One Shrink, Two Shrink, Three Shrink, Four...

There is a 7-month wait to see a psychiatrist in this province. And I have three psychiatrists.

In 2001, I was brought to a downtown hospital to undergo a "difficult patient assessment". There were 21 psychiatrists sitting on creaky metal chairs placed in a circle in a salmon-coloured room. Most of them were middle-aged white men. My father came with me and stayed in the room until I asked him to leave the room so that I could speak freely about my illness. The purpose of the visit was to see whether any of the 21 psychiatrists had new ideas about how to treat me, as I'd been treated for 4 years without any improvement and nobody knew what to do with me anymore. I had been on almost every type of anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic, anti-epileptic (which also serves as a mood stabilizer). I had received almost 4 years of on-and-off electro-convulsive therapy. I had been locked up in isolation. The psych ward was more of a home to me than any other I'd ever lived in.

Out of that three-hour assessment, I walked away with two new psychiatrists - one to focus on medication and one to focus on talk therapy. I had major psychosis and several other symptoms of schizophrenia, so the talk therapist that took me on specialized in schizophrenia. I don't know whether he was "disappointed" that I turned out not to have it (I hope not), but he has, for over a decade, seen me once a week and I owe him my life, many times over.

My med shrink was incredible. Though I had/have treatment-resistant depression, he got me on a cocktail that eventually helped some of my symptoms: He stopped my psychosis immediately, and put me on anti-depressants that had not yet been approved by Health Canada (our version of the FDA), which actually helped some of my symptoms too.

And now, I have a Reproductive Psychiatrist too. Who is fabulous and has a plan for me to wean off what I can... and who will see me until one year after the birth of my child.

There was a time where I really did need a "power team" of psychiatrists, but I feel as though this is not necessary anymore. I think about all of the people in this city and province who are waiting to see someone, and though my decision to stop seeing my med shrink won't directly affect that (he will not see anymore patients regardless), I feel like I did the right thing by transferring my full care to my talk shrink.

But the break-up was hard.

The med shrink is the best shrink in this city - no exaggeration. He is known as "the doctor's doctor," as he only sees patients who are doctors or their spouses (with the exception of a few patients, ie. me). He was the first psychiatrist in my life who ever listened to me, the first to treat me with the respect that I deserved, the first that didn't shove me back on an ECT bed to have my brains shocked out.

He's become a bit of a father figure to me, and to him, I will forever be grateful. There were a few reasons I decided to break up with him (and it really did feel like a breakup), and mostly, it had to do with becoming pregnant.

In his last email to me before I told him I would not be seeing him anymore (the only shrink I have ever dealt with who gives his personal email, home phone number, etc.), he warned me about lowering the medication I'm lowering now, saying that the last time I did so, I became incredibly ill. I appreciate his concern, but I need to do this. I need to do this for me, and for the health of my baby.

Am I scared? F*ck, yeah. Most people could never imagine leaving his care once they were able to get in with him, and though I'm nervous over my decision, I feel like it's the right one. I must now put my faith in my talk shrink, who I've been seeing for almost as long, who is a great doctor, and who knows how badly I want to have a baby. In all honesty, he seemed a bit nervous when I told him what I wanted, as the pregnancy adds another layer, but I'm sure he'll be great.

Even though I feel like I made the right decision, it's been incredibly hard. There have been some pangs of regret. There have been some anxious moments where I feel like I've given up so much.

I guess it's all part of this messed-up journey.

We have an RE, a rapid heart beat... and a Canadian donor?

Yesterday was our first appointment at a fertility clinic. I was so flippin' nervous all day and the day before for that matter. We had to both fill out surveys to give medical history and menstrual cycle info - the usual, I assume. I could not get over the feeling that they would look down at my medical history, then look over at my medication list, then look at me and say, "Yeah, sorry. You can't have a kid. You're crazy."

I couldn't shake that feeling at all, and though it sounds ridiculous, it was in the back of my head the whole time.

We were virgins in the office and holy-oh, it is a busy place! And oddly oxymoronic... there were Anne Geddes pictures all over the place, like bunches of babies dressed as bunnies in flower pots (say that three times really fast), which was vastly opposite to the energy in the room, which was quite sad and dark, actually. There were three women without partners with them in the waiting room, an couple in their mid- to late-forties, a couple in their late-thirties, and us. Devon was desperately trying to make a deadline, so she was head down in paperwork. Everyone looked so frikkin' sad, it was awful. I was not sad, but I was incredibly nervous.

The nurse pulled me into this cramped little room to measure my height, weight, blood pressure and pulse. She got to my pulse last, and when she was measuring it, she told me not to worry, that the doctor was very nice. I smiled and tried to calm down. But my heart beat strong and loud. She actually giggled when she wrote the number down on the page. She told me again not to worry. Easier said than done in my world. My pulse was extremely fast - I shook it off as nerves...

We went into another cramped room and met the doctor, who had someone shadowing him. He was lovely - very sweet. His English wasn't fantastic, but he was very clear and took his time explaining himself. We went through my history, and when he got to my mental health, I just cringed. But he didn't. He asked me to be precise in the dates of when I was hospitalized, how long I've been on specific medications, and how my mood was now. I was honest. The conversation went deep into my history, and I found myself explaining my electro-convulsive therapy (ECT) history, as this lead to a seizure disorder. The two doctors were a little taken-aback with the extent of it all. (He was also taken aback when he read my pulse - enough so that he took it again... it was the same).

I was clear that I would be doing this under the guidance of a reproductive psychiatrist. The doc said that my illness is beyond his expertise, but that they would be certain to work extremely closely with my repro psych through this journey... yes, he did not dismiss me... I had to hear it again: they would be certain to work with... YAY!

I had already taken my fertility blood tests, so he was happy about that. But he has given me a referral to get a hysterosalpingogram (HSG). The one thing I liked a lot was that he didn't tell me I had to. He explained that it was painful and that it was not vital until they expected something was wrong, and then he said that considering the costs of IUI, I might consider thinking about getting the test done sooner, just so we're not wasting time and money at the beginning... but ultimately, it was up to me, and he'd be happy either way. It may sound small, but I appreciated it. And I am going to get the HSG sometime in the next two weeks. Can someone tell me exactly HOW painful they are?? Reading about them was not so pleasant.

Now, here's the kicker. I asked him all of the questions that you suggested the other day (thank you!) and when I was asking about sperm banks and the differences between sperm sold for ICI vs IUI, he explained what good ol' Canada has in place:

Health Canada (the Canadian equivalent to the FDA) has made it illegal to pay males and females for the donation of sperm and eggs respectively. I knew about the eggs. I wrote about that a while ago. So, in order to comply with government laws, Canada has a centralized third-party "sperm base": there is one sperm bank in Canada, where all the provincial/territory donors' sperm ends up and this is the only place in Canada you can buy sperm from.

He started to go into the legalities (which are apparently changing - I don't know to what) and I followed him for a little bit before losing him in terminology. From what I understood, it is illegal to buy sperm from the States (or anywhere else, for that matter). I did not push him on it, because I want to do some research on my own, but I'm very curious to find out.

In my readings, I found out that due to this new law of taking away paying donors, there was a sperm shortage in Canada (really?), and I don't know if that's improved. I imagine people still buy sperm from outside of Canada, but I don't know if it's illegal. It just seems so odd. If you know where to ship it to, and you have the ability and technology to safely deal with shipping frozen sperm, than what's to stop people from buying it off the internet, shipping it through the border in hopes that they don't confiscate it/arrest or charge you, and basically bringing it into their homes? Not to say that's what we're planning on doing, but it makes you think.

So, I guess we'll be using a Canadian donor. Nothing wrong with Canadians... there is just not as many of us as there are in our Southern neighbour (sorry, neighbor to you). At least Canada is a huge multi-cultural melting pot, so hopefully we will get some variety - even within the caucasian population. The RE did say that East Indian and African American people looking for donors of the same ethnicity are pretty much shit out of luck here, which is really sad.

Have to do more research, but definitely something that I didn't expect!

So far, so good

Day 2, and I've actually had no trouble sleeping... knock on wood.

On Thursday, I went to pick up a different dose of the anti-anxieties that I'm attempting to come off. The pharmacist, who I know is just doing his job, pissed me off big-time. I hand him the prescription, he tells me to come back in two minutes, and just as I'm walking away to go pick up some Christmas stockings for our wee family (just D, me and the kittens this year), he calls me back, "Ma'am, you know this is a different dose than you usually get, right?". 

"Right. But it's in addition to the other dose... I'm weaning off the medication, so I'm going down by 0.25-0.5 mg per week at the beginning."

"Oh."

I go pick up the stockings and head back.


With his zitty little face, he calls me up to the counter by name, and then somehow lets the entire store know what I'm on by basically yelling out the name of the medication. I'm kind of used to that though. As much as it sucks, a lot of pharmacists do it. It wasn't that that got me.


"Um, so... can I ask what you are taking these anti-anxieties for?"


"Uhhhh, well, they help me sleep. But basically, at this point, it's because I'm dependent on them."

"How long have you been on them."


"Over a decade," I reply, thinking in my head 'probably for most of the time that you've been alive'.


"I don't know how much you know about this medication, but it's not usually recommended for long-term use."


"Yeah, that's why I'm coming off them."


"Your body has probably built up a tolerance to the medication, and it may not even be doing anything for you right now, except help you sleep."


"Yeah, that's what I said. And that's why I'm coming off them."


"Because your body will start to need more and more of them to work. And you don't want to take a higher dosage after this long."

"Yeah, that's why I'm coming off them."


"Okay, well if you have any questions..."


"I won't."


I'm not usually a bitch to others, but when I feel as though I'm being talked down to about something that I am extremely well-read and well-experienced in, I get a little pissy. 


I felt like saying, "You try to deal with having a major depressive disorder with psychosis, coupled with a panic disorder when you were 17, try to keep up the straight-A-student-MVP-ball-player-piano-festival-winner persona, as you literally think you're going crazy, and then talk to me about how I should use the drugs. You try being put in a psych ward at age 17-21, pretty much exclusively, wanting to die and not believing with an inch of yourself that you're going to live into adulthood. You try getting electrodes that tickle when they're stuck to your brain, a stick to bite down on shoved in your mouth, lying in a room of doctors and nurses - enough of them to hold you down while you shake and piss all over yourself - after they put you out and shock your brains three times a week "just to see" if anything "shifts" in your mood, and tell me about how to take my medication. You have a panic attacks every day where you forget how to breathe and think your chest is going to explode and have your world shatter down beside you... and then, you can talk to me about how to take my meds. 


But I didn't. I took the bag from him, walked out with my head up (not held high, but I tried), got in the car and started my mantra:


"I can do this. I will sleep. I will stay healthy. I am doing this for the health of my family. I can do this. I will sleep. I will stay healthy. I am doing this for the health of my family. I can do this. I will sleep. I will stay healthy. I am doing this for the health of my family."

I can do this.


2 days down... a few months to go.

An Introduction

Okay, so I’m not a mom yet, but I want to be. 

Crazy – yes. Lesbian – yes. So let’s define the latter two. 

Lesbian: Easy definition. I am a woman who likes other women. In fact, I’m married to the most gorgeous and amazing woman I have ever met, and I’m incredibly lucky.

Crazy: I call myself crazy because I’ve struggled with depression for the better (worse) half of my life. Like not just your “normal” depression, but your institutionalized, heavily medicated depression. The kind where they keep you in isolation on suicide watch, and when they don’t know what to do with you anymore, they shock your brains out with way too much ECT (Electro-Convulsive Therapy). 

Now before you send the social workers, hear me out - I’m better. I haven’t had a depressive episode in years. I still take medication for my mental health, but I am going to do everything I have to do to make it so I’ll be able to carry a baby safely for both mother and child, as well as my partner, who will be extremely involved in the process. (Side note: I know that I have a picture of a coffee cup on my blog template. Trust that I’ll be switching to water when the time comes)

Why don’t we adopt? Maybe we will… but before we check out that option, I have to follow through on something I feel strongly about. I have wanted a baby for as long as I remember. Like since I was three years old. I’ve wanted to carry a child in my belly. I get those crazy hormonal urges where my belly literally aches to be filled. 

My greatest fear is to wake up when my eggs are old and realize I’ve missed out on the most important gift of my life. I envy those women who can roll around in the sack for 10 minutes and bam! - they’re preggers (no disrespect to you, just sayin’). 

I expect I will come across some people online who may be incredibly unsupportive of what I’m setting out to do. To you, I want to say that I respect your beliefs, but I have ultimate faith in mine.  For the safety of my family, I am keeping my identity hidden and comments will be moderated. That said, I am happy to be in contact with anyone who would like to share stories and experiences.

I didn’t choose to be a lesbian; I fell in love with the woman of my dreams. I also didn’t choose to be crazy, and it’s not fair that as a result of these obstacles, my dream of being a mother may be an excruciatingly difficult journey to bring to life – but a journey I want to, and have to make. 

So, this blog is a place where I will be writing about my journey to become a mother: From how it affects my marriage, my health, my family, my baby’s health, my community, and the rest of my life.

And perhaps, at the end of this journey, I will be able to post a baby picture of our child.