I guess we all find out who we really are some day. Sometimes, we find out on our own and other times with a little help, usually from those near and dear. My wakeup call came on Friday and I found out loud and clear that I am, in fact, a meddler.
I guess my story starts almost 13 years ago when I had my first child. Brittany was a healthy 7lb baby girl. I, like all new moms, was scared to death that I would break her. I dove headfirst into motherhood full idealistic views and big dreams for myself as a parent. Then it happened; one week after giving birth, I was told that my new baby was dehydrated. My milk never came in. I was starving my child and completely oblivious as I was doing so.
Needless to say, I felt like a horrible mother. I have always struggled with depression so this added stress made post-partum particularly hard. I dealt with it alone because I did not feel my mother or close family/friends would understand as they all seemed to take to nursing/motherhood with ease.
Flash forward, twelve years. My kid sister finds out she is pregnant with her first child. My sister is like another daughter to me, so I was very involved initially with the doctors’ appointments. I have always been particularly close with my sister in regards to her health as she too has struggled with depression and has had a hard time talking to my mother about her issues. I knew that post-partum would be difficult for her as well and tried to be there for her as she transitioned into motherhood.
One hot day in June, my nephew was born. A couple of days after the birth, I went to visit them in the hospital to find my sister struggling with nursing. She appeared stressed, tired, and hopeless. Although I tried to talk with her, she was overwhelmed. I left the hospital not knowing how to help.
Then I found a way, my sister had chosen a friend to be their pediatrician. I, personally, had only met the woman once, but I was relieved that my sister had chosen someone close as I felt she would be more likely to open up regarding issues. I emailed the doctor. It was a very light email just letting her know that I was relieved that my sister had someone that she knew/trusted and that I had struggled with post-partum and was worried my sister might do the same. I knew that she could never tell me anything about them medically, but asked that she feel free to encourage my sister to reach out to me if needed and told her to feel free to call/email if she ever thought my sister needed a break or someone to talk to.
A few weeks passed and I had not heard from the doctor. My sister and the baby appeared to be doing well and they went back in for a well-baby checkup. Following the appointment I was texting my sister to see how things had gone when she said that the doctor had told her about my email.
My heart stopped.
I responded back keeping the conversation light and saying that I had just to say how happy I was that she would be the one caring for my nephew.
My sister replied, “Liar. She told me you were worried. She called my doc and they are calling in anti-depressants.”
Needless to say I was shocked. It was never my intention to have my sister medicated. Honestly, I did not even know if it would be necessary given how well they had progressed since my email. I called my sister to explain and apologize; she was actually very cool about the whole thing and said she thought she did need the meds.
She also mentioned that the doctor, while talking about my email, told my sister that she hoped it was okay that I had gotten involved. My sister told her that it was and that she was used to it. I guess I do it more than I realize.
ornerydame 