Because We Need To Talk About It

Mathlar

I've only just recently found this thread. A big thanks to Norman for starting it. This is my 400th post, so I wanted to make it a good one. I've not spoken about these things (online) before.

On the 29th December 2015 we lost our son. He died in my arms at 19 hours old. He was a full term baby, and should have been perfectly healthy, but an undiagnosed condition affecting his placenta caused him to lose half his blood during birth. The condition, called vasa praevia, can be detected, but the NHS don't scan for it routinely. If he'd had a scheduled C-section, he'd be with us today.

Neonatal death, stillbirth and miscarriage are taboo in our society. People don't know how to deal with these things, so they avoid them. This means that someone who has lost a child is usually left to suffer in silence. When others are talking about their children, it's not easy to raise the fact that I was, and still am, a father - people are terrified by the idea that such things could happen to them. It'll quickly kill a conversation.

The support we received after losing James was terrible. The local healthcare authority neglected to give my wife the support visits to which she was entitled - the ones designed to check all mothers for postnatal depression. Overwhelming grief is a terrible debilitating thing, and of course a huge risk factor for mental health issues such as depression. We found help ourselves, but were offered nothing.

The following twelve months were largely a "lost year", a time for survival. I still bear the psychological scars - my personality is different, far more reserved and formal, particularly around strangers. Huge walls have been thrown up around my grief and anger, to keep them in check, and other aspects got locked away too. I'm pretty sure it drives my boss mad - he thinks I'm not passionate, but he couldn't be more wrong. It's just the trivial things in life pale into insignificance with the perspective I now have.

If you ever end up a position like mine, talk to someone. Get counselling - keep talking. Deal with the anger particularly or it'll tear you apart.

If you know anyone in this position, talk to them occasionally about their child. They'll appreciate it. Don't be scared of making them cry - they may well do - but they won't hate you for it. To hear their child's name from someone else is a relief - a sign they are not forgotten. I will talk about my son to anyone, anytime, and at length, even though the memories can be terribly sad and difficult.

Lastly, there's no time frame on that last paragraph. The grief doesn't really lessen with time. A year on from my son's death we noticed the words of concern and reassurance dry up from our friends and family - people assume you are over it. But time doesn't really heal, not fully.

James Neil George, born 3.09am, died 10.15pm on the 29th December 2015.

Mathlar

I've only just recently found this thread. A big thanks to Norman for starting it. This is my 400th post, so I wanted to make it a good one. I've not spoken about these things (online) before.

On the 29th December 2015 we lost our son. He died in my arms at 19 hours old. He was a full term baby, and should have been perfectly healthy, but an undiagnosed condition affecting his placenta caused him to lose half his blood during birth. The condition, called vasa praevia, can be detected, but the NHS don't scan for it routinely. If he'd had a scheduled C-section, he'd be with us today.

Neonatal death, stillbirth and miscarriage are taboo in our society. People don't know how to deal with these things, so they avoid them. This means that someone who has lost a child is usually left to suffer in silence. When others are talking about their children, it's not easy to raise the fact that I was, and still am, a father - people are terrified by the idea that such things could happen to them. It'll quickly kill a conversation.

The support we received after losing James was terrible. The local healthcare authority neglected to give my wife the support visits to which she was entitled - the ones designed to check all mothers for postnatal depression. Overwhelming grief is a terrible debilitating thing, and of course a huge risk factor for mental health issues such as depression. We found help ourselves, but were offered nothing.

The following twelve months were largely a "lost year", a time for survival. I still bear the psychological scars - my personality is different, far more reserved and formal, particularly around strangers. Huge walls have been thrown up around my grief and anger, to keep them in check, and other aspects got locked away too. I'm pretty sure it drives my boss mad - he thinks I'm not passionate, but he couldn't be more wrong. It's just the trivial things in life pale into insignificance with the perspective I now have.

If you ever end up a position like mine, talk to someone. Get counselling - keep talking. Deal with the anger particularly or it'll tear you apart.

If you know anyone in this position, talk to them occasionally about their child. They'll appreciate it. Don't be scared of making them cry - they may well do - but they won't hate you for it. To hear their child's name from someone else is a relief - a sign they are not forgotten. I will talk about my son to anyone, anytime, and at length, even though the memories can be terribly sad and difficult.

Lastly, there's no time frame on that last paragraph. The grief doesn't really lessen with time. A year on from my son's death we noticed the words of concern and reassurance dry up from our friends and family - people assume you are over it. But time doesn't really heal, not fully.

James Neil George, born 3.09am, died 10.15pm on the 29th December 2015.

jankoxxx

Just found this thread and I guess I can share too... I have my experiences with a severe panic disorder. I guess it runs in the family (my grandmother, mother and now me..) and I got the first real symptoms when I relocated abroad. The "brutal" change probably triggered the illness and it hit me real hard. It was 8 years ago and I remember the moment when it began like it was just yesterday. The paralysis caused by unexplainable fear was so brutal that Im not able to describe it with words. I had to take a short sick leave but eventually I had to return to work.. Oh boy... Just the commute to work was like the worst nightmare, and the meetings at work and the social stuff with colleagues.. And this was going on like 2 years without a break, one panic attack after another. No social life whatsoever, hours and hours In bed totally depressed waiting for the next panic attack.
Now to the good part.. I am now panic attack - free for a very long time. I have managed to completely change my life and push those attacks out of my life. I moved to the countryside (I always wanted to live in the country!) I have changed my work (earn less but do what you enjoy) because you really wont be able to enjoy the earned money when you are hiding under the bed.. I have started to do sports - jogging and I bought a rowing machine for the winter months. This I find really important. A lot of fresh air and physical activity do a LOT of difference. I do simple meditations, especially before falling asleep. Over time I found a technique that even helps me to have only positive dreams 😀
Funny thing is that a few years after I quit my job, I found out that my boss was suffering from the same condition at the same time like me.. It might have been a help if I had opened up about this to him or anybody at work as he was a really nice guy. So I guess that its better to share this stuff.
Last but not least, If there is anybody who feels that he needs to talk. I am here to listen 😉 Its not easy to talk about this, but it NEEDS TO BE DONE TO HEAL!

albertob

@Wryfox thanks for the advice (book), already ordered! 😀😀

Yes that's true, also Vitamins BC are linked to D.
I have always underestimated the power of a good diet, regular exercise and meditation, but once I started I could not turn back as my mood and wellbeing changes radically.

Exercise is medicine, as somebody said👍

dsio

@Amadeus I hope you don't mind, I just edited your post to add a google translation below it, which probably isn't greatly accurate but I think gets most of what you are saying across.

Mathlar

I've only just recently found this thread. A big thanks to Norman for starting it. This is my 400th post, so I wanted to make it a good one. I've not spoken about these things (online) before.

On the 29th December 2015 we lost our son. He died in my arms at 19 hours old. He was a full term baby, and should have been perfectly healthy, but an undiagnosed condition affecting his placenta caused him to lose half his blood during birth. The condition, called vasa praevia, can be detected, but the NHS don't scan for it routinely. If he'd had a scheduled C-section, he'd be with us today.

Neonatal death, stillbirth and miscarriage are taboo in our society. People don't know how to deal with these things, so they avoid them. This means that someone who has lost a child is usually left to suffer in silence. When others are talking about their children, it's not easy to raise the fact that I was, and still am, a father - people are terrified by the idea that such things could happen to them. It'll quickly kill a conversation.

The support we received after losing James was terrible. The local healthcare authority neglected to give my wife the support visits to which she was entitled - the ones designed to check all mothers for postnatal depression. Overwhelming grief is a terrible debilitating thing, and of course a huge risk factor for mental health issues such as depression. We found help ourselves, but were offered nothing.

The following twelve months were largely a "lost year", a time for survival. I still bear the psychological scars - my personality is different, far more reserved and formal, particularly around strangers. Huge walls have been thrown up around my grief and anger, to keep them in check, and other aspects got locked away too. I'm pretty sure it drives my boss mad - he thinks I'm not passionate, but he couldn't be more wrong. It's just the trivial things in life pale into insignificance with the perspective I now have.

If you ever end up a position like mine, talk to someone. Get counselling - keep talking. Deal with the anger particularly or it'll tear you apart.

If you know anyone in this position, talk to them occasionally about their child. They'll appreciate it. Don't be scared of making them cry - they may well do - but they won't hate you for it. To hear their child's name from someone else is a relief - a sign they are not forgotten. I will talk about my son to anyone, anytime, and at length, even though the memories can be terribly sad and difficult.

Lastly, there's no time frame on that last paragraph. The grief doesn't really lessen with time. A year on from my son's death we noticed the words of concern and reassurance dry up from our friends and family - people assume you are over it. But time doesn't really heal, not fully.

James Neil George, born 3.09am, died 10.15pm on the 29th December 2015.

X350 XJR

So we all know what Carrie Fisher was famous for right? But did you know what else she was? She was a Mental Health Advocate and she had a mental illness, she suffered from bipolar disorder.

Well guess what, I have a mental illness too. I battle depression, more specifically MDD or Major Depressive Disorder. It’s a disease, like heart disease or diabetes, treatable but not curable and most commonly thought to be linked to an imbalance of chemicals in the brain, affecting 19 million Americans and 350 million worldwide.

It’s something I’ve battled most of my life in one form or another, although I didn’t have a name or diagnosis for it until my mid thirties. Held in check for many years by antidepressant medication, it descended upon me in 2016 with a viciousness, like never before. It’s been brutal and debilitating, with unbearable darkness, sucking every bit of joy from my life.

One thing depression doesn’t do is discriminate. It doesn’t care how old you are or where you live, how much money you make or what color you are, it doesn’t care if you are a man or a woman or what kind of watch you wear, it's an equal opportunity disease.

Depression is also one of the leading causes for suicide. Yes, I know people who have survived an attempt; they simply couldn’t bear the torment anymore. Would I ever try, no, but that’s not to say I haven’t thought about it. Yes, it can get that dark, a pervasive feeling of inexplicable sadness, hopelessness and despair day after day, week after week, I have been there and I hope I never go there again.

Am I well now, honestly, no, am I better than I was earlier in the year, yes, will I be on medication for the rest of my life probably, but it beats the alternative (see above).

So what’s my point?

Talk about it.

If you or someone you know may be suffering from depression, or any other mental illness there is help. Is it easy, fυck no, I battle every day, I’m still trying to find medication(s) to make it more tolerable, I see a psychiatrist, I talk to a therapist, I talk about it with friends and family and I go to a support group, it all helps.

And last but not least it's nothing to be ashamed of, it's not a weakness or a defect it's just part of some of us.


Here are some links for anyone who needs help or wants answers:

NAMI - National Alliance on Mental Illness - http://www.nami.org

DBSA - Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance - http://www.dbsalliance.org

Mathlar

I've only just recently found this thread. A big thanks to Norman for starting it. This is my 400th post, so I wanted to make it a good one. I've not spoken about these things (online) before.

On the 29th December 2015 we lost our son. He died in my arms at 19 hours old. He was a full term baby, and should have been perfectly healthy, but an undiagnosed condition affecting his placenta caused him to lose half his blood during birth. The condition, called vasa praevia, can be detected, but the NHS don't scan for it routinely. If he'd had a scheduled C-section, he'd be with us today.

Neonatal death, stillbirth and miscarriage are taboo in our society. People don't know how to deal with these things, so they avoid them. This means that someone who has lost a child is usually left to suffer in silence. When others are talking about their children, it's not easy to raise the fact that I was, and still am, a father - people are terrified by the idea that such things could happen to them. It'll quickly kill a conversation.

The support we received after losing James was terrible. The local healthcare authority neglected to give my wife the support visits to which she was entitled - the ones designed to check all mothers for postnatal depression. Overwhelming grief is a terrible debilitating thing, and of course a huge risk factor for mental health issues such as depression. We found help ourselves, but were offered nothing.

The following twelve months were largely a "lost year", a time for survival. I still bear the psychological scars - my personality is different, far more reserved and formal, particularly around strangers. Huge walls have been thrown up around my grief and anger, to keep them in check, and other aspects got locked away too. I'm pretty sure it drives my boss mad - he thinks I'm not passionate, but he couldn't be more wrong. It's just the trivial things in life pale into insignificance with the perspective I now have.

If you ever end up a position like mine, talk to someone. Get counselling - keep talking. Deal with the anger particularly or it'll tear you apart.

If you know anyone in this position, talk to them occasionally about their child. They'll appreciate it. Don't be scared of making them cry - they may well do - but they won't hate you for it. To hear their child's name from someone else is a relief - a sign they are not forgotten. I will talk about my son to anyone, anytime, and at length, even though the memories can be terribly sad and difficult.

Lastly, there's no time frame on that last paragraph. The grief doesn't really lessen with time. A year on from my son's death we noticed the words of concern and reassurance dry up from our friends and family - people assume you are over it. But time doesn't really heal, not fully.

James Neil George, born 3.09am, died 10.15pm on the 29th December 2015.