Popping Pills
I recently finished reading Opening Skinner's Box. It was one of the most enjoyable and thought-provoking reads I've had in a while (not that that says much since it's been a while since I've read but I am restarting, even if ten pages a night). There's been a lot of controversy over this book. There are articles on whether the author made stuff up or misquoted some of the psychiatrists she spoke with. Regardless, it's an interesting read and I would recommend it.
The book talks about ten experiments the author claims are the greatest experiments of the twentieth century. One of these experiments is about psychiatric wards. I will summarize very quickly and apologize if this is not clear. A researcher got eight of his friends to go to prestigious and public psychiatric clinics and they were to say that they heard a voice that said "thud" and see if they would be admitted. All other details they gave were to be 100% accurate and once inside, they were to act completely normal. All the patients were admitted and spent from 9 to 53 days at the wards. This was to prove that psychiatrists don't recognize sane people.
This experiment caused a lot controversy and pissed many people off. One pyschiatrist claimed that such an experiment would never work today. So the author decided to try it out. Just like the original nine, she didn't shower or brush her teeth for a week and then went in and said she heard a "thud." Partly due to the experiment I explained above patients are never admitted anymore unless they are a danger to others or to themselves. As such, the author was not admitted anywhere but she was diagnosed in all places as a schizophrenic or some other equally serious disease and she was prescribed over 50 pills in total. All this after a ten to fifteen minute diagnostic solely based on her hearing "thud."
Reading that gave me the chills. For some reason, right around the pregnancy I became very anti-medication. I am not saying there aren't legitimate times that call for pills that are tremendously helpful and necessary. But I find that in our society, today, we over-medicate. Most of the medications have strong side effects that then reequire other medication. Fact is, medicine rarely works long term. Your immune system adjusts and you need to up the dosage or change pills. All you're doing is intrdocuing a lot of foregin, not well tested stuff into your body for short term relief (not that it isn't really needed at times). This coming from someone who took Vioxx for almost two years. So I wasn't always such a pill-hater. But now I am. And reading the author's experience only made me more sure that doctors are too quick to try to solve stuff with pills, especially if they don't really know what's wrong with you.
When David was six weeks old I thought I might have thrush and called my pediatrician. The nurse was going to write me a 21-day prescription over the phone. Without even seeing me and making sure I did have thrush. I told her that I wanted to see someone and be sure. She gave me an appointment and lo and behold it turned out not to be thrush. If I weren't so adamant, I would have been taking unnecessary medicine (not to mention giving it to David through my milk) for three weeks.
How scary is that?
ps: For those of you who've been following the no-sleep saga, things have improved slightly. David now wakes up three times a night, around every three to four hours. I would be okay with twice a night and am praying that it's coming soon. Some of my sanity is already coming back and I am really glad. Thanks for listening and being there.
You're So Fucking Perfect
There's an episode of Desperate Housewives (yes, I watch that show but I watch everything on TV so it doesn't mean anything) where one of the moms finally comes face to face with the ADD medication she's been taking to keep up with her sons and she has a nervous breakdown. She's sitting in the middle of this soccer field when her friends find her. As she shares with them how horrible she feels about the kind of mom she is, they each tell her their storeis of the hard times they endured with their children and the mistakes they made. She then asks her friends why they never told her this stuff before and they tell her that no one likes to look like they aren't on top of things. The woman then tells her friends that they need to share those moments, that's what friendship is about.
I need some of that lately. I am tired of everyone around me being so fucking perfect. Their kids are wonderful. They take all their naps on time and nice and long. They sleep through the night. They eat the perfect ten to fifteen minutes on each side and latch off when done. They burp on cue. They roll over, stand up, sit up, reach out, grab or whatever else they're supposed to do by that developmental age.
Either everyone's baby is perfect or they're fucking lying.
I don't understand the value of keeping your struggles to yourself. It makes it such that we suffer alone and make everyone else look and feel like they are the only failures in the world. What's so fucking wrong with the truth? I'll go first:
My son's been on some sort of strike lately. He whines more often than he ever did. He really struggles to take naps and several times a week, we get in the car and drive around just so he can get some sleep during the day. He's been eating so much lately that I feel like both my breasts are empty all the time. Last night, I finally took him to bed with me because he's been waking up every 90minutes for the last week and I couldn't take it anymore. In our bed, he slept a solid five hours before waking up for a meal. He doesn't roll over yet (though he did once but I think it was probably an accident). He reaches out sometimes but won't grab stuff unless we put it in his hands. There are times in the day when I'd be willing to pay him a thousand dollars for him to sleep for one hour so that he can be better rested. Lately, almost daily I question my ability to do right by him. If I can't get him to sleep, what hope do I have of doing anything else?
I don't want to hear advice. I am capable of spinning all this another way. I can tell you he smiles all the time and his smiles are wide and all consuming. I can tell you he's in the 50th percentile of all his numbers. I can tell you he's been gaining weight consistently and well. I can tell you he's been perfectly healthy since the day he was born. I can tell you he's the most beautiful baby in the world. All of that would be 100% true.
But so is the other part. And I don't see why it's important to hide it. I feel like if I shared my struggles, it might help another mom who's also struggling. I remember when I was pregnant and hurt so much, I hated the fact that others didn't tell me how difficult it could be. That lasted only nine months. This is much longer. This is too long to be acting. Is it really that important to look good? What's the point of friends if not to share the rough times and to make others feel less lonely in their misery?
Month Three
A year ago this time, I wasn't pregnant. Or at least I didn't know it.
A year ago this time, I quit drinking diet coke and started going to yoga more regularly.
A year ago this time, I was trying to have a baby.
David was conceived sometime in the month of May. Last year, this time, he was just a concept and now he's a three-month old boy who has big blue eyes.
It seems like such little time has passed since he's been born and at the same time I can't imagine life without him. Having a baby has been a trying experience in so many ways. In the last week, he hasn't slept longer than a three-hour stretch day or night and he seems to only be able to take a nap that last longer than twenty minutes if he's in the car or attached to my breast. He eats in small bits and likes to bit or wiggle around. Two nights ago, he pooped twice in the middle of the night and three times in a row at six in the morning. He pooped right as I was changing him, all over my hand. Last night, he peed himself three times and I had to change him three times, which meant he woke up completely and it took me an hour to wind him down back to sleep. I haven't been able to do anything that takes more than thirty minutes in the last three months. I have washed my pajamas and daily clothes at least thirty times to clean the spit ups. I can't even count the number of laundry loads we washed of David's clothes. I have books I want to read. Projects I want to complete. I want to update my site more. I want to take photos. I want to keep better track of David's first months. But none of that is happenning. All I do is feed and play with David and try to put him to sleep.
The same three months have brought the biggest joys of my life. I know it's cliche but he really did change my life and he really is the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I don't mean that the rest of my life doesn't matter and I don't think I would like to give up who I am. But each time I look into David's smiling face and his shiny eyes, I can't believe he came out of me. Jake and I made this little man. This little, happy man. And no other accomplishment in our lives will ever compare to that.
Happy three-months little boy.
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