Have you ever thought about the difference between a chronic illness and an acute illness? I think the main difference is that the novelty wears off a chronic illness.
I would classify my depression and anxiety as chronic. It is true that it is episodic, and I do not have symptoms every single day – well I do NOW, but not always (or do I?). I have spent more of my life suffering from or dealing with depression and anxiety than not – more of my life in an episode than not. (Actually, that in itself is quite depressing!)
This chain of thought was started the other day as I was driving along to the shopping centre with S3 talking non stop in the back of the car, and F1 along from the ride, plotting her next bit of mischief. I could not help but think how much easier it would be to do the shopping run alone. To do anything alone. Anything. I couldn’t help think how badly I need a break and how hard it is to get it. How totally emotionally and physically exhausted I am.
I have a friend who lives in a country town. After the birth of her first child she had a bad bout of PND and had to be hospitalised in a specialist hospital in the city. When she did return home, she was rallied around and given the support she needed. When her second child was born, she had all the support networks sorted well in advance.
Now,I don’t know if I have PND. The psychiatrist treating me up until HJ6 was born explained to me that the definition of PND was any episode of depression occurring within 12 months of the baby’s birth. By that definition, I certainly have. However, each time it is identified it is usually brushed aside because of my history. And that is by the medical professionals, so how much more so for family?
This is time for a little aside for family attitudes to depression. I was originally diagnosed because my mother insisted go to the doctor with a list of symptoms that she had noticed. When I came home with a diagnosis, she was shamed and horrified. I was not to take my medicine in the kitchen or bathroom – I had to take it in my room where no one would see. I was not to mention it to anyone and I was not to speak of it in the house. Things changed slowly over time as she realised it was a real illness, but many others do not. (The irony? Her mother suffered from depression most of her life, as has my mother. Also, many of my cousins on my Mum’s side are sufferers of depression and related illnesses.). My in-law are a mixed bag. My MIL has no idea. I have heard her talk about people to whom she has ministered, I have tried to explain the nature of these kind of mental illnesses, but she cannot grasp it. Cannot believe that an illness can effect your mind like that. Most of the family is the same. However, my BIL is a psychiatrist, and totally understands. He and his family, while lovely, live in a different city to us.
Anyway, the point is, the help is not there. Despite being one of eight kids and DH being one of five, we have virtually no support. We have six siblings, plus spouses, and countless grown-up nieces and nephews living in our city. Only one will babysit (and she is a full time carer as well as working two jobs, so you can imagine how much free time she has.). We can’t ask her all the time – she has her own life – but we use her in emergencies.
But what, if like my friend, I hadn’t had a lifetime battle with this illness? What if I was first diagnosed during this time? Honestly, I think help would have been forthcoming. Somehow, because this is ongoing, I am supposed to have it all worked out by now. Somehow I do not need the assistance other women with PND would require. Sure it is true, I have a pretty good understanding of how the illness works and how it often works in me. However, I am unable to look after myself the way I need to, the way other women with PND need to, without help. I still have all these kids to look after. I still parent night and day – I don’t get unbroken sleep. I still have to feed a family, wash their clothes, wipe bottoms, clean a house (not very well), entertain, ferry, care for…. well you get the idea. So why can’t I get help with all that?
Apparently I shouldn’t whinge. I get more help than most (I do? I doubt it.). I don’t whinge, except for here. I suck it up. I be stoic. And I seethe with jealousy on occasion, but internally.
In those darker moments I can’t help but think that if this was a single, acute episode, eventually I would recover – really recover, not just until next time.
And THAT is what I believe to be the main difference between a chronic illness and an acute one.
Inside the Storm 