I returned to work when my daughter was six weeks old. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, leaving her in daycare. But I was working from 6:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., most of the time she slept so I didn’t miss that much. Or that was what I told myself. I was breast feeding my daughter and my boss gave me breaks to pump milk for her. He was a very understanding boss. One day at the water cooler with a couple of other women, a conversation started about the military and I found out the military was taking people back in because of Desert Storm. I was excited and called the recruiter after work. By the end of the week, my husband was re-enlisted in the Navy and set to receive new orders. For the first time in years, we had “normal” sex and my second daughter was conceived.
When my husband went back into the Navy, he went in as if he’d never left. He lost no time and no rank, so his pay was the same as it was when he got out a year previously. We got orders to a small naval base called Damn Neck in Norfolk, Virginia. We packed up our small apartment, our eight month old daughter and our car on a trailer in a U-haul and headed East. We took five days driving across country with our daughter in her car seat in between the two of us. She handled the trip very well for an infant!
Shortly after moving to Virginia, I found a small church for me and my daughter to attend. A few days after our first service a beautiful, short, red-head woman came to our home and introduced herself. She was from the church and wanted to welcome us. She was a little spitfire with a love for God that couldn’t be rivaled. She would become my dearest friend and defender against my husband.
Once again, at the beginning of my fourth month of pregnancy, I went into preterm labor and was put on full bed rest. It was more difficult this time having a toddler to look after, but I had help from the church which was welcome because I had no help from my husband. He never wanted our first daughter and he certainly didn’t want the second one. He never said so, but his actions spoke much louder than any words could. On November 30, 1996 our second daughter was born. This time it was only eighteen hours of labor, but once again it was non medicated. Like my first delivery, it was a beautiful experience.
When my second daughter was eight months old I was deep in post partum depression. My husband was ignoring his daughters and even though I hated the sexual attention, he was ignoring me also. I had the help from my church, but I was alone and felt alone. I had the love of my two beautiful daughters which was exceptional because I always wanted to be a mom, to be a better mother than my own mom had been. But the demands on me were too much and I cracked. I became psychotic and tried to hurt my husband the way he hurt me. I was crazed but focused. I nearly killed him.
The next morning I went to my friend’s house, told her what I did and she took me to my doctor’s office. After talking to my doctor’s associate, I was immediately admitted to the local psychiatric hospital. I had been diagnosed Bipolar Personality Disorder when I was first hospitalized in Denver, Colorado, but my medications had never been right. And since I was breast feeding again, I was going without medication. However that changed. It had to. I had tried to kill my husband in a psychotic rage. Looking back now, I am thankful I did not succeed, it would have destroyed me. Thankfully my husband did not press charges, he just insisted I be admitted to the hospital and be put back on medication. I was forced to stop breast feeding and being in the hospital, visitation was minimal. I missed my daughters horribly. But on a couple of occasions my husband brought my daughters to see me. They were the only bright spots in my hospitalization.
