The month of April is a significant one for me. April 20 was my due date for the baby I miscarried the day before Ben's 2nd birthday in October of 2004. Though my deepest sorrow has eased after more than eight years, I still think of Gabriel, as we decided to call him or her, each year at this time.
When the pain was still fresh that autumn, it was nearly my undoing. It was the perfect storm of difficult events. I had been unhappy at work for some time. I was very much looking forward to quitting and staying home after the baby arrived. I miscarried at 13 weeks, just when I was beginning to feel that I could be free and clear of worry.
I was supposed to stand up in my cousin's wedding in Chicago the weekend I lost the baby. It was to be a grand affair and a family reunion with relatives I don't often get to see. A few days before the wedding, I had begun to bleed, and an ultrasound confirmed the miscarriage. My doctor encouraged me to miscarry naturally and recommended that I not travel, so not only could I not be a bridesmaid, I couldn't go to the wedding at all.
In the days and weeks that followed, I was sad and very angry. I sunk into a deep depression. When nearly two months passed, and my malaise hadn't lifted, I began my years-long, on-again, off-again affair with antidepressants.
Since before I even knew a name for what I was feeling, I've been an anxious person. The rigors of parenting, especially parenting babies and young children, only heightened my anxiety.
As with any mental illness, stressful situations exacerbate the problem, and my miscarriage was a doozy of one. I started out depressed, but quickly, my old foe, anxiety, took over. I would lose whole days worrying and ruminating. Irrationally, I was certain that the miscarriage spelled doom for my chances of having more children.
I bring all of this up now, because I'm in the process of going off my medication - Zoloft. Again. Over the years, I've been on and off medication a handful of times. Various situations that have arisen have pushed me toward going back on Zoloft after hiatuses of going med-free: a brush with anxiety-fueled insomnia, a bout with headaches that I became convinced were indicative of something serious (surprise - they weren't).
Zoloft is in a class of drugs called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. SSRIs aren't habit-forming, so I can't be physically hooked on them. Psychologically is another story, however. It becomes comforting to think that each morning you can take a pill that will help combat stress and anxiety.
All these years, I've swung back and forth between wanting that safety net and very much wanting to be off the meds. It's awfully complicated. I don't want to need Zoloft, and stigmas against mental illness, as well as medicating for it, persist. Let me tell you, though, going off antidepressants can be a pretty unpleasant experience, laden with relapses in symptoms and other side effects.
This time, I've planned it. I chose to begin weaning myself off at the beginning of April, knowing that having the seasons on my side would be a good thing. The longer and nicer days of spring and summer are a natural mood lifter. I'm happy to report that it's going well. I've tapered down to nearly nothing with no side effects.
So I proceed, once again, with great hope. The truth is, I can't know if this will work. With exercise, a balanced diet, and practice of natural stress-relief techniques, I'm optimistic that this will stick long-term. Now I will take a deep, cleansing breath and continue on my journey, just another member of the army of the walking wounded.
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