Episode 4: Let’s talk PTSD
Once upon a time, I thought I was too mentally strong to be affected by PTSD. Oh, how I was wrong. When the PICU intensivist sat us down to talk during the first few days of Olivia’s first admission, we were told that we would most likely end up with PTSD. He went on to explain that most families who had experienced what we were going through, at some point, would have some form of PTSD. I remember thinking to myself that I was different than those other people and that I would be fine, however, that might be something that would affect Chris. A couple of months had passed, and we were both starting to feel worn down. I thought I had managed to avoid PTSD, while it seemed to me that Chris did not. I was about to learn that his triggers were different than mine.
It was a quiet evening, and Chris had gone home for the night. I was spending some quality time with Olivia while we waited for her auntie Jen to stop by for a visit. Other than a mild feeling of fatigue, she appeared to be doing well. I had looked away for only a moment before I heard an uneasy and familiar sound. When I turned to look at her, I noticed she was projectile vomiting a fluid that was alarming in both quantity and consistency. As I rushed over to her bedside, I felt time slow down, and a feeling that resembled warm pins and needles swept over my body like a wave. At the same time, my mind had recalled the emotional and visual experience of that moment in my kitchen on July 18th, 2018. It was almost as if my brain had opened an old video file and played it against my consent. Once I arrived at her bedside, I rolled her onto her side to make sure she wouldn’t asphyxiate, then I knew I needed to get help. I felt that if I hit the call button, help may not arrive in time, so I pulled the cord from the wall. During the 17 months of her hospital stay, this was the only time that I had ever done that. What happened next, to this day, still overwhelms me with emotion (it’s the same kind of feeling you get when watching a video about strangers uniting to make someone’s dream come true). I can hear the uneasy sound of the alarm ringing over the PA system as I look down toward Olivia, who was still vomiting. I could also hear the thundering sound of running feet getting louder with each passing moment. It seemed like only a couple of seconds had passed since I pulled the cord from the wall, but as I turned around to face the door, I was met with a room full of concerned familiar faces. Nurses from the ward and PICU, as well as senior staff, had rushed to our aid. They appeared in our room in a manner that a superhero would (which, in my opinion, they are deserving of that title). As one of the team members rushed me out of the way, the others fell into place like a well-orchestrated dance number. Although I was worried about my daughter, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unity as I watched her team work together to stabilize the situation. One by one, the team peeled away, and the dust began to settle. The rest of the day was a bit of a blur, but what I do remember is that everything worked out fine. That was my first encounter with PTSD, but not my last. After facing my second encounter with PTSD, I was no longer in denial about what I was dealing with. I learned that my trigger was watching Olivia vomit, however, the more times I witnessed her do it, the less of an effect it had on me.
When it came to my PTSD, I probably should have asked for help, but instead, I kept silent. I had convinced myself that I didn’t have time to deal with it, so I just worked through the pain. I also didn’t want people to think I wasn’t able to handle everything that was going on. Deep down I was afraid that I would be viewed as mentally unstable, and as a result, they would take Olivia away from me. Looking back now, I realize how irrational my train of thought really was. I managed to work through my PTSD by using exposure therapy, however, I didn’t have control of when the episodes would pop up. As of this moment, I wouldn’t say that I’m fully recovered, but the level of stress I experience during an episode is manageable. As more time passes, I get closer to overcoming my PTSD. My new philosophy of living life one day at a time has taught me how to cope with the difficult days, and it also reminds me of the importance of finding joy in the little things.
