Adjustment Disorder "Stress Response Syndrome"

My frustration with watching the kids at home 12+ hours a day and being unemployed since June had taken a toll on me. The kids were going to school part and full-time over the summer and up until October 31. For the last month and a half, I had both kids home all day. My temper, patience, and boredom were reaching an all time high. Having a second was like having 10 to us. When people talk about wanting kids or a second, inside I yell, "Don't do it!"  I know it is just a matter of perspective and capability. For Joe and I, we struggle regularly to survive and work cohesively.

Everyday is a battle. What to eat, which bathroom to potty in, stool or no stool, lights and fan, door open or closed, what shirt/pants/socks/shoes, what cup to drink out of, brush teeth or not, which paste/brush to use, what snacks/lunch/dinner to eat, which car seat to sit in, water or milk to drink, which movie to watch, bath or not, bubbles or not, which toys to play/share, which route to walk in the stroller, which route to drive in the van, why why why? 

Bribing, coaxing, distracting, manipulating. Nothing is easy.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, December 16th and 17th, 2014, I reached a breaking point. My suicidal thoughts resurfaced. I felt so low; hopeless. I didn't see any way out of my situation. The kids were going to be there the next day and the next day. I was getting angrier with each passing day. I tried to tell Joe I can't do this anymore. I'd tell him, "I yelled and spanked a lot today." 

I sent him a text on Dec. 17th: "I wish I were dead everyday." He responded about it being Satan and don't listen to his lies. I thought about suicide all day. I had my plan. From previous counseling, I knew if you had a plan it is serious. I asked him about the kids going back to school and he said we would talk about it later that night. Later in the day, I sent him another text: "I won't be home to watch the kids tomorrow. I am checking myself into the hospital tonight." 

I had a dark fog hanging over my head all day. I just sat and stared. When Joe got home from work, he pulled me aside in our bedroom and we talked. He asked me what I was planning on doing. My plan was to go to the emergency room that night, tell them what was going on, and then let them decide what to do with me. (I was hoping to stay in the hospital to be removed from my situation at home for a while.) Joe and I talked and cried. He decided to take the kids to church while I packed a bag and left. I told him I need his support and I needed to know that he would take good care of the children however long it would be. I helped him get the kids ready for church and they left. 

I packed socks, make-up, books, a magazine, pajama pants, ear plugs, phone charger and ear buds, hair brush, and tooth brush. I sat in the BMH waiting room for about 10 minutes after filling out the paperwork. Once in the triage room, I had blood drawn and gave a urine sample. A counselor from the mental health unit came to get my medical history and current status. She gave me the option of getting voluntary inpatient treatment, which meant admitting myself to the mental health unit for a 72 hours (or more). She said some people stay longer and some are released sooner. The other option was outpatient services where I would be responsible for getting appointments and seeing a counselor myself. I signed the papers to check into the inpatient facility. A security guard wheeled me to the second floor. My vitals were taken at the nurses station, all my bags were taken, and I was given blue scrubs to change into. I had to choose my dinners for a week and then sign more papers in another room. 

I was asked if I need medication to get to sleep. I said, "I don't normally," After lying in bed for a couple hours (now midnight), I went back to the nurses station for a sleep aid. I also had a roommate who was just admitted a few minutes before me. I was given a couple towels, some lotion, soap, toothbrush, tooth paste, antiperspirant, and mouthwash. There were no doors on the bathrooms. I was given my Bible, devotional, and Sudoku book from my overnight bag, but that was it. Everything else was locked up. When I told Joe about it, he said, "If you wanted a vacation, we could have gone to a Holiday Inn." 

There was a community phone in the hall that we could use between the hours of 7:00am-11:00pm. We could have visitors between 6:00-8:00pm. We were expected to socialize in the common areas like the T.V. room and dining hall. We were discouraged from sitting in our rooms. There were group meetings with nurses and an occupational therapist where we set goals for the day, played games, made breakfast, and had physical exercise. One day we walked laps up and down the halls while listening to Bob Marley. It felt so silly, but I understand why music and movement is encouraged with the patients. There was a balcony that was fenced completely off for potential jumpers, I guess. My goal was to go outside on the balcony to get fresh air. I didn't get to.

Some of the patients you could tell they were there with severe mental illnesses. They weren't allowed to eat with the group or participate in group meetings. They stayed in their rooms and peeked around door ways or isolated themselves with coloring and hoarding magazines. There were 11 patients in the ward. Some were there for anxiety. One guy was a recruit in boot camp. Another was a professional woman was grieving from deaths of family members. We were the "normal" people just going through a "valley" in this journey of life. 

Joseph visited me on my second evening there and I talked to him a couple times a day on the phone. He was home with the kids by himself. He took off from work. He said the kids could tell something was up because they were acting somber. I spoke to Lincoln on the phone and he was really polite and sweet. When I thought about missing Christmas with them, I would get emotional. I was hoping that I would get some help and then be discharged before Christmas. I'd count the days in my head and on my fingers seeing what my time frame was. 

I had to give my medical history to a Physician's Assistant, a social worker, a counselor, and a doctor. After talking with a doctor on the "3rd day", he diagnosed me with an adjustment disorder AKA "stress response syndrome". He said my insurance wasn't going to cover an extended stay because the hospital was out of network so they were considering transferring me to Savannah or Charleston. I asked if I could just start outpatient services instead. He left the room and talked to the social worker and they both felt comfortable discharging me with medication and counseling services. Within an hour I was showering, packing my bags, and signing paperwork. Joseph and I met with the social worker as we went over discharge procedures. I had a counseling appointment with a psychiatrist a few days after Christmas.  

After leaving, I missed the people I met at the ward. I thought about them often wondering if that recruit was discharged from the Marine Corps or was he made to finish his last 3 weeks of training. I thought about the mom, my roommate, who was the same age as me, if she found a medication that helped her sleep. 

I started taking an anti-depressant in the hospital. I was told it would take about 4-6 weeks to get the full effects. A counselor would monitor the side effects and see if it was working for me. Antidepressants can have reverse effects so that is why it is important to be monitored. 

I'm not a big medication person. I try to let the fever do its thing or use saline for colds. No pain relievers for births, maybe essential oils if necessary. I've been prescribed anti-depressants twice, but never filled the prescriptions. I used running as therapy instead. In the emergency room, the counselor said I had to be willing to take medication if I admitted myself to the unit. I agreed because I was at the end of my rope and wanted help. 

The type of stress that can trigger an adjustment disorder/stress response syndrome varies depending on the person, but can include:

• Ending of a relationship or marriage
• Losing or changing job
• Death of a loved one
• Developing a serious illness (yourself or a loved one)
• Being a victim of a crime
• Having an accident
• Undergoing a major life change (such as getting married, having a baby, or retiring from a job)
• Living through a disaster, such as a fire, flood, or hurricane

When I found out my diagnosis, it made sense. The times in my life when I have had major depression, it was in the midst of a major life event. 

2006-2007  Boyfriend and I broke up (went to counseling for 5 months)

2009            Got married and moved into a new house

2011            Had a cesarean (postpartum depression)

2013            Had a baby (postpartum depression)
                   Moved to Beaufort
                   Started a new teaching job

2014            Resigned from teaching, unemployed for 5 months, stay-at-home mom

Honestly, I feel like a completely different person since leaving the hospital. Since then I have been on medication (Zoloft) for 1 month now and I have been to 3 counseling sessions. My fourth one is scheduled for next week. The kids were put back in school full-time so I could job search full-time. A couple weeks after leaving the hospital, I accepted a part-time position doing exactly what I had been searching. My stress and anxiety is so minimal. When I am in stressful situations (for me it is both kids crying), my mind used to go immediately to "I hate my life, I wish I were dead." With the medication, it is like there is a block on feeling low. I've tried to be negative, but I have a hard time getting there. Hard to explain. My personality hasn't changed. I am still quiet, introverted and reflective. It's not like I became a loud, hyper person. Now in stressful situations I feel calmer, my heart doesn't start racing, I don't yell, and my patience has increased. I feel more thankful, happier, more affectionate, and motivated! Instead of walking by a sink full or dishes or pile of laundry, I would be more likely to clean it up instead of leaving it to sit. My ambition went away and now it is back! I would definitely say I am a happier mom and wife.

Of course, sharing all this is embarrassing and transparent. Who wants people to know that they have problems or that something is wrong with them? Mental illness is real. My great aunt killed herself, my grandfather is a hoarder, and my grandma had social anxiety. It doesn't matter if you are a Christian or not. I've had a chemical imbalance for years that caused me not to be able to function to my fullest potential as a wife, mother, or employee. I know there are mothers out there that can relate to what I've typed. You aren't alone. You aren't a bad mommy. Tell someone and get some help. It was the best decision I made!
R