Morbid Compulsive Intrusive Thoughts in a Mild Case of Generalized Postpartum Anxiety Disorder

There is a special type of mental illness reserved for mothers with small infants.  Obviously, we have names and specific diagnoses for postpartum anxiety and depression disorders.  However, I think these may be on a spectrum.  For instance, I do not think that I have a full blown or diagnosable depression or anxiety disorder…but I certainly have a mild or perhaps moderate form of something diseased living in my brain.  

My concern stems mainly from the amount of time lately that I spend at 3 in the morning trying to convince myself that I a) am not necessarily destined to watch one of my children suffer a terrible childhood illness before dying or be the victim of a fatal freak accident (I certainly might have to but it’s not a sure thing) and b) that I do not have metastatic liver cancer, even though I’ve had 2 dreams and a gripping presentiment about it that were very, very real (this is incredibly compelling evidence in the wee hours of the morning) and will have to, therefore, say goodbye to my small, lovely little children before they are fully grown. 

Okay, maybe I’m not near the “normal” part of the anxiety and depression spectrum, maybe I am drifting out to sea a bit.  I remember for months after Ila was born having to talk myself down off the edge of the yawning abyss that is my fear of death.  Every night from 3-5 AM.  I couldn’t not think about the racing speed my life appears to be going at.  Nor could I stop thinking about the snuffed out candle of an ending we all face.  It’s not like I want to spend my nights this way.  (What do they call these ideas that come unbidden [with alarming frequency, I might add]?  Intrusive thoughts, I believe.  Yes, compulsive intrusive thoughts.  About death.  So, that’d be morbid compulsive intrusive thoughts?  Hmmm.  This is sounding worse and worse.)   

Well, whatever all this is, I am more prone to it after having babies.  Single, double; it doesn’t matter.  Something about having babies leaves my brain fried, strung out and overly anxious.  Probably it’s the lack of sleep.  Probably it’s some wild combination of hormones.  Probably it’s the fact that, while I love all my sweet young’uns dearly, they are quite demanding but not super exciting for the first months.  This leaves my brain free to get into all kinds of mischief – planning, worrying, imagining, wishing, hoping, organizing, detailing – while my hands are busy with infants.  Without my hands and time free, all these thoughts and plans and scenarios are crippled, sidelined, sequestered, caged, fermenting and festering in my brain.  This equals a certain amount of mental illness.   

I love the Anne Lamott quote from her journal of her son’s first year, “What I hope for the new year is that [my son] has a great ride and that I learn to stay a little bit more in the now.  I notice the other day that not only do I spend a lot of the time in the future with imaginary triumphs and catastrophes and boyfriends, or in the past with my memories, but I’m so crazy that sometimes I even go into the past and rehash things that turned out well yet might have turned out disastrously.”  I actually found myself doing this the other day, thinking about a moment when Ila was swimming that could have ended in drowning but didn’t.  Really it wasn’t anywhere near drowning, she was being watched by two adults…but not by me, and I just had a moment of concern or alarm while she was splashing around.   Still, later, I found myself thinking, what if I hadn’t asked these two people to watch her while I took a little dip myself?  What if they hadn’t been watching her?  What if she had actually had been struggling?  Then, my brain travels a little further afield and remembers that drowning accounts for a shocking number of child hood deaths – is it 25%?  Can it really be that high?  And, then further, on to a story my pediatrician told me about a child she knew that drowned at a party with about 40 adults around.  None of those people were actually watching this particular child, I suppose each thought others were.  Anyway, the child drowned there in the middle of a crowd of swimmers.  How can I know that this won’t happen to my child?! my brain screams.

Now, I am not a psychological expert, but I have begun to doubt the wisdom of our doctor telling me that story.  After she asked if we have a pool (no) and are aware that drowning is a common and very preventable way many children die (yes), she could have left it at that.  Why offer the gruesome details?  That story has haunted me now for about 2 and ½ years.  Is it doing more harm than good?  I am not sure, but it likes to sneak in and grip me when my defenses are down.  Or when I’m not thinking about how I am already probably dying of liver cancer and that sometimes dreams do portend real trouble.  I mean, outside of Shakespeare and Hollywood.  I could actually be dying and my subconscious is sending signals via dreams that something is wrong.  Never mind my deep and abiding love of empirical proof and scientific evidence.  This could happen.  I'm just saying, if idle hands do the devil’s work, then idle minds must get into even more trouble.