I think it is time for me to talk about Post Traumatic Stress
I've been considering writing this for awhile, and I think I am finally ready to do so. This is probably going to be pretty stream of conscious, because it is pretty difficult for me to discuss
One disclaimer right up front: My son is a healthy four year old with no lingering problems.
Where to start? I never really understood PTS or how it can hit home. I'm not a soldier nor a cop nor someone who deals with horrific scenes on a daily basis. I always heard about what PTS could do, but it is something completely different to experience for yourself.
Four years ago, my wife and I brought home our beautiful baby boy from the hospital. He was three days old.
That night, our first as new parents away from the hospital, my wife was breast feeding our son who was just bawling up a storm. I was right there watching, amazed at this new life in our presence.
And then, instantly, he stopped crying. His arms went limp. His skin turned blue and then purple. My wife realized something was wrong before I did and started screaming his name. Reality hit me, and I took my son from my wife's hands and started giving CPR. As an aside, for God's sake, take a baby first aid class before your child is born. It is the only reason my son is still here.
After a few breaths, my son gasped, started crying again and began moving. All in all, the entire episode from beginning to end lasted, at most, 30 seconds.
I handed my son back to my wife, grabbed my phone and immediately called 911. Within 5 minutes, two ambulances, a police cruiser and a fire engine were at my house (I later found out that 911 had an all out response policy for infant calls).
The next few hours are a blur of ambulances, two hospitals, my mother showing up, holding my wife...
At the second hospital, the doctor told us they needed to keep my son for a week to monitor him and fill him with some antibiotics in case something was wrong (He still has the dead vein in his arm where they created an entry point for the various cocktails).
I sent my wife home with my mother and, for the next week I stayed in the hospital with my newborn son. My two real memories from this time were a visit by two of the Buffalo Sabres and the fact that my son's room was very popular with the nurses. When I asked one why, they said they rarely see a healthy newborn on that floor and they all wanted to experience him. It turned out my son was placed in the critical care/terminal ward for newborns.
After a week, the doctor came to talk, and told me my son was fine. She said newborns are still figuring out how to work outside the womb and his system simply crashed. My CPR rebooted him. I nodded, said thanks and finally broke down. I kept up normalcy for a week, and as soon as I was told my son would live, it all crashed down.
I can't describe what happened, not really. I could barely function for six months. I would see my son and just start crying horrible jags. I would sometimes cry for no reason at all. I was physically unable to talk about what happened. I lost 25 pounds from sheer stress. I didn't sleep.
And then I lost my job.
My boss knew what happened, but it didn't matter. I took unscheduled days off, I would have to excuse myself from meetings to avoid losing it in front of coworkers, and I took long bathroom breaks when I fell apart. When my son was about 6 months old, my boss asked me if he was OK. I said he was fine and thanks for asking. The next day she let me go.
Things slowly got better after that. I found a better job and my son blossomed. I healed, as did my wife. But my PTS never fully went away.
My son is now four, and I am a fully active 39 year old. But there are things that still trigger crying fits or feelings of helplessness. I am unable to read any news story about small children suffering or dying or even just being sick. Even the positive ones, like Robert Downey Jr inviting the young boy with cystic fibrosis to the Civil War premier, will put me into a bathroom stall for five or ten minutes. I immediately shutdown conversations with people that veer to those same subjects. Occasionally, I think about my son and I flashback to that horrible night.
I am thankful for every day I have with my family now, and I know how lucky we are. Very few people would suspect anything was lurking beyond the surface.
So why am I writing this? Because I need to in order to finish healing. I need to be able to talk about what happened and what it did to me. And I am choosing DU to do this because this community has been part of my life for over a decade. I cried the entire time typing this, but it is time.
If you think you're suffering PTS; you're not alone, you're not. Ask for help and understand it will take a long time to feel right again.
If you are friends or related to someone who has gone through something traumatic, make sure you are there if they need you, be sensitive on what you talk about and, really, just be there. You never know when they're going to need a helping hand.
Thank you, DU.
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I can't finish reading your post, tears in my eyes. My daughter gave birth to a healthy 8 lb+girl October 1, I was there are the time as I was when her son was born 21 months ago and my younger daughter's son 1 1/2 years ago. I can SO feel your pain (tho no one really can,) and I recall a somewhat similar situation with my older daughter, when she was less than a year old and stopped breathing.
edit: We later learned my daughter had a condition, will try to recall the name, and as an adult she and her husband know how to handle it. It scared the heck out of me and my husband at the time, some 30 years ago. I recall the helpless feeling. Breathing resumes naturally, but when one doesn't know, it's horrendous, as you've said.
Holy cows, the emotions and fears and relief are with me NOW.
I'll be back.
What an extraordinary sharing. Like you and a few others here, no doubt, I cried as I read it.
Your sharing comes at a rather intense time for me, just recently discovering my own PTSD, triggered by the loss of my stillborn son 25 years ago now. I consider myself fairly self-aware, but I just excavated a painful pattern recently -- I mean, like last week -- given seemingly nonstop crises; a painful pattern of guilt and feeling like a failure because my child died.
It was a perfect pregnancy and, rationally, I know I did nothing wrong. Still, my child died.
A week ago in the midst of yet another crisis involving yet another living being I'm responsible for, I broke down and allowed myself to dive into the darkness -- with the intention of getting to the other side. I was stunned to realize how much that traumatic event of Joshua's death has impacted every single relationship -- from my daughter, to pet babies, to romantic partners.
I have never hidden from the grief and have always spoken of it openly. It will never go away. And have never been one to fear my own pain or others', but the PTSD aspect I faced head on for the first time last week was a stunning realization.
Thank you so much for sharing your story. Thank goodness you, your son and your wife came through that experience. Still, the PTSD of the trauma is real, and you are so wise to see it and share it as part of your healing process. I'm feeling led to do the same soon.
I posted something yesterday you may find interesting. It is one of the most powerful things I have ever read:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/10027292022
Huge hugs to you and yours
Threats of terrifying ass-kickings aside 
I wish you and your family all the best. It was so brave of you to share your story with us. Thank you!
I've been a therapist a long time. What you experienced was understandable and normal and I know how excruciating it was. Helping is slow and it doesn't mean you "get over it", it means you incorporate it and, with luck, it gives you something special with which you can help others. And I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
Last edited Fri Oct 30, 2015, 02:02 PM - Edit history (2)
http://yourhhrsnews.com/life-with-post-traumatic-stress/
rocktivity
It was a hard thing to do but I am sure it will benefit your healing process. I have it too, had it all of my adult life and most of my childhood and it can be terribly debilitating. It's hard to navigate the world of mostly normal folks when they don't know what you're going through.
I am glad that your son was okay within a short time and that you are in the healing process and are making gains along the way. It can be really tough at times.
Cheers to you and yours.
your heart to us...May all power be with you and your family...
you can see the world, and try to heal a tiny bit more each day. You are a hero to them even before they fully understand how you saved their life on that horrible day.
a traumatic event completely unrelated to war or a police action.
I am so happy that all worked out well for your son.
My experience with PTSD resulted from a house fire.
In 2009--two years after the fire--I wrote the following...and I'm replacing names with xxxx (my youngest son), yyyy (my oldest son), zzzz (my husband)
after my hip replacement and recovery was going well. xxxx had just started his senior year in high school. yyyy had put a deposit on a townhouse under construction not far from his job. zzzz was busy
with his practice and clinics. Construction was stalled on our house in Panama and all the furniture
for it had been in storage ready to be shipped for 10 months.
Events of extreme stress really do happen in slow motion. Although the fire department arrived
within five minutes of being called and had the hoses run from the pumper truck into the house within another five minutes, the fire that started on the deck had spread inside the house. It was an inferno
in minutes. The fire fighters had to back out of the house because of the heat and go defensive
to keep it from spreading on our dry, drought ridden wooded hillside. It all happened so fast--but it
seemed like an eternity. I sat on the steps at the top of our driveway and watched everything we owned go up in flames. Photos, videos of the kids growing up, financial records, college diplomas, hundreds of books, everything I'd ever written, artwork, crystal, wedding presents, mementos from childhood, yearbooks, jewelry, clothes...all gone.
It took almost two hours for the fire department to get the blaze under control. There were 59 fire fighters from several counties involved. They are heroes. One was injured by a falling beam. They kept the house from burning to the ground. Later we would be able to salvage a few things and be astonished to find some photo albums not completely burned; a bag of clothes for the cleaners not even sooty hanging in a closet; collectible glass plates and crystal in a kitchen cupboard
not destroyed; and miracle of miracles, a file of receipts for furniture that would document for the insurance company cost of contents.
Thank goodness for neighbors who took us in. The Red Cross came and gave us a credit card. I had grabbed my purse on the way out the front door, but zzzz had run out without his wallet, his car keys, or even his glasses. We didn't have clothes or shoes. Neighbors loaned us things to wear; a fireman gave zzzz a pair of extra athletic shoes on the truck. We spent four days with neighbors three houses away--all a blur. Neighbors we'd never met offered us their home while they were away for two weeks, including our dog and two cats. Tanya (our dog) came out of the house with us; the cats were always put out at night. Simba came back the night after the fire and Mouse returned the next morning. By the time we'd moved into the vacationing neighbor's home a claims rep from the insurance company arrived. I spent days with her reviewing everything in every room of the house.
Within two weeks we moved again, this time into a rental house. I called the storage company and told
them to bring everything intended for Panama to the rental. One friend said I'd had a house in a box
and it was true, because when you're planning to furnish a two bedroom home on a remote island in
Central America, you ship EVERYTHING.
Then the fighting started. The insurance company tried to buy us off for 2/3 of our insured amount
to replace the house. We hired a public adjuster to fight on our behalf. Thanks to our salvaged
photos, the furniture receipts and my memory, the insurance company didn't dispute the cost of contents. The lender refused to adjust our loan payments after they received the first insurance check
and then ignored us. They ignored phone calls and letters. They ignored our attorney. Only after
I filed a complaint with the NC Commissioner of Banks did they step up and do the right thing--six months after the fire. Eventually, the insurance company settled and we were able to pay off the
mortgage but we had to come up with out of pocket money to pay for demolition of the house.
All this was going on while xxxx was making college applications. zzzz was helping him apply for scholarships. Four months after the fire, yyyy called one morning and he'd been laid off. His townhouse
was due to close in less than 60 days. I spent time each day e-mailing him job leads I'd find on-line or in the newspaper. At the end of January zzzz had his right hip replaced. Within six weeks from being laid off, yyyy started a new job; he closed on his townhouse two weeks later. I helped him move.
zzzz and I decided to buy a small house on the same street where our house had burned down.
We drew up plans to add on/remodel, hired a contractor and started the project. Construction
never goes according to plan and this was no different. The place was supposed to be finished
for us to move in mid-September when our lease on the rental house was up. The builder kept promising me it would be done. We gave notice on the rental house, hired movers, packed up
and moved in 13 months after the fire: the kitchen wasn't finished, the laundry room wasn't finished, the master bathroom wasn't finished, the painting/staining wasn't finished, the deck was without railings...what a mess. It was three more months before we finally got everything done-or gave up.
During the summer before we moved we had to put our beloved Tanya to sleep; we had rescued her from the animal shelter in Lincoln and believed her to be about 14. It made it harder to say when
telling the story of the fire, "at least we all--including the pets-- survived." Tanya hated fires; whenever
we had one in the fireplace she would get up and go into another room.
Two years later and I can still see the flames when I close my eyes. I panic when I smell fire.
This house doesn't have a fireplace and I don't miss one. zzzz wants to buy another barbecue
and I don't want him to do it. (We think the fire started from a barbecue we'd had on Sunday night; I spotted fire outside our bedroom window 36 hours later at 4:30 a.m. on Tuesday.)
So, it's been eight years now since the fire. I still have nightmares about it. My heart still races when I smell smoke or
hear the sound of a smoke alarm beeping. Strange noises make me tense up and I will walk through the house to make sure that a fire hasn't started somewhere. We did end up rebuilding on our lot and moved in to the new house in 2011. This house does have a wood burning fireplace (I couldn't convince my husband to go with gas) but it is rarely used because I get so anxious when my husband makes a fire.
It's not an easy thing to adjust after a traumatic event. It's really helpful, though, to be aware of triggers that will bring it all
back to you. I spent a fortune on massage therapy in the first couple of years after the fire. Learning to take some deep breaths
and relax your large muscle groups will help.
Thanks for sharing your story, and please accept a cyberhug from me.
I have PTSD and ADD. Until about five years ago, that was all compounded with Major Depressive Disorder.
The interesting thing about my PTSD is that it went untreated and even unrecognized for 30 years, as no mental health professional ever bothered to suggest to me that I may be suffering from it in addition to the depression.
One partial reason for the misdiagnosis is that depression shows up, symptom-wise, VERY similarly to PTSD. In fact, I read a decade ago that when scientists compared the top ten symptoms of PTSD with the top ten symptoms of depression, they found that EIGHT out of ten symptoms appeared on both lists! The two mental illnesses have that much in common that they are, in fact, frequently misdiagnosed as each-other.
I learned long ago that the general public has horrible (and mostly willful) ignorance about depression. They just think that means you have a bad attitude. But when you say that you have PTSD, people will ALWAYS ask the magical question, "Oh, are you a VET?" (IF you happen to be a Vet, that is all they need to know, you have an automatic get-out-of-jail-free card.) If you happen to be a conscientious objector? A peace-loving person who was disowned by both his parents when they discovered that he was gay? Who ended up homeless off and on for four years because holding down a job for 20 thankless years, sometimes two or three jobs at a time, just to survive, with THREE FUCKING MENTAL ILLNESSES was a little more than even he could handle? No, if you're not a VET, they don't give a shit about you. And they will then inevitably ask you the worst possible question to ask someone with PTSD, "How did you get PTSD then, if you're not a Veteran?" (And no, the correct response is not, "Fuck off and die, you ignorant scum!"
I'm okay for now. I survive. With housing assistance, Social Security and Medicare, that is. I have a decent therapist (finally, after years of searching for one). But I'm tired of defending my character from judgmental ass-hats who have no clue what they are talking about and who assume that mental illness is always a character defect. And to this day, I have yet to make in my 50+ years of wandering the planet, a single friend who has wanted to hear my story. Not. A. God. Damned. One. People just generally don't care enough. They have their own problems and don't wish to know yours. I wish I could say I believe that they are better off not knowing....
K&R
