It’s been awhile. I finished my post graduate studies in Museums and Heritage and then had a baby. Currently working on a series relating to my post natal depression and anxiety. Heres a working image from the series.
Before I had my son I lost two babies. My pregnancy was riddled with anxiety. I had little notebooks I carried around to record every movement my baby made. Terrified he would die inside me. My body had already proven to me numerous times that I couldn’t count on it. I made it through the 9 months, convinced that all my fears would disappear once my son arrived safely.
I had planned a home birth. I did hypnobirthing and yoga in preparation. I read “active birth” . My house was covered in positive birth affirmations, only no one told my body or my baby. The day before my birthday I went into labor. I was excited. We put up the birth pool, went for a walk. My contractions started to come every 4 mins lasting a minute. My breathing exercises were working. I had this. Hours passed. The midwife was called. She examined me, only four cm’s. Midwife left. Hours passed. Midwife called again, midwife arrives and examines me , still only four cm’s.
At this point I’m not going with the contractions, I’m tired, I’m fighting them, I’m hallucinating, mumbling something about finding MH370. We transfer to hospital 24 hours after my labor started. I have had no pain relief and the epidural is like heaven. I accept it fully understanding how it can be the first step in a chain of medical interventions. But I’m to tired. I have no fight left.
The contractions slow down, Pitocin given. Contractions amp up, baby goes into distress. Am told my baby needs to come out NOW. Consent to c section. Wheeled into surgery and 30 hours after my labor began my son was born. It was my 33rd birthday.
Told I would have to stay in hospital for three days. At least. I want to go home. Have never had surgery, never been in hospital since I myself was born. I can’t move. I can’t pick up my son. Have to call for a midwife to hand him to me and then put him back. Baby won’t settle. Won’t stop crying, push call bell, eventually midwife appears, tells me off “I’m dealing with a lady who had twins” I can’t move, I have no idea what I’m doing, I feel shamed and put in my place. The message “you only have one baby, you should be able to cope” rings loud and clear. I feel like screaming “I’m paralyzed from the epidural” instead I wait for her to leave and cry. My husband was kicked out, not allowed to stay. I’m completely cut off from my support network, recovering from major surgery, left alone with my new baby, in a strange place. I love this little boy so fiercely it overwhelms me. I can’t sleep. It’s dark and scary. My baby won’t settle. A midwife comes in and tries to hand milk me. I’m to tired to say anything, to consent, to speak up. I just lie there.
The next day. More tears, my son still won’t settle. I’m trying to breastfeed, he latches great, but he won’t settle. I’m so hot. I’m sweating through the hospital gown. I know something isn’t right but no one says anything. Midwives watch and forcefully attach my son’s mouth to my boob. One mutters something about a tongue tie. They weigh him. Hes lost 10% of his birth weight. Told I can’t go home until he gains weight. I cry. I feel like I’m being held hostage. I want to go home. I want to go home. Formula top ups are to be given. No one sits me down and explains why. Im told to use a lactate. A small tube which I use while my son is on the boob. To prevent nipple confusion. It’s tricky to use. Every three hours. Boob. Formula top up through lactate, every three hours , 24/7. I cry. Midwives look concerned. They allow my husband to stay. I don’t understand why he couldn’t before. I’m in a private room.
My son gains weight, he gets checked over and we are allowed to go home. I have still barely slept. Everytime I tried my son would cry or a visitor would arrive or nurses or other medical professionals would enter for a check up. At home and the routine of three hourly feeds takes a further toll. The formula top up through the lactate takes forever, then there is the cleaning and sterilisation, burping and settling my son. By the time he’s asleep his next feed is due in an hour. My husband helps. We are exhausted.
My appetite is gone. I force myself to eat as my post opp meds have to be taken with food. I think it’s just due to exhaustion. I think it’s normal. I know I need to eat more to help with my milk. It still hasn’t come in. We end up in the children’s hospital for a night. Feeding issues. I think we got admitted mostly so I could sleep. The staff are amazing. A pediatrician tells me there is no such thing as nipple confusion. She bans the lactate and gives us a bottle. Feeding becomes quicker, less than hour. The nurses take my son and I actually get to sleep. My milk comes in. The joy when my breasts leaked for the first time is astounding.
Although my mother in law lives around the corner, my husband and I don’t have much practical support. My mum comes to stay to help with house work, cooking meals so I can focus on feeding my son and sleeping. Im not allowed to do much anyway, because the c section has at least a six week recovery. People forget it’s major surgery. Maybe because it’s related to having a baby people blow it off or disregard it. My back starts to hurt. It’s incredible, I’m laid over groaning. I think maybe it’s trapped gas. I don’t tell anyone my poos are weird. It keeps hurting, I don’t feel right. My poo is black and liquid. I tell my husband. I say maybe it’s a side effect from the medication I’m on. He Google’s it. Under voltarn it says it’s serious and to seek emergency medical attention.
I’m in hospital. My son is 10 days old. Im in the maternity ward, I still fall under their care. Gastric doctors come in. They want to do a scope, they need to see what’s going on. I’m wheeled away. My husband is holding our son. Before I leave I cry, I say I have a bad feeling. They sedate me. I drift off. Then Im vomiting, I can’t open my eyes but I feel the vomit coming up, I’m panicking, I’m struggling, someone is holding me down. There are lots of busy sounding voices. I drift out again. I come to again. I’m so hot, my chest hurts. I drift off. I come to properly. My husband is standing there, pale. I can’t really move, I feel like shit. I know something has happened. I look down and I’m covered in blood, the bed and pillow are covered in blood. I realise that what I vomited. I’m moved to the high dependency unit. There is discussion about ICU. People turn up to x-ray me. They want to tilt my bed, the gastric nurse says no. I have to lie flat, if they tilt me, they risk my life.
I’m told I had two really bad ulcers which burst and caused arterial bleeding. They saved my life by using a spray developed by the military to treat gunshot wounds on the battlefield. I ask the gastric doctor what would have happened if I hadn’t come in to hospital. He says I would most likely have collapsed and died at home. I don't remember being cleaned up, but it must have happened at some point.
I ended up being in hospital for six days, five of them nil by mouth. Im separated from my son, he's not even two weeks old, to young to be vaccinated, the hospital is filled with people with bad cases of the flu, I can't risk my son getting sick. I don't see him for the whole time I'm in hospital. Evey day I cry, my husband sends me pics and videos of my son, I cry, I worry he will forget me, I worry he wonders where his mummy has gone. The surgeons worry they may need to operate, they won't let me pump to keep my supply up. I'm to sick, they need my body to recover, that's where the energy needs to go, not milk production. I pump just enough to stop mastitis. People come to visit, but not many. I feel very alone and very unloved.
Once I'm discharged, as soon as I walk in the door to my house I pick my son up and hold him and cry. Six months later, I still hold him and cry for that lost time. I focus on getting my milk supply back. It gives me something to work towards. I feel like my body is nothing but a failure. I try to interact with the other women from my antenatal group, but I feel like a fraud. They are all having such an easy time of it. I smile and joke and pretend everything is fine. I go home and cry in the shower. My husband returns to work after six weeks off. I can't make it through, I call him at work, he comes home. I do this often. I feel like a failure who can't mother her own son, I worry my husband will get into trouble with his boss, I worry his colleagues are discussing how his wife can't handle being a mother. I often think things would be easier if I had just died. My poor husband, having me as a wife, my poor son, having me as a mother.
I have flashbacks to when I regained consciousness during the scope. I can't stop thinking about how close I came to death and how at that moment there was nothing. I didn't see any lights or family waiting, I didn't even comprehend I was dying, all there was, was violence, an a instinctive drive to fight, only I was fighting those who were trying to help. I am diagnosed with PTSD. The flashback's happen when I am trying to sleep, riding the bus, anytime I am left alone with my thoughts.
Pump, pump, pump. Round the clock. Everytime I give my son formula top ups I either cry or feel like it. Every bottle is a reminder of my body's inability to preform the basic womanly functions it is supposedly designed to do. My body's failure is an increased burden on the household. Formula is expensive, top ups and pumping time consuming. It's hard to leave the house.
The weeks turn to months and I slowly feel better, the flashbacks become less frequent. Although I still can't watch any TV or movies with dark themes, anything with violence or death. It triggers me. I don't have to call my husband to come home from work, I (mostly) stop the suicide related internet searches. I still have bad days, they are just spread further apart. I manage to reestablish my supply enough to stop the formula top ups.
I can't really share my birth experience. No one wants to hear such a negative story. I keep it to myself. I take my son to events and try to make mummy friends, but I still feel like an outsider. I feel like my experience keeps me at a distance.
I have post natal anxiety. It affects my interactions. Things like starting solids, baby led weaning is what all the cool parents do, my anxiety says "no" I feed my boy mash and puree. I can't leave my boy with a babysitter, regardless of whether it's family or not, my anxiety won't allow me. I even struggle to go out and leave him with my husband, even though my husband is completely capable, my anxiety makes it difficult. I quit my job, I can't put my son in daycare, my anxiety prevents it. I love my son so much, it makes me sick.
I worry about the future. I would love my son to have a sibling but worry about my capabilities. I enjoy being a mother, I just never expected it to be this hard.
