TRUE STORIES

STORY OF JANE

My name is Jane and I'm 36 years old. I have a husband (of 15 years) and 2 boys (ages 6 and 9). I'm college educated and have worked in the past as a computer programmer/analyst although most currently I'm a stay-at-home parent.

My depression started at puberty but I didn't get any treatment for it till much later. At the age of 27 I gave birth to triplets at 25 weeks gestation. My daughters died at 2 days and 15 days of age. My son spent 3 months in the NICU before coming home on oxygen and monitors. After the deaths of my daughters my OB was concerned and insisted that I seek counseling for support. The first counselor I went to only wanted to talk about my living child. So that didn't work. I wasn't one who believed much about counseling anyways so decided to go it on my own. That lasted a couple months until, as luck would have it, someone recommended a counselor who specialized in grief and loss. I truly believe if it weren't for her I would probably be dead by now. Six months after the deaths of my daughters my Mom became sick and died. I was finally starting to recover from my babies and then this happened. I didn't think I could go any lower but I did. I look back on that time and don't know how I survived it. My support system was non-existent. My dh was in his own pain, and he's an alcoholic so he'd just disappear to the bar. I'm trying to take care of a medically fragile child and deal with all the emotional trauma with the sleep deprivation of a new parent. I remember diapering my son only to realize I still had the clean diaper in my hand! I was so tired I rediapered him in the dirty diaper! That's what being up every 2 hours around the clock will do for you.

I've continued in counseling (and on and off meds) over the last 9 years. I've had another child. Finally, about a year ago my husband quit drinking (after I hired a divorce attorney and told him I couldn't take it any more).

My father died a little over a year ago. I took care of him during his hospice period (we brought him home). It was a horrible horrible thing to go through. To have your strapping Dad begging you to help him die quicker. I'm sure it was horrible for him to have to let me help him go pee. He told me that this was "harder on you than it is on me". I'm glad I had the time with him and was able to support him but it's also been traumatic. I'll have those memories for the rest of my life.

I'm diagnosed as dysthmic depression (probably spelled wrong) with major depressive spells and PTSD. I get frustrated with myself that I'm not "all better". But in reality I think most people would either have killed themselves or been institutionalized with the same trials I've faced. So surviving is my "all better" I guess. The fact that I get up every day and carry on the life of a "normal" person is pretty amazing considering the cards I've been dealt. I try to remember that so I don't beat myself up.

Jane