Three

 

Over the past few months many people have asked me whether I will have another baby. My answer? “Of course!”

There is a reasonable chance, I suppose, that I will succumb to another ‘episode’ post partum. I also have a higher than average chance of developing post natal psychosis. But as cliché as it sounds, it’s worth it. He is worth it all, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat. Many mothers who undergo even the most traumatic of births choose to do it all again. This is no different to that.

If you had asked me a few months ago, my answer would have been “Hell, no!” I remember my doctor talking about future pregnancies while I was in hospital. I shut her down and told her I didn’t want another. I simply couldn’t go through this again.

But now.... I honestly don’t think I would go through it all again. The difference between now and then is that we know what we are dealing with. I have a diagnosis, I know which medication works for me. I have also been informed that any future pregnancies will be classified as “high risk”, so I will be taken care of by a clinic at the state’s main maternity hospital who specialises in mothers with severe mental illness. I have also been told I may be transferred back to the MBU following childbirth for a week or two so doctors can keep a careful eye on me.

 In other words, there is a huge amount of support out there. If I showed any signs of instability I would have access to help. The people closest to me are aware and supportive. I'm certainly not alone.  

The other week I asked my doctor, out of interest, about future pregnancies and the medication I am on. She looked vaguely horrified and encouraged me not to rush into things, and to just concentrate on maintaining my stability for now.

But I’m not rushing into things. I’m not ready for another baby now. There are things I want to achieve before being a mum of two. I also want to savour this time with David. I missed out so much of his first year through being so unwell. I want to enjoy now and him and us for a little while.  

One day we will be a family of four, I have no doubt in that. But right now I’m enjoying the three of us. Me, you, and toddler too.

My Ray of Sunshine

The most important character in this story is my little boy, David.

I have always maintained that my depression, my illness, was never anything to do with David. The blackness hit me like a ton of bricks only a few days after his birth, but deep inside I knew my despondency wasn’t to do with him. David was the catalyst but not the cause.

People gave me all sorts of advice. They told me I should go back to uni, get a job, find a hobby, go on vacation, take time out for myself, or (my personal favourite) give myself a footbath. I know these people meant well, and they were only trying to help, but I felt like screaming. I knew that even if I were to put David into full time childcare, get a fantastic job, go on a holiday, and give myself a footbath every evening the blackness would still be there waiting for me. It wasn’t circumstantial.

It’s very hard for anyone to understand a non circumstantial depression. People understand the depression of someone who has lost a family member or a job, or their health. But how can someone be depressed when they appear to have everything going for them? I certainly didn’t understand my depression. I felt I had no right to be depressed. A psychiatrist at the emergency department of a hospital put it into words once. She asked me “You have a healthy baby, a loving husband, a roof over your head? Why would you feel depressed?”. Why indeed.

I was so ashamed of how I felt that I began to try and hide it. I got up every morning and showered, cleaned my house, returned phone calls, all the while giving David the utmost care and attention. Depressed people didn’t get up, didn’t clean their house, and certainly didn’t return phone calls – I had been there before. Therefore I couldn’t possibly be depressed. Yet at night I soaked my pillow with tears, and every morning I woke up wondering how I would make it through the day. 

But there comes a point when you can’t fake it anymore. I stopped cooking, cleaning, doing anything other than the absolute necessary. I took care of David’s basic needs, he was well fed and always clean, but afterwards I would stare at him, wondering what I should do, wondering if – in fact – he was still my baby. At the end, just before my admission, as the psychosis began, I became convinced that the police were looking for me for being a bad mother.

But David, my darling David, remained a ray of sunshine in a dark situation. He warmed my heart with each smile and cuddle he gave me. He taught me how precious life is, and gave me something to be strong for. David, ultimately, is the reason why I never attempted to hurt myself.

When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder things started to click into place. I was told that women with the disorder are at high risk of experiencing manic or depressive episodes in the postnatal period due to the immense hormonal and biological changes. Usually these women are treated promptly, but since I was unaware I had the disorder and was therefore treated for postnatal depression (which requires an entirely different treatment protocol) things got to the stage they did.

Sometimes I feel guilty that David endured what he did. Even though he is too young to understand. I feel sad that he spent two months of his little life in a psychiatric institution, and I have virtually no photos of him between 7 and 9 months old. But then I look at the positives. David and I have an incredibly strong bond now, and I treasure the time we spend together. I have a WHOLE lot of photos of David from 10 months onward! David is used to being handled by strangers and is happy to be passed to new people. But most importantly David has a very happy mum.

There's always a ray of sunshine. My son. My sun.