For the last several months I have undergone Lupron therapy as a followup to a a laparoscopy I had back in June for infertility/endometriosis.

Knowing what I know now I would have never agreed to the Lupron therapy. I knew that there was a definite possibility of emotional/mental side effects which is why I chose to do the month to month shot, in case something went wrong I could stop after the first shot.

I could handle the physical side effects of Lupron without much trouble, who doesn’t enjoy a good hot flash now and then? But the feelings that came with Lupron were so subtle that I didn’t even realize what had happened to me until the drug had swallowed me into a black inky devastating fog, and by then it was too late.

To put it mildly Lupron has destroyed every aspect of my life in one way or another.

I would never suggest Lupron to anyone if they had any another option of treatment. Especially someone who has been dealt the depression card.

I feel that the effects have finally begun to wear off, although I know I’m still not 100% myself. Those closest to me noticed a difference, that I wasn’t myself. And those who know the me who suffers from depression knew that the Casey that sat in front of them was even worse off than Casey with just depression. And me with ‘just’ depression is bad enough.

I am ashamed that I withheld and avoided friendships because of how the Lupron made me feel. I was not the mom Addie deserved while on this medication. And as far as being a wife? Fail. Fail. Utter epic fail. To go back and say “Oh sorry I’ve ignored you for the last few months, it was the medication overtaking my life.” seems like such a lame excuse. But when I look back over the last five months? I was simply an empty shell walking around, void of any and all hope. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth loving, nothing worth living for.

I tried faking it. Pushing through with a smile. For the most part it was all a lie.

I wish I could have those months back. I know I wanted a baby, and was ready to do almost anything to get one, but knowing what I know now? Babies can wait, babies can come other ways, babies aren’t necessarily worth risking your entire life for. (Coming from the lady who tried to kill herself while seven months pregnant? I know what I’m talking about.)

I know medication affects so many people in so many different ways, I also know a lot of you read my blog because you see some part of you in some part of me. And the part of me that has been beat by this medication says to that part of you, don’t risk it.

I almost lost it all in several different ways and all I have to show for it is a pit in my stomach and a black fog over the last five months.

I haven’t been a good friend (or even human being) the past few months, I was so concerned with making it out the other side of this in one piece. To those of you who have stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over. To those of you I lost or hurt? This is my apology, I’m so sorry.

I move into my house on Tuesday. A fitting new start to the old me that is coming back around.


I’ve missed me horribly.


  1. I love the honesty that you always share. I’m glad you are turning the corner, dear friend. 2010 will be your year!

  2. Delurking just to send you {{HUGS}} and prayers that your recovery is swift and successful. I feel you on so many levels.
    You are so brave.
    You are so loved. (Have you read these comments?)
    We’re so glad you are back.

  3. XO

  4. Sweet Casey –

    One of my favorite Bible verses is Joel 2:25: “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten…” (KJV says “restore to you”) God lets nothing go unredeemed. These months, they’re not lost. They’re all worth something to Him. (I say this as I feel like I’ve been in a holding pattern for YEARS…so I cling to this verse a lot. A lot a lot.) I just love you to pieces. I am so thankful for your open heart.


  5. punkabella


  6. I’m sorry Casey, that you’ve had to deal with this. I’m just really sorry. I have a history of depression too, and I know. I’m glad you’re finding your way back home.

  7. We’ve missed you too.

    And I relate on the Lupron thing. I was on it for 6 months my junior year in high school. The effects from it lasted for 12 months. It was the worst year of my life. Explaining a hot flash in Junior Chemistry? Not cool. Gaining 40 pounds in 4 months? Not cool. Being a complete bitch and not knowing why? Horrid.

    I hope you recover soon.

  8. I hope you can truly find your way.

  9. Oh, God love ya. I’m so glad you’re feeling more like yourself again. I had a skanky battle with PPD and it took MONTHS before I felt even an inkling of the old me start to return. Keep pressing on, my friend. xoxo

  10. Casey,
    I’m just one of the nameless masses the reads your blog religiously and comment only occasionally. I’m just your garden variety, shy, lurker. Your posts amuse me, make me think, sometimes laugh and sometimes cry.

    Today I read this and I thought, “How Ironic.” All day I wondered if I should come back and post a comment because you see, it was just this morning right before my morning blog fix (You and The Spohrs are Multiplying are always high on my list in the mornings while I get ready to start my day). Anyway, it was while I was standing in the shower that I said to myself, “I wonder if anyone sees how far into the dark I’ve slipped. That my introversion is worse than usual, that my smiles don’t quite reach my eyes–I see it in pictures, but I wonder if anyone sees it looking at me? And I wonder how long I can hide it, because I don’t see light at the other end of the tunnel yet. All I see is more tunnel. And when I shrugged to myself and said “so?” Promplty getting shampoo in my eyes because all this conversation was going on in my head in the shower I realized it didn’t matter. It’s just my new reality. And, if I can manage to do what has to be done to muddle through then, maybe that has to be enough.

    Then I came downstairs and read your post. And I wondered, because here you are, starting to come out of a horrible dark spot, and here I’ve loved your words dark light and every shade of paint in between (and we all know how many of those are…there must be 47 shades of off white alone!). And so I take a deep breath and here at least I say I know the dark place. Maybe it’s not much, maybe it’s not enough…but your words got me brave enough to say it, at least here. Thank you Casey for being you and for making me laugh and cry and smile and for teaching me things I didn’t know about turkeys and faith and most of all for sharing “the faking” on a day I was thinking of how well I’m “faking” my life. Thank you for letting me know that maybe I’m not totally alone. I wish you lots of happy, genuinely non lupron miserable happy happy thoughts and feelings and at a perfect time for it as you settle into your new house. You’ve earned it the hard way, lady.

  11. I’m so sorry, Casey. Here’s to things looking up from here on out Enjoy your new house for me.

  12. xoxo, lady.

  13. I can’t even handle the hormones in bc pills w/o becoming a terrible, rage-filled version of myself. I get it. It’s hard when you know you’re not yourself but you can’t do anything about it. Here’s to 2010. It has to be better!

  14. I’m glad you feel like you’re coming back. We missed you too.

  15. I refuse to be on medication because I’ve tried everything and I always end up in that dark place you described. I don’t want to do things I was once so passionate about-photography, drawing, hiking, or even washing my hair. I feel no real affinity for anyone or anything.

    I’m glad you’re fading back in to yourself.

  16. I have missed YOU horribly. Here is to a welcome back party of the most extraordinary sort.

  17. Depression is a horrible terrifying disease. I am so sorry for what you have gone through. And I am so happy for you that you have made it through. I know that feeling, wonderful but scary. Good luck.

  18. I’m so glad to hear you survived Lupron. I belong to an on-line support group called
    We’d love to see you there! And if you’d like more information on what Lupron has done to you, you can also visit Congratulations on your new house! Best Regards, Leslie

  19. Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. (((hugs))) So glad you’re coming through it. And I know you’ll use this experience to once again help others. You are amazing and strong.

  20. Lots and lots of hugs and love to you, and a big punch in the face to medication that does worse when it’s “supposed to help.”

  21. I’ve gone through the same thing this year on fertility drugs. I’ve been on some form of horrendous hormone medication since January and my friendships, ability to mother and be a wife have suffered. It’s great to be off the crazy meds and start to feel somewhat like myself again.

    Welcome back. We have cake.

  22. Been there. Fertility drugs turned me inside out and upside down. PPD robbed me of the joy of the first few months of my daughter’s life. I’m so sorry that you had to experience that and that the side effects are never really made known when doctors prescribe these drugs. Helping women through the maze of medications associated with our waxing and waning fertility would be my dream job. Until then I work in the publishing mine because my daughter needs the excellent bennies. BTW– I’m in Indy too.

  23. (((hugs)))

  24. Not sure if I have told you this, but my sister is like the poster child for endo. She has had 2 surgeries, and also suffered Lupron as well. Sorry it didn’t go so well for you either.

    I have it much more mildly and am so lucky it can be handled with an IUD.


  25. I would be shocked if ANYONE didn’t forgive you. SHOCKED! Especially considering that you did nothing wrong. I’m bi-polar, and apologize to everyone when I sink into my blackness. Truth is, having a chemical imbalance is a disease. Why are you apologizing to us for being sick and being on the mend now?

  26. Just wanted to say hi and tell you I love you!


  27. I’m so sorry – and so glad you are coming out of it. A perfect Advent thing actually – to begin to come back now, in time for Christmas.

  28. Oh, I’m so sorry. Depression on its own is bad enough…when magnified by a drug, well, I can’t imagine.

    I hope you get that baby without the drug. But more important, I hope you find your hope again.

  29. Like many of your readers, we’ve never met. However, I have been following your wonderful blog for so long that as I feel as though I know you. You make me laugh, you make me cry, and it makes me wish so much I knew you in person. I don’t even need to meet you to know you’re wonderful. However, my heart still goes out to you and your struggles. Big hug. 🙂

  30. Glad to hear you’re well on your way to coming back. It takes a lot for a person to admit those kind of things, so for that I really admire you. I’m glad you’re off that medication, you’re right…a baby can come later, with different help…not something that destroys who YOU are 🙂
    Stay strong, and congrats on the house!!

  31. Hey Casey – I’m so sorry to hear about how this affected you, but I am so glad to hear that you are on the mend. Fertility drugs are generally horrid, but I’ve heard that lupron is the worst. Congrats on your new home!



  1. […] cry and smile and for teaching me things I didn’t know about turkeys and faith and most of all for sharing “the faking” on a day I was thinking of how well I’m “faking” my life. Thank you for letting me […]