I had my first panic attack when I was about six weeks along in my pregnancy. I had another around 11.5 weeks, and again around 21 weeks. Each time, I thought for sure I was going to lose my baby. When I should have been making a visit to my primary care provider for medication, I was stubbornly moving forward without it. I couldn’t take an antidepressant now—what if something happened to the baby?
It was the same excuse I’d told myself when I was trying to get pregnant. As I injected shot after shot of hormones, dropped my pants in the doctor’s office for yet another vaginal ultrasound, and flushed every time I walked past the baby section at the department store, I was fine, I told myself. If I could just get pregnant and have a baby, I would be fine and could move on with my life.
I know there was a part of me that worried a pregnancy-approved medication wouldn’t work as well or would have undesirable side effects that my old medication didn’t have.
I had spent three years trying to conceive, so by then, fear was familiar. With infertility, there’s plenty of fear: Fear the treatment won’t work, and fear you’re spending thousands of dollars for it to fail. And if you do get pregnant, there’s fear you’ll lose the baby.
But I was afraid of taking an antidepressant, too.
I had been on an antidepressant a few years earlier that I had thought worked well, with very little side effects—but that type of medication wasn’t an option for a potential pregnancy. It felt daunting just to consider what would be compatible, because I’d need to be on the right medication. I know there was a part of me that worried a pregnancy-approved medication wouldn’t work as well or would have undesirable side effects that my old medication didn’t have.
And I didn’t want to deal with the side effects of SSRIs, or antidepressants such as Prozac and Zoloft. My sex life was already at a low considering that my medical team was determining when we could and couldn’t have sex. I was in a near-constant state of bloat from the fertility meds. So the little sex I had, I wasn’t keen to mess that up with the sexual side effects that can happen with an antidepressant.
But the emotional burden of my infertility journey continued to evolve and take its toll.
Plus, I was stubborn. I had gone on antidepressants briefly during nursing school. But now, I relied on the fact that I was doing mostly OK. I had the support of the friends I made during my infertility journey. I had my blog, where I posted updates on treatments and generally spewed out every emotion infertility could bring. I didn’t need a therapist or medications when I had my laptop and the ability to read and respond to comments from others who understood me.
Meanwhile, I gained weight from the fertility hormones. I started asking my husband if he was sure he wanted to stay with me and my barren uterus on several occasions. I cried in the bathrooms of baby showers. And I plugged on.
Then I actually got pregnant, and I stayed pregnant. But the emotional burden of my infertility journey continued to evolve and take its toll.
When my daughter was born, the anxiety got worse. I lived in fear that I could lose her at any moment: She could stop breathing in the night. She could stop breathing in her car seat.
It would be easy to say that I regret not going on antidepressants sooner. But everyone who goes through an infertility journey knows they need to find their own way.
I finally talked to my doctor about this when she was two and a half. I was wearing down and seriously starting to question my ability to be a mother. As part of my treatment, I started seeing a therapist. The side effects I’d dreaded showed up when I started my medication, and I needed to work through those. But after a month, I wondered out loud to my therapist why I waited so long.
That person in the depths of fertility treatments—I understand her. I know why I was hesitating. It would be easy to say that I regret not going on antidepressants sooner. But everyone who goes through an infertility journey knows they need to find their own way.
It’s been over three years since I started medication, and I know I’m a better mom for taking my pill every morning. I can’t go back and change anything, but medication has shown me that sometimes I need to bite the bullet and do something that will help me get through. It’s my self-care—taking this medication that I know I won’t need forever.
But for this season, I will do this for myself.