The Birth of Hope

The Birth of Hope 

And then Hope was born. Hope Elizabeth. February 25, 2017. When she was born, all 95 percentile of her filled in a portion of my heart that I never knew was vacant. As most would agree, the birth of a baby tends to change everything. And for me, everything did change. And not just at the time of birth. Roughly five months after her birth, everything for me began to change again. 

At the end of July in 2017, I experienced an mental “episode” that landed me in a mental ward at a hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. Later on, I would come to realize that this episode was due to two known factors: the diagnosis of hypothyroidism (my thyroid numbers were off the charts... even my doctor at Mayo Clinic said it wasn’t the highest number he’s seen, but it was pretty close) and symptoms that closely align with what is called postpartum psychosis. Postpartum psychosis occurs roughly in 1 out of 1,000 births, so I doubt anyone that I know reading this would fully understand or can hardly relate. [Feel free to look it up for yourself. :-) ] Because postpartum psychosis is not a formal medical diagnosis, “bipolar disorder” was written into my medical charts, and I was treated with medicine accordingly. After round one in the mental hospital, I came away with a medicine for thyroid issues and a medicine for my altered mental state. 

Following my hospital stay, I had to follow up with a psychiatrist, who would be the one to monitor and maintain my medication moving forward. Upon our one and only meeting, my psychiatrist agreed to take me off of my mental illness medication (later we would find out it was premature and tapered off far too quickly), and in his words, he simply said, “Go get your nail done.”

Fast forward to September 2017, at this point I was only taking medication for thyroid issues, yet my mental state was still not stable and my mental illness (like all mental illnesses) did not magically resolve itself. Mental illness of any kind, if left undiagnosed or untreated, is a very frightening thing. Both for those on the “inside” (the ones experiencing it) and on the “outside” (those who observe it up front or even from a distance). Because my mental illness was still very present, I was no longer being treated/medicated for it, and my mind was still very broken, I fell into a dark place where I was admitted to the hospital for a second time under the status of “suicidal.” In looking back, my husband and I both realize that I was not truly suicidal as much as I was experiencing deep postpartum depression. I did not have any plan to take my life. I did not even remotely have a desire to take my life. I simply felt mentally unsafe in my own home and around my own family to the point that we realized I needed to be in a more controlled, “safe” place. 

Upon my second stay in the hospital, my previous diagnosis prevailed: hypothyroidism and (because postpartum depression is still not a formal, recognized, medical diagnosis) some form of bipolar disorder. This time, because the word “suicidal” was written into my medical chart, I was severely over-medicated upon leaving the hospital. Going home with 7 different prescriptions, I oddly had slightly more “hope” to make it “on the outside” (outside of the hospital and back into the real world) this time. 

I followed up with a different psychiatrist, a physician’s assistant, to be exact. She basically managed my meds for a couple of months. Time was passing, but no progress was really being made. Though my relationship with God was intact and actually (surprisingly) growing at this time, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and a fear of being stuck in the merry-go-round system of mental illness, mental illness medication, persisting mental illness, more mental illness medication, etc. and repeat. 

Around this point, I was also regularly meeting with a Christian counselor. And Jeff, Hannah, Hope, and I were living with my parents, so they could help take care of my girls (because clearly I was in no state to do so). Also, Jeff began working from home for Liberty University, so he could be more flexible in taking time off in order to run me to all of my various doctor’s appointments and counseling sessions. 

Also around this time, I met with an OBGYN in town because I was having some issues. Because of all the medication I was on, I could no longer breastfeed my baby (this happened upon leaving the hospital the first time). Also, I now had amenorrhea, which was unusual because I was no longer breastfeeding, and things should have returned to normal. Bloodwork was ordered to find the underlying cause. My prolactin level came back to be elevated. On a 1-10 scale, mine was around 293. Based on this, I was sent to have an MRI to see if I had a prolactinoma (tumor on the pituitary gland) as was suspected by my OBGYN. Results came back that I did indeed have a tumor. Finally! All of these recent health and mental issues had a cause and could be fixed with medication or a simple removal of the tumor. Only... a swift second opinion showed there was no tumor present. Through the course and confusion of everything, my prolactin number continued to climb and had skyrocketed even more to the 400s. 

What exactly was going on here? Apparently, the 7 meds given to me for my mental illness was now bleeding over and severely affecting my overall physical health.  No pituitary tumor, praise the Lord! But my numbers were still off the charts, and no one (not even the specialists) could figure out why. I was still experiencing deep depression. I was searching the Bible on a regular basis for others in the Bible who suffered from depression. And I was praying daily, sometimes literally even moment by moment, for God to step in and remove this mental illness from my life altogether.

Occurring parallel with all of this,  my OBGYN referred me to a new psychiatrist. Unlikely connection and referral, I know. But apparently, he had a personal connection... something about a friend of his knowing this doctor through a play date or something. Anyway, she came with ridiculously high recommendations. She wasn’t taking new patients, but agreed to see me based on the personal connection/referral. She’s the only specialist/doctor listed on the postpartum depression website for Jacksonville (and the entire area as far as Atlanta), and she’s known as one of the top 50 in women’s health issues in the nation! (See how God works crazy-big connections through things as simple and everyday as referrals-via-play-dates. :) ) 

So, by the overarching sovereignty and providence of God, I began to meet with Dr. Taylor. And from the first time Jeff and I met with her, we knew we were finally on the right road. Unlike previous psychiatrists who spent a whopping five minutes per appointment listing off medications and prescribing refills, she spent slightly over an hour with us upon our first visit. Asking questions, gaining insight, formulating a more accurate diagnosis (mild case of MDD [major depressive disorder]), and calculating the plan moving forward and into my utmost recovery. During that first appointment, she remarked that I wasn’t her hardest patient, but I definitely wasn’t her easiest. (She just recently asked me if she could use my whole situation as a case study for an upcoming national conference she’s speaking at in Houston.) She’s been one of the most instrumental pieces on the road to my recovery; and if I’m truly honest, she’s perhaps one of the most influential people in my life to date. 

That said, over the course of time I’ve been under her care, she’s weaned me off of all those 7 medications and replaced them with one antidepressant and one mood stabilizer (to ensure I don’t have another “episode” like the postpartum psychosis I mentioned earlier).

Later on, even after my depression had lifted, I began to experience other health issues like daily nausea/vomiting for over a month. I had an endoscopy scheduled to find the culprit of that. (It turned out that I had developed gastritis - note that it was also caused in part by my medications). Overall, I’m doing really well these days. Though still medicated, I’m now mentally stable and physically healthy. I no longer have any symptoms of depression. At all. After a season of rollercoasters, several valleys, and a complete lack of mountains, I can say that life is back to "normal." In a nutshell, I see it that God has basically given me my life and my enjoyment of my life back. 

If I had to list all the lessons I’ve learned throughout this season of my life, it would take a book’s length to do so (which is somewhat convenient because I've always loved to write and have been encouraged to write a book for quite some time now). But if I could just sum it up in just three lessons, it would be this: 

1. There is so much power in prayer. Throughout this whole entire time, God raised up a whole host of prayer warriors on my behalf. People from our Marriage Builders and Young Professionals small groups in Lynchburg. Members at Hillcrest here in Jacksonville. Close friends. Family members. People that lived close. Friends of friends. People that lived far away. People that knew me dearly, loved me deeply, and begged God desperately. People that didn't know me, but believed so hard in the power of prayer, the unity of our spiritual family, and the sheer goodness and greatness of our God. And people that would probably never, ever meet me on this side of Heaven were lifting me up daily, hourly, and as often as possible. I'm so thankful for each and every one of them. More importantly, I'm so thankful that we have a God who listens, responds, and intervenes.

2. God is THE Great Physician. One thing I failed to mention is that every doctor I saw along the way had no clue what exactly happened to me. In the course of time, I visited Baptist, Baptist Beaches, St Vincent’s, Mayo Clinic, and UFShands. The only hospital I think I didn’t go to was St Lukes. Everywhere I went, no doctor could adequately label or diagnose everything that was going on with me. Truly, neither could I. Or anyone for that matter. Even specialists were scratching their heads. While many of my symptoms had everyone puzzled and surprised, I came to acknowledge that although the questions would come, all of the answers truly lay in the realm of God. (You know, the realm where everything makes perfect sense and has already worked together for our good and His ultimate glory.) The realm that our Earthly minds can’t even begin to conceive. 

Where doctors, specialists, and every human label failed and left off, that’s where God stepped in. (He's in everything, but perhaps our recognition of Him sometimes only occurs after every avenue we have has led to dead ends.) Perhaps the reason physicians couldn’t wrap their minds around my conditions was because this was no ordinary sequence of events. This was no ordinary illness. This season did not come to me by accident. At all. I see it that this season was given to me as a strange sort of gift from the Great Physician Himself. (As most gifts, this one wasn't asked for.)

Speaking of the Great Physician, as the song goes, healing is in His hands. Sure, he may use doctors and medications and treatments, but in the overwhelming process of it all, He gives us the true remedy, the best treatment, the answer to all our questions, and that is, Himself. The Great Physician. You see, my mental illness came into my life by His sovereign plan and was caused because we live in a very broken world. But the great news is this: Not only did my illness come from His hand, but also so did/does my healing (present and future).

3. Not only do I see God in a much different angle and a deeper way now that I’ve gone through this, but I also view mental illness and those who struggle with it in a different angle and a deeper way now as well. 

Let me clarify: Mental illness is not a choice. Mental illness is not caused by the one who has it. Mental illness is not an indicator of spiritual immaturity (“you need to pray more, memorize more, read more,”etc.). Mental illness is known as the invisible illness because everything looks good on the outside surface, but inwardly the train is way off its tracks. Mental illness is also known as the silent illness because -plainly put - nobody talks about it. Especially amongst Christians and within the walls of a church building. The stigma surrounding mental illness is real, and, frankly, it’s really sad. Instead of standing-afar-off from the reality of mental illness via stigma, people should replace that stigma with love and understanding. Especially Christians. Love, we can do more readily. It’s the understanding that we most often lack. Truly, it’s very hard to understand something like this unless you’ve been through it. But this is especially true when people who’ve been through it continue to bow to the social stigma instead of boldly speaking out about their experiences. Speaking about our experiences and struggles, in any area of life, can raise awareness, heighten overall public understanding, and point to the overarching sovereignty of our good, good Father. 

With all said and done after this year of my life, I see things differently. I’ve been on both sides of mental illness, and I’ve now come to the conclusion that we can and must do better at ministering to those who struggle, daily, with mental illnesses of all shapes, forms, and kinds. 

Throughout all of this, I’ve come to appreciate more fully the people who have helped me along my mental illness journey, love more fully the God who sustained and is sustaining me throughout my life’s journey, and revel more fully in the incredible privilege I have to share my journey with the world around me, especially with those who may be struggling with something similar but haven't found their voice or simply have no words to describe it all. 

I know after processing this and organizing this into a piece of writing, I look back find it all a bit strange. I literally can not believe all that’s happened to me this past year. It’s almost like I’m writing the script to the story of someone else’s life.  Instead of wishing it all away, I choose to take a step back, realize that IT IS truly MY story, and put down the pen because I recognize that I’m not the Author of this one. I’m not even the main character. More like a supporting character waaaaay back in the background. A single person who has maybe come to this point "for such a time as this." A small pebble dropped into water whose ripple effects have no end in sight. One story told boldly and shared freely for the thousands, maybe millions, that need to be told boldly and shared freely as well.  

So here, I think, is where I should end. The abridged version of my story has now been told. Hopefully, by sharing my story, others will find boldness to do the same. And story by story, the paradigm will shift. And that, my dear friend, is the birth of hope.

White crayons and the overarching power of God

Recently, my two year old has really been into coloring. Not only does she scribble the mess out of each page, but I noticed that she also does something interesting. She uses the white crayon on regular paper just like she uses any other crayon. As I sat contemplating what the purpose of the white crayon was, I realized a spiritual lesson tucked inside of it. A white crayon blends in easily when the page is regular, but it stands out when it is on black paper. And therein lies the spiritual lesson. God’s overarching power seemingly blends into our everyday, regular lives, but it takes the dark places or the trials to make His light (white crayon) to show up the most. I wonder, what trial are you facing today? Pick up a white crayon find some black construction paper and go to town coloring. His overarching power is all around you and working within your trials. 

Labeling: the game where no one wins

Just recently, my husband and I stumbled into a newer grocery store in town called Aldi. It’s known for cheaper prices and its ripe produce. Immediately, we noticed the branding or the labeling on each product. They looked like brand names, but in reality they were knock-offs. By trial and error over the years, we’ve found that some knock-offs can be good, while others leaving you lacking. Tread carefully upon your own knock-off treasure hunt.

Oh, and we also found ripe produce there, but there’s nothing to blog about that. Just a public service announcement.

The thing I thought about as we left Aldi was the fact that people pay a high price for labeling on products. But don’t we do the same with ourselves? If we have a condition or a medical issue, we don’t say, “I have this” or “I have that.” We tend to label ourselves and said, “I am this” or “I am that.” We aren’t very kind to ourselves by labeling either. It tends to not only get in our way of getting healthy, but it leeches on to become part of our identity (when really it shouldn’t). It taxes on us, weighs us down, and ultimately, at the end of the day, we pay too high a price for the labels we live under.

Just a few thoughts for today on that topic. Next time you find yourself in Aldi or in a situation that requires labeling, just do me a favor. Make sure you aren’t paying too high a price for that label.