatment, every symptom I had was intensified and I was getting worse. I was barely able to play with my toddler and the fear I had was tremendous, resulting in panic attacks. The struggle inside of me was so loud, it was deafening.
I felt as though I was destroying my children.
At this point in time, something inside of me snapped. I told myself that “this will not be the way my story ends.” My instincts were telling me that my diagnosis was wrong. So I began researching my original symptoms vigorously. I compiled a list of ten ailments to be tested for that could be a match. And I went to my family doctor to be tested.
Even though my family doctor at that time assured me I was depressed and anxious, I made him test me anyways. I would not allow my children to remember their mother as a quitter. I was a fighter.
One week later a phone call from the doctor changed everything. “You have tested positive for Celiac disease. Would you like to make a follow up appointment?”
It took about 18 months before I felt really good again. The road to recovery included a complete dietary overhaul, an excruciating anti-depressant withdrawal and a ton of self-work. The process was grueling but I would not change what happened. My boys got their mom back, in my humble opinion, a better mom than before. I learned so much about myself and I found strength I never knew I had. This chapter of my life instilled in me a new, better way of thinking, led me to a new, bigger purpose and has made me a better me.
Maria
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