Authors: Rosen Trevithick
Nicky smiled at me.
“What?”
“It sounds like you’re describing yourself.”
“I’m not stubborn!”
She laughed. “You’re
just
like him.”
I looked at her and sighed. “How am I ever supposed to
forgive a man my own flaws?”
* * *
“Shut up!” I screamed at the ceiling. I couldn’t scream at
little Joseph, but I felt I had to scream at something. “Please stop him
crying,” I pleaded with the universe, “please!”
I went through breakfast in a zombie-like fashion but then,
while I was washing the dishes, tears began rolling unexpectedly down my nose.
The next thing I knew, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor in a heap,
crying my eyes out.
Joseph seemed to sense that I was upset and began crying
too. I knew I should go to him, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to
get up off the floor.
With every one of Joseph’s cries, I felt worse and worse. I
must be a horrible person to sit here on the floor, while my helpless, tiny
baby needed me. The guilt only served to paralyse me further.
Finally, I managed to drag myself up the stairs. What good
was I going to be to him anyway? I’d only just fed him. He’d been changed. What
more could I do? “What do you want?” I wailed.
I dropped onto the floor again. It was no use. I didn’t know
how to help my baby. I had been crazy to think that I could bring up a child at
all, let alone on my own.
But I wasn’t on my own, was I? There were people around who
could help. I knew what I had to do. I crawled up the stairs and into my
bedroom. I reached up to the bedside table where my mobile phone lay. On
autopilot, I found the number that I wanted. “Pick up! Pick up, Nicky.”
She didn’t answer. With every ring, I felt a little more
panicked. Nicky was my go-to girl.
What else could I do? I picked Joseph up and cradled him.
Still, he did not stop crying. Should I call the doctor? I definitely felt that
I wanted to call the doctor, but to say what? That my baby was crying?
Then I remembered Simon’s parents. They were brilliant with
him, especially Judy. What’s more, they’d offered to be there for us day or
night. Was this the sort of eventuality that they had imagined when they
offered unconditional support? Well, unconditional meant unconditional. Surely
that meant that I could call them whenever I needed help, and I needed help
now.
“Judy …” I stuttered into the phone.
“Who’s this?”
I sobbed.
“Is that you, Emma?”
“Yes,” I sniffed.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“I … I really don’t know. I just can’t … I don’t
seem to … I don’t seem to be able to … do anything.”
“We’ll be right there,” she said, no further questions.
True to their word, Gerald and Judy turned up within the
hour. Judy was carrying a tray of freshly made cupcakes, despite the sudden
nature of my call. Gerald stood with his arms firmly wedged against his sides.
His grey eyes held no warmth. I got the feeling he was here for Judy, not me.
By the time they arrived, I was feeling a little better.
Just knowing that help was on its way eased the worst of the panic. I cradled
Joseph in my arms as I showed them in.
“Would you like me to take him?” asked Judy. Actually, at
that moment, I really didn’t. I was enjoying the comfort of my son’s warm body
against my chest. Still, I felt it would be ungracious not to let Judy hold him
when she’d come all this way, so I passed him over. For some reason, it felt
like having a part of my body torn off. I shuddered.
However, Judy was an angel. She changed him, she settled him
down for a nap, and she tidied my kitchen. When she suggested that I take a
nap, I could have kissed her. It was exactly what I needed. I whispered,
“Nighty night” to Joseph and climbed the stairs, safe in the knowledge that
there was somebody there to look after him.
I had no idea that I would wake up feeling as though the
world had tumbled down around me.
I opened my eyes; it was getting dark outside. I was
disorientated. It took me a few moments to remember that I had a son. I
mentally punished myself for forgetting Joseph, even for a second. But
something else was bad too, wasn’t it? I remembered Simon. I hadn’t heard from
him since he angrily marched out of my house saying that we hated each other.
Was he ignoring my voicemail, or did he not get it? Both possibilities hurt.
This was a disaster. I had a son I couldn’t look after, and
shared parental responsibility with a man who hated me. I tried to sit up but
it felt like something was weighing down on me, forcing me back into the
mattress.
I lay back on the bed. It felt as though the horsemen of the
apocalypse were dancing around my head, as if my brain were the core of an
apocalyptic carousel. Even thinking about my beautiful little boy could not
urge me to get out of bed.
I felt foolish. How could I have thought that I could
function without lithium? I had an incurable mental illness. How stupid I had
been to even dream that I could live both medication and depression free. It
was one or the other.
If I went back on lithium, I’d have to stop breastfeeding
but if I stayed off lithium, I would not be able to look after him. Either way
I would fail my son. What was the point of getting out of bed, when Joseph was
going to lose, whatever I did? It was only a matter of time before I destroyed
his life, one way or another.
I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “Can I come in?” It was
Judy.
I hadn’t realised I was crying until I tried to speak.
The door slowly opened and in she came, alone.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
I couldn’t bring myself to respond.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?”
What would a cup of tea do? I had a life threatening
illness, not a chill.
“Or a coffee?”
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say a thing.
“Are you going to come down?”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
She was quiet for some moments. Finally, she said, softly,
“Would you like us to take him for the night?”
“No!” I cried. What a vile thought! Suddenly the lethargy
was gone.
“I’m sorry,” she said kindly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“He’s only sixteen days old! I’m still
nursing
!”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you.” She took my
hand and looked at me with tenderness. “Let me go and get Joseph. He needs his
mum.”
* * *
The following morning, things were even worse. I no longer
suspected, but
knew
that I was a terrible mother. What sort of life
would Joseph have with a bipolar woman? Any woman in the world would be a
better mother than I ever could, with my mood swings and my temper.
I should give him up. I gulped. Was I brave and selfless
enough to send him to a better life, away from me? Almost certainly not.
Instead, I would stand in the way of his happiness for my own selfish gain, for
years and years.
Perhaps the only way to secure Joseph’s happiness would be
to take myself out of the equation altogether. There was that ominous word
again, spinning on the horizon like a meteor waiting to strike – suicide.
I could hear Joseph crying in his cot. I desperately wanted
to go to him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t feed him with these thoughts in my
head. The disease in my mind would pass to him through my milk as certainly as
any lithium could. The last thing a mother wants is her baby on her breast and
suicide on her mind.
The despair intensified; I couldn’t even feed my own son. There
was formula in the fridge. That wasn’t diseased, was it? I could feed him with
that. But then still, it would have come from
my
poisonous hand.
Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed.
You’re
not contagious. You’re not contagious.
I took Joseph from his cot. I held
him in my arms and a rush of chemicals flushed through my neural passages. The
momentary boost from holding my son shook me into a moment of clarity.
The worst thing I could do, the absolute worst thing I could
possibly do to him, was die. I wasn’t the mother I wanted to be, but I was a
mother – his mother. My responsibility was not to free him of me; it was to get
myself better. I had to rise above the depression, and get myself back to a
place where I could care for him.
How did I usually combat depression? Lithium had been the
most effective treatment, but there were other things that helped, techniques
I’d used in the past to help me combat mood swings. Without lithium, the next
best thing was regular sleep, and beyond that, regular meals.
My heart sank. How could I possibly have any sort of routine
whilst looking after a baby who didn’t sleep through the night? He was less
than three weeks old. These sleepless nights could go on for months, years
even; all the while, I’d be getting sicker and sicker.
I couldn’t even contemplate months of depression. Today,
only two days in, I was already having thoughts of harming myself. How could I
possibly survive indefinite agony?
It was then that I realised what I had to do; a short term solution
that would facilitate my son’s long-term happiness. I had to take Judy up on
her offer. I had to let them look after Joseph overnight.
Chapter 11
My body said, ‘Stay in bed’. My brain said, ‘Stay in bed’.
The tears
screamed,
‘Stay in bed’. But my little boy, now painfully far
from my touch, cried, ‘Get out of bed!’
I remembered my sacrifice – watching Gerald and Judy drive
away with my baby felt like having my guts ripped out. The only comfort was the
knowledge that I was doing what was best for Joseph in the long run. Were I to
allow the depression to consume me now, my sacrifice would have been all for
nothing. I had to get better.
With tears streaming down my face, I managed to shuffle my
legs to the edge of the bed. Tentatively, I let a toe drop onto the floor. As I
transferred the weight to my legs, I felt that I might collapse under the mass
of negative thoughts plaguing me. I didn’t feel ready to get out of bed just
yet but I
could
manage the other important task: calling the doctor.
Some three hours later, I managed to get out of bed, get
myself dressed, and make the three-mile walk to my doctor’s surgery. Many of
the homes I passed already boasted Christmas decorations. I felt so detached
from the festive spirit that they merely looked garish and mocking.
Every step, every breath, was assisted by thoughts of
Joseph. When, finally, the doctor was ready to see me, I knew what I had to
say.
“I’m ready to go back on lithium.”
The doctor looked at me through her kind hazel eyes and
smiled. She was an experienced GP perhaps pushing retirement, with grey hairs
interwoven with chestnut strands from her younger days. I liked her a lot.
“Any particular reason why lithium?”
“It works.”
“True, you do get on well with lithium.”
“I know it means I’ll have to stop breast feeding, but
honestly, I’ve been so ill that I think formula would be better for Joseph than
my depression. He’s staying with his grandparents at the moment. Things have
got
that
bad.”
“Simon’s parents?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen
your
father?”
“He doesn’t even know I was pregnant.”
“What about Simon, where is he?”
“Antarctica.”
“Oh,” she said, looking slightly concerned. “Well, that’s
certainly interesting.”
I smiled, weakly. I was far too tired to tell her about the
ice marathon and its importance. I just wanted to get my prescription and get
home, so that I could start recovering as soon as possible.
“Tell me, what’s been happening?”
“Well, my mood was all right immediately after the birth, as
you know. Then, suddenly, two days ago I started feeling dramatically worse.”
“How has your sleep been?”
“Disturbed, naturally.”
“Well, the combination of coming off your medication and
lack of sleep is almost certainly the cause of your low mood. What we need to
work out now is how we’re going to get you better.”
“That’s why I want to go back on lithium.”
“There are mood stabilisers we could consider that would
allow you to continue breastfeeding.”
“And you think it’s worth trying them?”
“Yes, but they probably won’t be enough to get you through
this crisis by themselves. You’ll need regular sleep. Are the grandparents
happy to keep helping out?”
“Yes, but I can’t be away from Joseph for any longer. It’s
killing me.”
“Do you have to be away from him? Couldn’t you see him in
the daytime?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Well perhaps that’s the best plan. Spend time with him when
you can, but let them take care of him at night.”
The thought of another night away from Joseph was
excruciating. I liked Judy; I admired the way she was with Joseph, but what if
something happened? What if he needed something they couldn’t give him? What if
they turned their backs for a second and harm came to him? It had been
decades
since Simon was born; what if they’d forgotten how to look after a baby?
“You’re worrying about him, aren’t you?” asked the doctor.
I frowned.
“You are doing your best,” she assured me. “That’s all
anybody can do.”
* * *
Gerald watched me like a hawk as I rocked Joseph in my arms.
I sang a little song – an improvised extended version of ‘Little Bo Peep’. I
knew my voice was fractured and that tears were preparing to fall, but I sang
anyway. I counted his little fingers and stroked the cute wrinkle by his left
ear. He did look well. He gazed up at me. I wondered if he knew who I was and
the significance of me leaving.
“He needs some sleep now,” said Judy, softly.